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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The end.