The final day of the Winter Festival arrived with a crisp breeze and an energy that felt twice as wild as the first two days.
"Move, move, move!" Pearl channeled her innerdrill sergeant,aggressively slapping a fresh layer of pink frosting onto a mountain of pastries. "We have twenty minutes before the gates open, and I can already hear the stampede outside!"
We were moving like a well-oiled magic machine. Malachi was seamlessly piping designs onto tarts with perfect royal precision, Des was stacking crates, and Mom was frantically counting our final batch of change.
By noon, the story was exactly the same as before: Sold out.
The crowd of girls waiting just to see Malachi sign a pastry box had grown so large that Declarn had to use a wooden broom to gently guide people away from the counter so we could close the shutters.
