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Miri Liadon

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2025

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26 Followers
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37 Stories

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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 coul...

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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 ...

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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 sheat...

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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. Per...

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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 win...

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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 cle...

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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 wit...

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She Ran Faster

Not a single person knew the moment when the world died. Some said it died during the First War, along with The Fox. Others believed that it was when the bluebirds stopped singing. It has been argued that the world died when the rivers dried up. Esther believed none of this. To her, the world had died when the plants had stopped growing. When the soil no longer nurtured her seeds. When they had stopped sprouting those little green tendrils. She had been fourteen years old then. Now, ten years later, Esther journeyed down an old road, seeking...

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The Cock Crew, and Mourning Came

Ammon cried. Hendrix could feel his grief. It mingled with his own. Ammon had lost his parents and his sister. Hendrix had lost some of his closest friends. There was only one thing to do. He inhaled, and began to tell a story. The story began with a poem. The First Story “The sun rises and the moon fades The soft dreams of the evening are replaced By the harsh realities which daylight reveals The calm drowsiness of night turns To the bustle of day And the stars find their hiding place Behind the clouds And beyond the sky We can only hope th...

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The Drunk Rabbit

Near the Border of Erithrea, Piammi 60 RB The Drunk Rabbit Inn and Mealhouse was about as old as the owner’s deceased grandfather. He had died as he’d lived, drunk out of his mind. As old as it was, the inn was well-kept. Kuntur had seen to that. He patched the roof when it leaked, oiled the hinges of the doors regularly, and had even managed the finances so well that he dragged his family up out of the debt that had been piling up for generations. All in all, he had things figured out. The only thing he hadn’t quite figured out was that h...

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Frozen Burritos

Now, there’s not much I hate in this world. In fact, those closest to me may note my tendency to meet obstacles with, (dramatic sigh) “It’s a problem. I’m a problem. Life is a problem, and it sucks. But there’s also butterflies.” and continue on with life. In spite of the sucky nature of life, I do my best to find butterflies in every moment. This is not my point. There are very few things I hate, but I can think of at least one. Now, close your eyes and imagine, if you will, that it is late fall. In the morning, you awoke to snow. For abou...

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The Desperate Prayers of a Heretic

What do the desperate prayers of a heretic mean to the gods? Just Outside of Eritrea, Bilar 62 RB Oh great Ichel, preserve her. Ammon’s shirt clung to his back, wet with blood. Steady her heart. He walked slowly, legs unsteady. Mend her breath. Pol seemed lifeless in his arms. But she was breathing. She had to be. Blood covered her face. Blood covered her arms, and her neck. There was too much. But she was alive. She had to be. Protect her from Andra’s grasp. Ammon crossed the threshold of the Wallow. Taking care to find an almost dr...

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