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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
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.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
The end.