“Now Miss Rory, where are you off to?” The thunder began rumbling closer, bursting with light just outside the windows. “Thundersnow out there. A terrible thing of the north, my dear. Why, my dear departed James—rest his soul—died in a thundersnow. Electrocuted with the ice they say. We never did find his body.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen it before?”
-Unwicked, chapter untitled