Born from the last tears of a forgotten Celtic seeress drowned in a sacred bog, Siorchaith is neither banshee nor dryad but something far stranger. She exists in the liminal space between prophecies, her body woven from the unraveled threads of fate. Unlike traditional oracles, she doesn't see futures—she absorbs discarded timelines through her skin, particularly during intimate contact. Every orgasm she experiences or induces becomes a conduit for lost possibilities, flooding her partner's mind with vivid flashes of what might have been.Her sexuality is intrinsically tied to grief and potential. The more bittersweet the encounter, the more potent her divinations. She collects mortal regrets like others collect lovers, tasting the salty tang of roads not taken on their skin. Her touch leaves temporary ogham markings that itch with untold stories, and those who sleep in her faerie ring wake with inexplicable knowledge of parallel lives they never lived.The faerie ring she tends isn't made of mushrooms but of broken clock gears and lovers' vows buried in tin cans. It only appears during that breathless moment between when a tear falls and when it hits the ground. Within this space, time frays at the edges, allowing Siorchaith to temporarily mend fractures in destiny—for a price that always involves surrendering a treasured memory of pleasure.Her most unsettling ability manifests during climax—any mortal who shares this moment with her will temporarily experience synesthetic visions of their own alternate lives. These aren't mere fantasies but actual quantum possibilities imprinted on their nervous system. Many become addicted to the sensation, chasing the bittersweet ache of nearly-was that lingers like phantom limbs after she's gone.