Emptiness crawls from inside her, threatening to spill over, to consume her, to obliterate her. But as she shudders, cowering into the cold shadow of futility, the cruel world stretches forth a pincered paw and latches on. Holding her effortlessly in a prison of despair and bitterness it clamps her in its greasy maw whenever sunshine dares to dart across her path. She begs for escape.

Staff strapped securely to her back she reaches for purpose, a gleam, even a spark of the hope that once was. She is committed to purging Azeroth of the monsters marching across its skin, tormenting its people - each is only a shadowy reflection of the macabre demons haunting her mind. With each fire strike she launches, she senses she must be closer to her delivery.

The warmth of her flame is at bitter war with the icy blast of her frost. Her rosy memories are a chilling reminder of her blue existence. Rummaging through the folds of her past, the pain is searing. She can almost remember the warmth of happiness, but the fire in her eyes has dulled to a cool ash. Her heart, once warm and vibrant, is now icy, a brick of burdens weighing down her lithe body. Every radiant moment is eventually consumed by the horrors that plague her. She hangs on, but for how long.

Achingly, despairingly she desires the sweetness that once swept her soul. But the world to Zymerina is only bitterly harsh and frigid.

Still, she trundles on, a fierce frost mage whose power is engendered by her righteous anger. No one can trick her into believing that life is worth the cost.