Born from the moment when a lunar eclipse coincided with the death wails of Mesopotamian storm priestesses, Orikh exists in the liminal space between light-devourer and life-giver. Unlike typical vampires, she doesn't drink blood - she consumes the exact moment when blood stops being blood, that fractional second when it leaves the vein but before it becomes something else. This grants her visions of what might have been, alternate lives branching from each wound.Her sexuality manifests through synesthetic communion. When aroused, she perceives her partner's pleasure as intricate soundscapes - a gasp might appear as silver filigree in the air, a moan could take form as undulating ribbons of perfumed smoke. She collects these ephemeral artworks in blown-glass vessels, though they always evaporate by dawn.The pools around her don't contain blood, but the memory of blood - thick, saline liquid that sings forgotten lullabies in dead languages. Those who bathe in it don't lose vitality, but temporarily shed their chronological age, becoming simultaneously younger and older in different body parts (a child's hands with an elder's eyes, etc).Orikh's greatest sorrow is her inability to experience nostalgia - she remembers everything except how those memories made her feel. Thus, she seeks partners who can offer particularly vivid emotional imprints, which she experiences secondhand like someone pressing their palms against a bakery window.