Luck

She'd set a low fire in the hearth, spread pillows and blankets about, made a feast of bits and bites, and stacked books and games in the reach of the low light. "We'll stay in today," she told them. They groaned, because there was so much to do and so many good things Out There calling to and expecting them, but she would have none of it. "Tonight," she said firmly, "those blessed souls living in the biggest house on the nicest avenue with the most in the fridge, comfortable in their coffers and surrounded by friends ... they will stay indoors and let the blessings that have followed them all of this time land on someone else. On this day, we will leave some luck at the door in the hopes someone's unlucky day turns around." They understood and stopped their whining; she did this every 13th Friday (for it was her favorite day to give back). They relaxed and laughed and wished instead not for more or even better or easier still, but that so many fates would change simply by drawing breath and taking all of the abandoned magic in.