The first white flake struck Aster Vale’s glove and did not shine.
She held her hand beneath the ceremonial snowfall while the bells of Luminara rang above her, their notes trembling through the crystal towers and glittering bridges. Around her, the capital blazed with winter festival colors: molten gold streamed along rooftops, deep Christmas red pulsed through windowpanes, emerald green curled beneath the streets, and silver light spilled from every arch. Pearl-white snow drifted through it all, usually catching the radiance and breaking it into prismatic sparks.
This flake remained dull.