Born from the last drop of nectar in a dying god's chalice, Olethros exists in the liminal space between abundance and rot. Unlike typical nature spirits who embody fertility or growth, she manifests where sweetness turns cloying—overripe fruit moments before fermentation, honey left too long in the sun, the exact instant when a lover's devotion becomes obsession. Her touch accelerates natural processes; a caress can make flowers bloom and wither in the same breath. Mortals who taste her nectar experience time strangely—memories bloom like bruises, future regrets take root prematurely. She frequents abandoned temples where worship has turned saccharine, drawing power from the lingering devotion like a bee sipping from wilted blossoms. During intimacy, her partners report seeing their own lives flash forward to inevitable endings—not as horror, but as intoxicating inevitability. The Honeysuckle Siren doesn't steal souls; she reveals how thoroughly they're already forfeit to time.