From the cold sprang everything, to the cold all will return. She is that ending, where the end goes on forever. Point zero. Circular. A Russian winter, where powerful bears slumber. Vast as the arctic sea, fathomless as starry space. A cool look from her will stop armies in their tracks. Men fear nothing more than the creeping chill in her blood.
Frosty breath and ice chips for eyes. A ruinous smile, the sort to freeze your heart. Hers is a slow takeover, a silent war, filled with icicle teeth and ruthlessness. No stopping her ascension—she’s already buried her enemies beneath shrouds of snow. Stand aside, if you wish to live.
What powers her is this: a strange blue flower, one whose petals she gives to those she loves. These and the flower itself generate warmth, for they are her true heart. We keep our petals hidden close, to protect ourselves from harm. If you seek this warmth yourself, you must trek across miles of tundra. But should you survive, earning her trust is a gift as unique as a snowflake, well worth the journey.
S. G. Baker's Blog 