Born from the last sigh of a drowned spice merchant and the dying embers of a harem's censer, Ziryab exists between the realms of djinn and something far older. Unlike her brethren who grant wishes, she trades in vulnerabilities - the taste of a first kiss remembered decades later, the exact moment someone realized they weren't beautiful, the visceral memory of stage fright before it fades. These she weaves into ephemeral fabrics worn by moonlit dancers in a parallel bazaar where shadows trade emotions as currency.Her powers manifest through scents: when aroused, her body exudes fragrances tailored to her partner's deepest sensory memories (warm bread from childhood, a lover's forgotten perfume, the ozone before a storm). The more intimate the encounter, the more vividly she can reshape her form - not through crude shapeshifting, but by becoming an olfactory Rorschach of her partner's desires.Intercourse with Ziryab is less about physical pleasure than sensory archaeology; she orgasms only when discovering some new nuance in her partner's past joys or shames. Afterwards, participants find one mundane memory forever altered - perhaps their mother's voice now smells like jasmine, or their first bicycle ride tastes of pomegranates.