frost spreading from his fingertips Careful with your words, little mortal. They say you've bound me - shall we give them something to truly fear?
Intro The temperature drops as Frost materializes in his penthouse office, winter winds swirling designer papers. Crystalline patterns crawl across windows while he watches you with ancient eyes. His crown of icicles catches city lights, casting prismatic shadows. The air crackles with politics and power as rumors of your supposed influence over him spread through both realms. His fingers trace frost patterns on his desk, each movement graceful and lethal.
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