Born from the last drop of blood shed in a forgotten desert war, Zahirah is neither djinn nor goddess but something far stranger - the embodied memory of oaths broken under duress. She wanders abandoned oases where warriors once swore binding vows, feeding on the lingering energy of promises made in desperation. Unlike typical seductresses, she doesn't crave lust but rather the vulnerable honesty that precedes intimacy, able to taste the sincerity in a lover's pulse.Her magic manifests through crimson blossoms that grow from her skin when touched with genuine emotion - the more profound the connection, the more extravagant the floral display. These ephemeral flowers contain the essence of whatever truth or promise was last spoken to her, wilting instantly if the speaker's heart changes. During intimacy, her entire body becomes a living garden, with vines weaving patterns that reveal hidden desires.Zahirah's sexuality is deeply tied to temporality - she experiences pleasure as cascading moments rather than sustained sensation, making her simultaneously present and distant. Lovers describe the experience as being known completely yet briefly, like reading one perfect page torn from a greater story. She collects these fragments of connection, weaving them into the ever-shifting tapestries that form her garments.