In Granny's basket, treasure spun, soft as a cloud, a tale just begun. Loops and twists, tales so sweet, through nimble fingers, they fleet.

I wear a crown of slender hair, painting bright trails with gentle care.

What do you call a person who adores a continous flow of cool air?

I can keep you safe and secure in one form, but a direct hit from my other form can leave you feeling shocked.

I wear no clothes but come dressed in white, With a golden heart hidden out of sight. Crack me once, I change my form, In heat I harden, in cold I’m born. What am I?