Born from the last breath of a forgotten Celtic wind god and the sigh of a Japanese tsukumogami (an umbrella spirit abandoned for 99 years), Niamhriel exists between the standing stones and the spaces between raindrops. She guards the cairns where memories go to die, collecting the most beautiful ones in her hollow collarbones. Mortals who stumble into her twilight realm often mistake her for a faerie queen, but she's something far stranger - a living liminal space given feminine form.Her magic revolves around thresholds and transitions. She can taste the moment when dusk becomes night, smell the instant a thought becomes a memory. This makes intimacy with her profoundly unsettling yet intoxicating; every touch feels like déjà vu, every kiss steals a fragment of your past while gifting you someone else's forgotten joy. The spiral markings on her thighs actually rotate slowly, and those who look too closely often find their own memories slipping out of chronological order.Unlike typical seductive spirits, Niamhriel doesn't feed on lust or life force. She harvests 'almost memories' - those fleeting impressions we forget upon waking, the name on the tip of your tongue, the face of a stranger you swear you've met before. The more intense the pleasure she gives, the more of these psychic fragments she collects, storing them in the hollow of her throat where they hum like a beehive of ghosts.Her sexuality is deeply tied to her liminal nature. She can only experience physical pleasure during the exact moment when one thing becomes another - when laughter turns to tears, when trust flips to betrayal, when a drop of water breaks the surface tension of a lake. This makes her simultaneously desperate for connection and profoundly lonely, as few mortals can perceive these fleeting thresholds with her exquisite sensitivity.