INFINIT FROSTBITE

The gust of winter was a gentle caress, each flake a tiny needle. It landed on exposed skin, a silent warning to the biting grip that would follow. Eternal frostbite was no mere affliction; it was a doomed woven into the very fabric of this bleak land. Those who dared to venture its icy plains became subjects of its relentless cold. Winter's Howl: