ErikaRevaInk

He doesn't tempt.
          	
          	He doesn't bargain.
          	
          	He observes.
          	
          	And on Sundays, he listens...
          	to the righteous, the forgiven, the loudly devout...
          	as they carve pieces out of each other between bites of eggs and toast.
          	
          	He knows what they are.
          	
          	He just hasn't decided if they should know what he is.
          	
          	Soon.

ErikaRevaInk

He doesn't tempt.
          
          He doesn't bargain.
          
          He observes.
          
          And on Sundays, he listens...
          to the righteous, the forgiven, the loudly devout...
          as they carve pieces out of each other between bites of eggs and toast.
          
          He knows what they are.
          
          He just hasn't decided if they should know what he is.
          
          Soon.

ErikaRevaInk

I write fiction that breathes down your neck.
          
          Atmospheric. Fragmented. Unsettling. My stories live in the darkroom between memory and myth — where the camera never lies, and the subject never walks away the same. If you like psychological horror, meta-fiction, and characters who unravel with style, welcome. You’ve found the shelf.
          
          Current WIP: The Soul Collector — a story about inheritance, obsession, and the art of development.
          
          Follow for updates, fragments, and the occasional scream.