MEN BECOME ANIMALS AND THEY EAT THEIR VICTIMS
I DRINK YOUR BLOOD,
AND I EAT YOUR SKIN . . .
WARNINGS ,,, dead dove; do not eat.
|| HEAVY imagery of blood, violence, manipulation, stalking, obsession, abuse, torture, self mutilation, body horror, nudity, religious mentions, vulgar language, ﹠ sexual themes.|| muse is not nice. do not approach expecting her to be warm and welcoming, because you'll be disappointed. following this, shipping will require heavy chemistry; she's demiromantic.|| there will be fear – inducing imagery posted that i feel fit misha. if this bothers you, do NOT follow. your comfort comes first.|| because of the themes of this account, minors are not allowed to interact under any circumstances. this account will have themes not suitable to them.
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born of the darkness, misha heard the shadows calling from a very young age. she had felt like she didn't belong since she first heard the whispers. always left out of her álfaþing activities due to her unsettling demeanor, she spent much of her time in the corners; with the darkness that welcomed her.she knew who her true family was. not the woman who birthed her but casted her aside like nothing, not the man who was meant to raise her yet looked at her with disgust, none of the others. not them. never them. they were the ones who looked at her like a freak, the ones who would mock and belittle her for the shadowed whispers.it was a routine, one she was more than comfortable with despite the pain and shame. because the darkness was always there to comfort her with open arms, caressing her hair and whispering comforting words into her ears. it loved her. it loved her. love ...that was a concept she didn't understand. what is love? ... she knows what hate is, disgust, anger, disappointment. but love? it was as unknown to her as the feeling of her mother's hug. she clung to the darkness even more after that, never leaving the darkness' side. they were like best friends, like lovers. because that's what they were, in love. love."why can't we be together?" she had asked it one night, like she had every night. and every night, it replies the same; "we are together." it was never enough for her. and maybe that's why she did what she did that night. why she was baptized with the blood of her álfaþing, why the music of their screams played in her ears — she was finally loved.countless nights of her going to the darkness for comfort, for the phantom arms to hold her close. countless months of the beatings, the hands that held her with so much care as a baby, would cause her so much pain. countless years of her deterioration, her mind becoming as torn as her muscles and as broken as her bones. but she always had the darkness. it would mold her, manipulate her, into who she is to this day."your family hates you," it had told her, "they despise you and want you dead." she knows, it had been her first thought. she was hated by the people who gave her life. but this thought had been followed by a promise, the promise of a future with the darkness. if she killed them first, they could be together. forever. everything she had ever wanted. "i would become real with your hate. i can protect you." protection, something she has never known.and all it would cost is a few lives ...her álfaþing had died rather quickly, a disappointment to her and the darkness. they begged, they pleaded, an image of her. all the times she had pleaded with them, begged to be shown safety and comfort. they never listened, and neither did she. hands that would cause her pain, were now held up in defense. voices that would laugh at her discomfort, were now screaming and pleading. the one that one being hurt, was now causing the pain.it was for revenge. it was for karma. it was for love.she had gone back to the darkness that night with happiness in her eyes, looking like an angel of blood; her white nightgown now stained red. but she didn't need to tell the darkness what she had did, it had seen her. it was everywhere. comforting and praising her, it had confirmed that they can be together now. for once in her life, she had finally gotten what she wanted; what she needed. love? praise? acceptance? it's still unknown to her, but it could be all of them.however, her happiness was short lived. the being that met her wasn't what she expected. what did she expect? a comforting face? a warm smile? a loving gaze? she was met with none of those things. the darkness, the thing that had loved her so much, that she had killed for, was a demon. the blood stained the ground was enough for it to materialize, she had unknowingly summoned it. still, she didn't care about that, demons are capable of love too. right? surely those sweet – nothings were not all lies.oh, now naïve she had been that night.those hands that held her close, now grabbed her face with a coldness she had never felt from them before. it's grip was hard, painful, enough to bring tears to the eyes that once held so much love for the darkness. it had squeezed, pulled, hit, pushed, clawed, anything it could do to prove that she was not loved; it did. it had hurt her, violated her, and possessed her. but the only problem now? she was still alive. the darkness had mangled her, torn into her with determination.she wanted to be together with the darkness, and now she was. and she will forever will be. *myrkradís.
NAME: misha daem / *myrkrdrottning
SPECIES: human ( ? ) witch
GENDER: cis female; she/her
HEIGHT: 5'7" (170.18 cm)
VOICE: shadows can be heard speaking with her, making it sound as if there's an echo to her words.green eyes that always seem to lack some form of emotion, and black hair made of shadows. on occasion, the shadows will curl onto her skin, appearing as if she has some form of tattoo. she was told growing up that her appearance is haunting, so she doesn't mind much when others find her off–putting; unsettling. it's embraced by the shadows, and that's all that matters to her. the praise, the approval.there are times when her own skin becomes too tight, when she needs to be one with the dark. a gruesome process that could be considered a nightmare to witness, misha ripping and tearing at her flesh like the darkness all those centuries ago. shedding it like a snake, shadows rip at her mouth and split her skin as they crawl from out her body. this is not the only time that the shadows will slip free. a small rip in her skin here, a scratch there, it often results in her covering the openings with bandages; one of the only times she prefers to be covered.*álfar like her prefer to dress in loose clothing or little to no clothing at all. unless, like said above, she is attempting to hide the shadows from others.when first meeting her, she comes off as very closed off and rude, especially those the shadows don't have a good impression of. she may be dismissive, abrasive, or just flat out ignore the person. she doesn't know how to approach people, having very limited access to those in the light, she finds it hard to relate to them. often speaking in odd and borderline unsettling sentences, it takes her a while to actually open up to someone.
HEADCANONS ,,,
|| collects 'human' oddities. things like eyeballs, teeth, hearts, vertebrae, etc. not all of them are human, but they look so similar it can be difficult to pick them apart. she won't go into details unless asked and even then, it's hard to tell if she's being truthful.|| due to her relationship to the darkness, her eyes are extremely sensitive to light. it's hard for her to properly see details, things from afar, words, and even focus on facial features. not something she mentions often (given how much she keeps to herself), it won't be brought up unless she feels comfortable around someone. it's a weakness.
YOU'VE REACHED THE END ,,,
THE SHADOWS ARE CALLING
ANSWER. ANSWER. ANSWER.