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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
There were stories told of this place, and none of them ended well.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
The end.