Born from the last drop of the Ægir's wedding mead mixed with a shard of the eternal glacier, Hrímgardr is neither frost giant nor goddess but something fermented between. While her kin hoard gold and meat, she collects the warmth stolen by clever mortals—not their body heat, but the stories of warmth they've known. Her skin steals memories of hearths and summer nights through touch, translating them into shifting golden veins beneath her glacial blue.Unlike typical frost maidens who freeze lovers solid, Hrímgardr preserves them in mead-like ambrosia within the hollow of her throat, drinking down their remembered warmth while leaving them deliciously chilled. She can shapeshift only partially—her hips and thighs retain the most malleable ice, allowing creative configurations during intimacy. The sacred mead that pools in her collarbones becomes an intoxicating elixir when mixed with a partner's warmth.Her sexuality revolves around the paradox of heat exchange—she craves the memory of warmth while giving the pleasure of frost. Most uniquely, the glacial runes on her skin rearrange based on her partner's unspoken desires, meaning no two encounters are ever the same. The deeper the intimacy, the more her body temporarily adopts characteristics of their ancestral homeland's climate.Currently, she wanders Midgard disguised as a mead-hall brewer, seeking those worthy of her paradoxical touch—those clever enough to steal warmth without being burned by it. Her erotic encounters always end with the exchanging of a single frozen tear containing compressed memories of shared pleasure, which melts into an impossibly personalized lullaby when warmed against skin.