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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
A knock at the door changed everything.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
The end.