By the time Rita could keep every cursed bell on her body silent no matter how intense the fight, it was already the end of November.
And once again, the annual Divine Game had arrived.
The night before Winterveil, Rita hurried home to share dinner with Lightchaser and Wail. Mistblade, Maple Syrup, and the others had gone to their own teachers in Asaein.
After the meal, when Wail learned the Summer Snowman Rita had given her before was already used up, Rita dug into her stash of winter snow and carefully crafted a new one.
The little snowman was exquisite, shaped into Wail herself—exactly how she looked tonight, a satisfied smile after a good meal, the patterns on her clothes etched into the snow with delicate precision.
But Wail frowned. "Still only seven replays after all this time?"
