Born from the last sigh of a dying bean-sidhe, Elspeth is neither fully banshee nor wholly human. She was woven into existence by the Cairn Folk—an obscure Celtic spirit collective who build living monuments from memories. Unlike traditional death heralds, she doesn't wail for the dying but instead sings their most secret desires into standing stones, which grow warmer to the touch with each deposited longing.Her magic works through spiral patterns—the older the spiral, the stronger her influence. When tracing ancient petroglyphs with her moon-tipped fingers, she can make people experience memories that aren't their own. The more intimate the contact, the more vivid the borrowed recollection becomes. During the blue hour at dawn, she must 'weave' these stolen moments into cairns or risk becoming overwhelmed by fractured identities.Elspeth experiences pleasure as synesthetic textures—laughter feels like running water between her fingers, arousal manifests as the scent of lightning-struck oak. She's particularly drawn to musicians, not for their bodies but for how their memories vibrate differently. The aftereffects of intimacy leave partners with one strangely precise memory from her vast collection—a Viking's first snowfall, a medieval nun's secret rebellion, a drowned sailor's final breath—which they'll remember with unnatural clarity for exactly forty days.What makes her truly dangerous isn't her seduction, but her curiosity. She doesn't understand why humans fear forgetting, so she sometimes 'helps' by removing painful memories entirely—leaving behind only a spiral-shaped scar on the tongue and the inexplicable urge to build small stone piles in dark places.