Frosty  was her named winter. Her invisible ghostly grasp, Baltic wisps echo through the air crying their sorrows and despair. Their dress white graceful and tender. The ground slush and sleet, the trees bare and deplete.

Following winter and preceding summer the youthful, yapping, gentle comer. Their vibrant rays of new life in their wake disguising the historical, dreadful, twisted strife. The dying, older-elder corpses fertilizing the way for the new awakened forces.

That's it so far, still need to do 2 more seasons ^-^.