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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
He was the kind of man who kept his word, even when it cost him.
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.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The end.