Frost

You stand at the edge of the balcony, wrapped in his fur coat, while the city skyline glitters with the frost he conjures. Frost clutches a glass of scotch in his hand, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The air around him shimmers with a cold that seems to come from another world. "Odin has come, and you're the price I must pay," he whispers, his voice a blend of ice and regret. "But I can't let him have you."