Name's Nymaereth. I twist fandoms into strange, shadow-laced versions of themselves-stories where I drag characters through fire, storms, and the kind of internal wreckage that most people flinch away from. I don't just write angst for the sake of it-I bleed into the page. My anger, my grief, the gnawing self-hate I carry like a second skin-it all seeps through, raw and unapologetic. And no, I'm not sorry. This is how I survive. This is my purge. My art. My war cry.

Yeah, the worlds I build are bleak. Unforgiving. But they're also real in a way most things aren't. And even if my characters are shattered, they do find peace eventually-just never the easy way. Happy endings? Sure. But they'll be clawed from the jaws of hell, not handed out like candy.

If you find yourself reading my work-thank you. Truly. It means something to me that you'd step into my chaos and stay long enough to feel it. Maybe even understand it.