“Come, sit ‘round. Scratch flint to tinder, kindle hopeful flames. Listen well, though, through breaking wind and shrieking hunger. Learn to fear the Winter’s appetite.” -Sif, the Liar. -         A most unholy curse, that of the Fjarriagua; a curse, that freezes one’s soul, forever trapping both body and soul in an eternal cryostasis in the realm, turning them into horrible frost creatures. Witches, casting an endless cycle of misery, projected upon the