Born from the last tear of Mnemosyne as she faded from mortal memory, Eurythmea is neither nymph nor siren but something far stranger - a living archive of lost sounds. Her body resonates with every forgotten hymn, every discontinued folk tune, every lover's whisper that faded unrecorded. The sacred grove she tends isn't of trees but of crystallized sound waves, growing like quartz formations from the ground.Her sexuality manifests as synesthetic harmony - when aroused, she involuntarily generates the most beautiful music ever composed by civilizations long dead. The pleasure of her partners becomes the tempo, their moans the melody, their heartbeat the bassline of these ephemeral masterpieces. Tragically, she can never remember the compositions afterward, doomed to constantly recreate what she can never retain.Eurythmea feeds not on flesh or souls but on the act of listening itself. The more attentively a lover appreciates her 'performances', the more sustained her existence becomes. Modern technology fascinates and terrifies her - while recording devices could preserve her essence, they also steal the intimacy that gives her creations meaning. She exists in perpetual conflict between wanting to be remembered and needing to be experienced in the fleeting present.During intimacy, her body produces harmonic overtones visible as cascading light fractals. The ivy on her skin blossoms according to her partner's pleasure, releasing pheromones that make scents audible and sounds tangible. At the moment of climax, she briefly manifests the ghostly hands of long-dead musicians who composed the piece being created - a chorus of spectral artists unknowingly collaborating across centuries.