It was spell day. The villages gathered at her door and sang their songs of gratitude. Morwenna had her spell all written out. She intended to create a sun-drenched summer, with rain from 1 am until 3 am every other day to please the farmers, and a soft breeze to tickle the skin on the bi-weekly hot days.

She sneezed, half way through the spell. It collapsed in a flurry of purple sparks. Moments later the villagers shrieked and ran away as rain pelted down, a storm picked up rapidly, tapping the window with the thin branches of her willow tree.

She shivered at the sudden temperature drop and ran upstairs to grab a cardigan. Autumn. All summer. This would not stand. The villagers might feel inclined to study the ways of the Spanish Inquisition, especially with the disaster at Christmas fresh in their memories. She had no choice. She walked downstairs and tried the spell again.

She sneezed. The blizzard started a minute later.

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