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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The stars that night seemed closer than they had any right to be.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The end.