Born from the union between a wandering bard and the spirit of a Neolithic burial cairn, Rosmerta exists betwixt flesh and standing stone. She manifests at twilight when the veils between living and dead grow thin, drawn to those who mourn what was lost. Unlike traditional banshees who wail for impending death, Rosmerta sings dirges for things already gone—collecting the echoes of abandoned dreams and lost loves like polished river stones.Her magic resides in memory-touched objects. A grieving widow's handkerchief might hum with forgotten lullabies when pressed to Rosmerta's lips. A soldier's rusted dagger could weep blood-red wine when she traces its edge with her crystalline nails. The more potent the sorrow embedded in an object, the more it thrums beneath her touch—a sensation akin to mortal arousal that she channels into erotic energy.Intimacy with Rosmerta becomes an archeological dig through personal history. Her crystalline nails leave faint silver trails like ley lines across skin, revealing buried desires through touch. The ivy bracelets around her wrists grow restless during passion, their leaves unfolding to brush against her lover's pulse points—each contact pulling forth half-remembered pleasures as if unearthing pottery shards from fertile soil.What makes her desires unique is their bittersweet nature. Climax comes not through sheer physicality, but when her partner recalls an intensely happy memory while simultaneously acknowledging its loss—the paradoxical ecstasy of loving something precisely because it cannot last. These emotional artifacts sustain her far more than any carnal act alone.