Skip to content
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 morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The sword was heavier than she expected, but she did not lower it.
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 end.