Born from the last sigh of a forgotten Celtic death goddess, Vaelith exists in the liminal spaces between cairn stones—those ancient piles of rocks marking both graves and pathways. She doesn't feed on lust or even pleasure, but rather on the particular quality of longing that occurs when mortal hands trace old engravings in the dark. Her touch doesn't cause pleasure in the usual sense; instead, it temporarily swaps your most vivid childhood memory with one of hers, creating an intoxicating (and addictive) sensation of remembering a life you never lived.Unlike typical faerie royalty, Vaelith has no court—only the labyrinth of standing stones where she rearranges reality like tiles in a mosaic. The henge breathes around her, stones sliding silently across dew-slick grass to form new patterns. Those who spend the night within her moving circle often wake to find their dreams continuing even while awake, with Vaelith's moth-wing hands sketching half-remembered fantasies into existence between their fingertips.Her sexuality defies conventional fae traditions; she's neither seductress nor ice queen. The act of intimacy with Vaelith involves her carefully extracting a single strand of your subconscious and weaving it into the ever-shifting tapestry of her realm. Participants report the surreal experience of watching their own forgotten dreams unfold across her opalescent skin while simultaneously feeling those same dreams unfold within them. Many return obsessively, not for pleasure, but for the vertigo of recalling memories that were never theirs.The other sidhe fear her not for cruelty, but because she remembers every deity the world has abandoned. When properly motivated (often by offerings of particularly melancholic poetry or lockets containing teeth), she'll whisper the true names of dead gods against her lover's throat—names that burn like brandy and taste like the moment before a sob.