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Miri Liadon

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2025

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26 Followers
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38 Stories

213 karma pts

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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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Blueberries

Margaret: I hugged my arms as a chilly breeze blew through the air. The mornings were still cold, even though it was almost summer. I quickened my pace. The path to the boarding house was uneven and strewn with rocks. It was a miracle I didn’t roll an ankle. You’d think that with twenty three boys regularly using this path, someone might put some effort into caring for it. You’d be wrong. I rapped on the door. It swung open, revealing the face of a redheaded boy who couldn't have been much older than me. He smiled, “You’re here for tha...

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Letters 6-10: The Eaglet

Dear Buttercup, I'm writing you from a ship that's just left the coast of Iraei. It's called the Eaglet. I don't have the money f I've found work in New Ookry, and although I'm not sure about and I'm hopeful. There’s a lot of good trade down there. There’s also a lot of thieves good company. It’s promising. I've only seen the sea once before. When I was seven, my dad took me. We spent a wole whole day on the beach, playing in the waves and chasing seagulls. That was before he died. He said we'd go. I haven’t been since. You’ve been to the ...

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Hollow Jars: The Pantheon

Hey. Look, you don’t want to read my story. I’m no hero. Can’t be sure I’ve ever done a lick of good in my life. I’m not even good with words. You won’t find any epic poetry here. But if you’re staying anyway, you might as well get cozy. All my life, I’ve been described as “angry”. I wasn’t smart like Athena, or hot like Apollo, or protective like Artemis, or helpful like Eileithyia. I was just “The Angry One.” Was I angry? Absolutely. Still am. Sometimes I wonder if I might not be such an angry guy. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’...

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Dust to Dust: A Tale From Andra

- .... . / .-. .. - ..- .- .-.. My heart beat fast in my chest as I tried to steady the shaking of my hands. I wasn’t the first to do this. I wouldn’t be the last. Protect them. I stabbed the knife downward. Cracks split through the tiles of the floor, where it was buried hilt-deep in the Dustone. “I can’t.” My voice was barely a whisper. Tears threatened to fall down my face. My grandfather was right. I’m not strong enough. “What?” “I can’t do it!” I shouted now, the words torn from my throat. My tears finally fell. The droplets hi...

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Like a Whale

Friday Night: Shortly After Round 2 “Dude, aren’t you white?” I stared into his blue eyes as I–very gently–shoved him against the lockers. He stared at me, confused, probably because a near stranger was holding him by the shoulders and had–once again, very gently–shoved him against the locker behind him. “I’m an eighth Canadian…” I tilted my head, “Native or…” I trailed off as he shook his head, “I meant I’m very white.” “You can’t be making racist jokes if you’re white. You shouldn’t be doing that anyway, but especially not if you’re...

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Dandelions

The slightly damp dirt soiled my jeans as I knelt in the flowerbed. It was weeding time. I grabbed low on the stem of a dandelion and tugged in out of the ground. Then I shoved it into the plastic Winco bag. I repeated this many times. I despise dandelions. Always have. The very sight of their white fluff fills me with violent rage. Where others (Naethan) may see the beauty of a wish not yet wished for, I only see a nuisance. A weed. And I hate weeds. Perhaps I’m being too dramatic. I’ve been told that before. That I get carried away. Like t...

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I Do Not Know

The wishes weren't magic, but I had always hoped there was power in them. Maybe there was. Maybe there was power in the way a human could hurt and hope at the same time. Maybe it was resilience. The way I had to fight to wish, and to hope. Maybe it was love that drove me to wish. I do not know. My first wish was that Arthur would get better. He’d been sick for so long. We knew he was dying. His wood had been burned. The wood that had been connected to his life force since his sixth birthday. Beck and I didn’t know who did it. For all we kn...

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