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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The end.