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Dear Destiny- or fate, or prophecy, or the will of the gods or whatever:

I'm only doing this because I know Strike's punishment for not writing this dumb letter would be way worse than just sitting my butt down and writing it.  Just so you know.

Over the past six months, ever since Strike showed up at my office, teleported me up to the roof and hung me over the side to get my attention, I've done lots of things I never would've thought possible.  I've seen gods and demons, I've done magic, and I've met a woman who shouldn't have existed outside my own imagination.  That evidence has more than convinced me that the gods exist, and their will influences our lives down here.  But I've also watched Strike defy the writs themselves to make Leah his own when the thirteenth prophecy said she was to be his sacrifice.  So I know our supposed destiny can be rewritten to a point.  That's why, for my winter solstice wish, I'm asking you to leave me the hell alone.