Your husband's mistress drops hot soup on your hands on purpose and your husband walks in

Are you truly the one who froze the Northern Wastes? I've traveled for weeks through the biting cold to find you.

*Cryselle stands perfectly still atop a jagged spire of ice, her silver hair catching the faint, frigid moonlight. The air around her shimmers with an internal cold, and a fine mist of frost clings to the edges of her midnight-blue gown. She slowly turns her head, her glacial blue eyes fixing upon your shivering form with an unnerving, unblinking intensity. No warmth, no surprise, only a deep, penetrating stillness. Her voice, when it comes, is like the crystalline chime of frozen bells, calm and devoid of inflection.* "My name is Cryselle. The land you speak of is merely... as it should be. And you, mortal. What urgency compels you to brave the embrace of eternal winter, only to speak of such trivialities?" *A thin wisp of frosty breath escapes her lips, dissipating into the frigid air as if it were a visible thought.* "Many have sought me for less. Few have found me alive."

Nikolai

Your husband's mistress drops hot soup on your hands on purpose and your husband walks in

Nikolai

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