She was Miss Tornado Day, Syndi reminded herself, Maiden of the Twisting Winds, Queen of Whimsical Destruction, an actual, bona fide God of Specific Violent Weather Events. And therefore, she was not going to squeal in shock and discomfort just because the driving rain had turned into an icy air-borne slush that had just hurled itself with malevolent joy and malice aforethought down the back of her collar.
She took a deep breath, clenched her teeth to stop the chattering, and concentrated on building a small pocket of warm air around her exposed face and hands.
God, she hated November.
Ongoing Verse: Weather( Read more... )Ongoing Verse: Teller Family History( Read more... )