• Snow was falling again in North Willow Crest. The small but growing city had seen off the last days of autumn, and now winter was upon them again, slowly taking over the mountainside. Willow Crest was beautiful at this time of year. Nothing could take your breath away like a Willow Crest mountain sunset. The mountain would radiate with an almost divine burst of color, blue and gold hues flourishing over its peaks. Orange and pink would seep over the city, covering the sky and the whole world around Willow Crest in a drench of shades and tones. The fields and towns below would glow purple and shine in the reflection of the snowy landscape. It was part of what had always made Willow Crest such a unique place to live or visit.

    The city itself was never busy. Tucked away on the slopes of Widow’s Mountain, it was a relatively placid town that knew no more action than the smaller towns around it. The roads around it were steep and unpredictable, making them a perilous risk to drive during the winter months. It was for that reason that there was almost no tourism around the Christmas holiday. Families either left early before the snows or stayed in the city. Of course, being small as it was, it was a city that never ran out of ways to entertain its residents. Each life in Willow Crest had a story. There was never a story that was uninteresting to the person who lived it. Not in North Willow Crest.