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Miri Liadon

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2025

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19 Followers
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27 Stories

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The Lying Smile

Iosef Ladokis was not the richest man in Laokeia. In fact, if one asked the wealthiest men what they thought of him, few would recognize his name. Persephone wasn’t sure she cared. After all, he was wealthier than her father, though of a slightly lower rank. And he was said to be a kind man, at least by the less wealthy yet well-respected people who were lucky enough to cross his path. Her father’s match might not have made her happy, but she saw the practicality of it. Perhaps she could manage indifference. Persephone ran a brush through he...

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The Cypher

The gym was dim. It was also loud. People danced in several scattered groups of varying sizes. Two cyphers had formed. One large one in the center of the room, and a smaller one to the left. Anne joined the cypher in the center. Three guys were doing push-ups in the center of the circle, to the beat of the music. Anne joined in cheering them on. She wasn’t about to tell them that wasn’t real dancing. That would feel elitist. The cheers grew louder as the guys kept going. One guy dropped off, grinning and mumbling something Anne couldn’t he...

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There Are No Empty Spaces

I have eleven things to remember my younger brother by. First, his name. James. His middle name shared with my grandfather. Of Tongan origin. His last name is mine as well. Second, a memory. Faint and blurry. A day that might have been his funeral. I was so little. I didn’t understand. My family and I, we stood in the cemetery, holding balloons. I loved balloons. Everyone let theirs go. I didn’t want to let mine go. I refused, and my mom yelled at me. I released the balloon, and it floated, up, up and away. I remember crying. Was that day a ...

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All the Legs

“Nobody believed in me. That was their first mistake,” Pranee took a breath, a serious expression on her face, “It was the summer of my four-” Harriet cut her off, “That’s not true.” Pranee dropped the public speaking tone, “Excuse me?” She folded her arms, leaning back against the green park bench, “Your parents have always believed in you. Ms. Breen believed in you. Rad believes in us. Trevor believes in us. I believe in us.” Pranee sighed, “That’s not the point.” Harriet shrugged, “Sounds like it’s the point.” Pranee rolled her eyes, “I o...

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Making Up the Difference

It was never the child’s fault. When the world died, the light dimmed. Not fully. Certainly not. But enough that lines of morality blurred. Enough that one couldn’t quite tell right from wrong, until the guilt of one’s mistakes tore into oneself. The child’s father was a copper smith. He sold bowls, and pans, and jewelry, mostly. He used to sell clockwork toys, but there was no time for those anymore. What had once been symbols of human ingenuity now seemed tacky in comparison to the useful firefly fluid or greytack. Every day, he took the ...

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Waking to a Nightmare

Marit: The night was bright. Light flickered throughout the village. Unsteady. Dangerous. Terrible. Fire. Marit ran. Her feet fell haphazardly along an old hunting trail. The one which her papa had shown her. The wind whipped at her face. Smoke burned in her lungs. The trail wound around an old elm tree, the one with the face-shaped knot. Past the brook where she’d thought she’d found gold once. Past the hill she’d rolled down countless times. These places were a blur. She couldn’t see them past her tears. Her memories were a blur. She co...

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Planted in a Pickle Jar

Restington, West Virginia was not the sort of place people flocked to. It wasn’t well known by the people outside of its area. And the people who did know about it rarely desired to live there. After all, it was dangerous. Supposedly. Naethan wasn’t sure he believed the rumors of magical happenings and eerie laughs. Of course, that didn’t stop him from jumping at the opportunity to see one of the Eternal Ladies for himself. Naethan watched Lydia as they walked down the path to Little Island. Her shoulders were tight, raised slightly. The kno...

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It Formed in the Absence of Stars

This story contains mentions or themes of: physical violence, gore, or abuse, and sexual violence.The first time, it was formed in the wind. Was it alive? Perhaps. It wasn’t sure. It had no body. No eyes to see. No hands to feel. No ears to hear. Yet, it heard.It heard a call in the distance. One of desperation. Of pain. Of fear. So, it answered swiftly.It rocketed through the stagnant forest, running through the air. Invisible in its beauty. The air might have rushed past it, had it been of substance. Instead, it simply moved. Past time and...

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The Brilliant, Lovely Things

Embla hummed an old song as she sat by the hearth. She was glad for the warmth. Particularly so late in winter, when the wind howled and tore at the house mercilessly. Embla had hated winter as a child. They way it broke things. The way it seemed to bring the world closer to death. The way it crept in, slowly, banishing warmth and growth. Nowadays, practically nothing grew, even in spring. Nothing except people. Mateo slept soundly in her arms. His breath whistled with each fall of his tiny chest. She smiled, the lines at the corners of her...

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One Quick Slash

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse as well as themes or mentions of suicide or self harm. Dreu:“Checkmate.”Dreu grinned. The blue-ish steel of his blade glinted in the noonday sun. The tip of his rapier pointed at Perrin’s heaving chest. His younger brother’s face was red from exertion, sweat sticking his orange curls to his forehead, and Dreu imagined himself to be in a similar state.Perrin rolled his eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he sheathed his rapier, “This isn’t chess.”Dreu sheathed ...

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A Perfect Day to Die

Marit fell. The wind whipped her face, tearing a scream from her lungs. As the water rapidly neared, she braced herself for impact. She hit the water.And woke up.Her heart pounded in her chest as she gasped for air.It was a dream. It was a dream. It was a dream. It was a dream.She calmed her breathing, laying her head back on the cold stone floor of the cell.Under different circumstances, she might have hesitated to lay her head on the floor. It was covered in dirt and grime, and seemed as if it hadn’t been cleaned for a long while. Perhaps ...

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The First of Her Work Was Done

The Monster walked the old road. For once, he had company other than the shadows in his head. A woman named Esther. A child named Mateo. He distanced himself from the child as much as he could. The Monster assumed the child was scared of him. And he had a right to be. The Monster was afraid of himself. The child spoke, “Where are we going?” The Monster knew. He didn’t answer. The question was addressed to Esther. The Monster watched as Esther looked down at him, “The Old Temple.” “Why?” “I have a question.” “What question?” “If the plants ca...

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The Jade Bracelet

The streets of Laokeia bustled with activity even in the early hours of morning. The sun painted the clouds in the pinks and purples that so many merchants in the silk district claimed their fabrics emulated.The house was not small. Though hardly anything could be small when compared to the packed-together dwellings of central Laokeia. Then again, the house could barely be called large. One might say it was on the large end of medium. Unless, of course, one lived in the cramped center of the city.Birds sang in the trees near Polyxena’s windo...

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Almost a Quarter

Dear World,How must I define myself? Is there a label for me, short of my name and full identity? Not for my ethnicity. Apparently. In a world of absolutes, there is no room for the girl who’s ‘almost a quarter’ Tongan. There certainly isn’t in the tags for these short stories. If I chose to write a story about Otai, it would inevitably be lost in the sea of other tales. At this point, I’m okay with that. I don’t need to stand out.All I need, for the moment, is an outlet. A way to express myself. A way to put myself out there. A way to clear...

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Well, I'll Have to Call You Something

The child’s name was Mateo. He loved butterflies. Or, at least, that’s what he’d told Esther. She knew he’d never seen one. He was too young. Of course, she wasn’t about to tell him to change. Butterflies had been lovely, when they had been alive. They walked together down the old road, stepping in time to that song no one knew. Esther was aware of the dangers of the road. And yet, she was unaware of the danger she would soon face. Mateo didn’t talk much. He was quiet. Observant. Esther wasn’t sure whether he was like that before the man wi...

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