Skip to content
The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
The end.