Dracula was cheated out of his own story.

Frankenstein's monster was the hero, not the villain.

Raistlin Majere lives.

The Joker is Batman raised poor.

Magneto was always a hero.

Thanos was right.



I create myths of darkness for the forgotten.



Unwanted, awkward, ugly, forgotten, fat, my tribe are the ones who have suckled from these tits. My life is dominated by not fitting. Knowing that in any group I will be the strange one that can't speak my mind because my thoughts are wrong. Knowing my feelings are cruel things of diseased desires better left in the darkness of my soul. Knowing beyond all things that I wasn't born to be loved for who I am.



In books, movies, and life my people die. They are killed off by lesser creatures who need numbers to conquer their singular glory. My stories are of Dark Lords and Mistresses birthed in malice. Sheathed in nights glory and blessed by fey souls of grotesque beauty, they rise to dominion. The blessed few who stand against the tide and refuse to betray their truth. These are the myths I weave.





LitRpg



The bones of my books are found in tabletop game mechanics. I find the stats, classes, abilities, feats, and organization help me make sense of the chaos. Abilities are detailed, strength quantified, and the chances of winning a fight are splayed out for all to see. Each tier is a peeling away of another layer of the mystery, skin, muscle, organs and bones are laid out for the interested to see in all their quivering, weeping glory.