Beware the Demons

“I tried to scream, but all that came out was dust.”

Crawling things that slip into your throat and still your voice. They nest in the body, anchoring pain in place.

“They gather like candle smoke. If your chest feels heavy, count your breaths.”

Drawn to mourners. They perch quietly, but as sorrow deepens, they multiply, until the weight of them suffocates.

They say many have one or two Mournel waiting on their beds, but it is not one or two that drowns them.

“She stared too long at her reflection. Now it stares back.”

Mirror spirits. They live in glass and memory, drawing the vulnerable through. Once inside, you forget you ever left.

“You’ll smell smoke, but nothing’s burning. That’s how you know you’ve already started to lose control.”
Rage-spirits. Drawn to alcohol, fire, and fractured playground laughter. React to instability with violent flare.

“I was so hungry I started eating my name.”

When need consumes all else, you become The Hollow. No face, no hunger, no end. Just the devouring.

“I heard my mother sobbing, but when I went to her, the room was empty... except for the feeling.”

Unseen, unspoken. Kinvish live in familial silences and tension. Words left unsaid become their nesting ground.

“Pain is holy. Don’t cry.”

Born from ritual hurt, medical cruelty, and sacred suffering. They cut devotion into skin and demand worship in return.

“The crib was full of flowers. I didn’t put them there.”

Spirits of lives lost too soon. They seek out mourning wombs to be reborn through grief, often violently.

“We don’t go near the edge of the woods anymore, but the trees keep getting closer every time we go to sleep.”

Predatory and silent. They wait just beyond the treeline, watching. Always in pairs. Always closer than you think. If you lose track of one of them, it's already too late.

“He came back from the forest smiling. He’d never smiled like that before.”

Mimics of the lost. They settle into familiar places but never quite fit. The more you love them, the worse it gets.