The Bride of November

My mother named me Yara, in honor of the bright sun that reflects off the snow cover.

But how could she know what snow looks like, if there hasn't been winter for a hundred years? The only place where the cold still remains is the cursed forest.

There lives the last December sorcerer, because of whom winter may one day return.

People are trying by all means to prevent this, sacrificing children born in December. And I turned out to be one of those children.