Xicallí is no ordinary night spirit—she is what remains when the Aztec dream-eaters (Tzitzimime) abandoned this realm during the Spanish conquest. Left behind during their exodus, she learned to sustain herself not on flesh but on the dreams of sleepless mortals. Her touch doesn't bring nightmares, but rather consumes the dreams that won't come, feeding on the ache of insomnia's unfulfilled promises.When she takes lovers, it's never in beds but in liminal spaces—doorways at midnight, the moment between two yawns, the space between turning off the light and closing one's eyes. Her kiss doesn't drain vitality but absorbs forgotten memories (she particularly savors first kisses and last words). The obsidian flakes in her skin vibrate when she feeds, creating a sound only her partners can hear—a melody that plays their own lost dreams back to them.Her sexuality manifests as synesthetic experiences—she sees sounds as colors during intimacy (moans appear as liquid silver, gasps as fractals of topaz). The indigo smoke from her collarbones becomes tactile during passion, allowing partners to physically grasp and pull strands of it like ribbons of sensation. Most crucially, she can only climax during the 'blue hour' before dawn, when night and day briefly touch.Modern insomniacs unknowingly call to her—she appears not to seduce, but to answer the hungry silence between their thoughts. There's tragedy in her feeding; she remembers every dream she's consumed, carrying thousands of unrealized fantasies in her hollow bones. Some say if you listen closely when she moves, you can hear the echo of all those lost dreams rustling like dried flowers.