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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
A knock at the door changed everything.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The end.