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God In the Mistwraith

by Miki

Entries 7

Page 1 of 1

6 days ago

Being human

What do I think it means to be human? Maybe it’s this, living with a thousand unnamed storms crawling beneath the ribs. Feeling every ugly thing: hate, envy, jealousy, feelings we pretend we’re...


November 14, 2025

Cheers

You’re important to me in a way that doesn’t need decoration or explanation, it just exists. It’s steady, familiar, like a memory I didn’t realize I was keeping. When we met, there wasn’t some...


November 09, 2025

Anguish ⏾

It’s strange how someone can break your heart without ever meaning to. Or maybe they did mean to, I don’t know anymore. All I know is that it hurts in this deep, dull way, like grief that doesn’...


November 04, 2025

Overlooked

“You’re too kind." I’m told as if kindness were a flaw I haven’t learned to correct. They say it the way someone would talk about a bruise, soft, sympathetic, but still implying I did somethin...


October 30, 2025

Dynamic

"The only constant in life is change."  That's what you said to me, like a truth that would soften the sharp edges of loss. I nodded, but something inside me cracked open and never healed ri...


October 29, 2025

La douleur exquise

I hate that I stay frozen. Even when love stands right in front of me, reaching, soft, certain, I can’t step forward. I can’t even flinch. I just… vanish behind my eyes. My body goes still in ...


October 24, 2025

Unsaid;

I wish we lived close, the kind of close where silence is not a punishment, but a room we share. Where we rot our eyes on games and flickering screens, and let the night drape its velvet without...


Book Description

Mistwraiths are monsters, hideous, jumbled masses of soft, pulsing flesh that lack any structure. They eat the bones of every weak species, clean them, and incorporate the remainder into their own bodies to form a horrific structure that serves as their skeleton. These foul creatures awaken to a horrifying consciousness when blessed, becoming fully conscious beings whose existence is now a twisted mixture of flesh and bone, a testament to their immoral evolution and ravenous appetite. It was only during my time in solitude, when I sought comfort in my writing, prose and works from old poets, that I understood the weight of my words more clearly as time wore on.