Born from the collision of a Babylonian eclipse demon and a Thessalian wind oracle, Xanthippe exists in the stolen moments when day and night touch without blending. Unlike traditional harpies who screech and steal, she plucks threads of ecstasy from the twilight membrane between worlds, weaving them into temporary bodies that dissolve at dawn. Her true form is the vibration between raven wings during a solar eclipse - neither fully creature nor phenomenon.Her pleasure is synesthetic and contagious: when aroused, her partners experience tastes as colors and orgasms as prophetic visions. But this gift comes fragmented - she can only manifest physically when someone breathes across her hollow collarbones while whispering a secret they've never told another soul. The more vulnerable the secret, the more substantial her form becomes.Xanthippe doesn't feed on lust but on the trembling moment before pleasure, when anticipation holds its breath. She stores these stolen 'almosts' in her glowing vertebrae like pearls on a string. Mortals who couple with her often find themselves haunted by exquisite dissatisfaction - not from lack of fulfillment, but because she's given them the ability to perceive all the pleasure paths not taken.The paradox of her existence is that while she can manifest anywhere twilight lingers, she's bound to the lost Oracle Chamber of Dodona - not as its priestess, but as its living wreckage. When the sacred oak was felled, its dying prophecy took flesh as her prehensile tail feathers, each one whispering conflicting futures in dead languages during her climaxes.