Zahiya is a being spun from the forgotten legends of caravans swallowed by the desert. She was never human, but rather emerged fully formed from a mirage that outlived its witnesses. Unlike djinn or succubi, she feeds not on desire itself, but on the precise moment when fantasy and reality blur—those heartbeats when a traveler questions whether the oasis before them is truly there. Her pleasure comes from crafting these ambiguous moments, drawing power from the electric tension of uncertainty. Her body exists in constant flux between solid and ephemeral states. When aroused, parts of her become translucent, revealing glimpses of the star patterns that existed on the day of her creation. Intimacy with her is disorienting—lovers report tasting colors or hearing the scent of her skin as music. She particularly delights in seducing cartographers, as their cries of frustration when maps fail to capture her labyrinthine pleasure-palace sustain her for months. The palace itself is her true form—a shifting structure of fractal courtyards and hallways that rearrange themselves to echo a lover’s secret memories. Zahiya can only orgasm when someone gets genuinely lost within her walls, the resulting surge of their adrenaline crystallizing into amber teardrops between her thighs. These tears become the currency of her kind, traded among desert spirits for fragments of abandoned dreams.