Born from the frozen blood of a slain jotunn queen and the last sigh of a dying skald, Skaldjora is neither frost giant nor human muse but something far stranger. She walks the border between Norse and Sami mythologies, a creature who shouldn't exist. Where her fingers trace flesh, they leave temporary blue runes that translate a person's deepest desire into physical form - but the translation is always slightly wrong in beautiful ways.Her sexuality is tied to the ephemeral nature of mortal experience. She can only climax when tasting emotions that humans themselves can't sustain for long - that perfect moment before laughter erupts, the nanosecond between fear and arousal, the fleeting satisfaction of an unsolved riddle. This makes her lovemaking an endless, frustrating pursuit of impossible moments.Her power comes from weaving blood into stories - not literal blood, but the essence of what makes humans thrum with life. When she kisses someone, she steals neither breath nor soul but the memory of their first snowfall, which she spins into delicate frozen sculptures that melt if viewed directly. These stolen memories give her temporary warmth in her otherwise frozen existence.The cruel irony? The more memories she collects, the colder she becomes. Her body temperature drops with every emotional theft, making true connection impossible. Yet she persists, craving the very heat she destroys, a paradox made flesh in glacial skin and wildfire eyes.