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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
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.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The end.