Magic and More with @MoriKaithor!

Hei! I’m Mori Kaithor, I’m French and I’m currently a student in book publishing. I would love to become a full time writer in the future but otherwise I’ll be content with being able to do it just as a passion. I’m trying to pick up as many skills as I can but I’m often way too lazy still I managed to be a decent cook and speak five languages outside of French (Spanish, English, Danish, Turkish and currently learning Korean), I know it doesn’t look like I’m a lazy person but I have a ratio of 70% procrastination so it leaves me 30% to be efficient (note that the ratio still works in my time to be efficient).

MM: What do you love most about writing? What speaks to you?

MK: I just love to create, if I didn’t write I would have looked for another media to support my creation, most likely video games or comics in collaboration with a drawer. I have a large universe in my head and I really had to let it out at some point because it started to make me depressed to not show it. In short, world building is my stuff and novella ensue 🙂

MM: So, what have you written?

MK: I wrote quite a fair lot of shorts before starting my fantasy series to train myself a bit I would say. I am pretty fond of horror for short stories and sometimes I write humoristic ones but I keep those for myself because I think its way too offensive for anyone else but me 🙂

I also tried many formats to write like three sentences stories or ten words stories to be as efficient as possible in showing my narration intent and convey it to the reader.

MM: When did you know writing was for you?

MK: My English teacher made us do a writing project where I had to write a gothic tale and it just went bam in my head I should do that. Since then, I’m having my fun defining my universe.

MM: What are you working on at this minute? What was the inspiration for it?

MK: Currently, I’m writing Tales of SeliVatis: Timelines, it’s a weekly fantasy serial and it marks the start of a somewhat historic anthology of my universe. I won’t write any novella about the events before the start of the book (probably) and I will show how the societies evolve with magic instead of technology. If you want to know what happens before E1820, the year at the start of my book, I have The Everything Book, it’s a lore book written by an important character of my story, The Librarian, an immortal individual that holds many secrets of the world. In this lore book, you’ll learn about many things in my universe: countries, magic, religions…

It’s a lore book, duh.

I was inspired by reading way too much tropes and thought about how I could add my own spice to those already overused and defined themes like time travels, Chosen Ones (I hate those btw)…

MM: What was the first story you ever remember writing, and what was it about? How does it compare to your writing now?

MK: It was about a blue monster that ate fingers except if you gave him chocolate sticks. It was supposed to be humoristic at first but it slowly became an horror story, I stored it somewhere but I think I would cringe a lot reading it.

MM: Do you work to an outline or do you prefer to just see where an idea takes you? Plotter or Pantser?

MK: I’m a hybrid, I like to know where I’m going sure so I already have all my chapters organised in bullet points lists till chapter 50 so I know what characters does what or where they are going.

Then, I’m doing the pantser stuff, I read my bullet points and I let the flow going until my imagination is dry.

MM: What draws you to flash-fiction, to #FP? What do you love and hate about it?

MK: I like flash fiction or #FP for experimentation mostly, I like to try out sentences I could probably put somewhere in a future story and see how well it works. Like I said before, it’s all about being efficient in your words.

MM: Who are your writing inspirations? How do they influence your creativity?

MK: I love surreal artists like Dali, especially because they try to explore the human mind which I try to do as well when I create a diverse cast of characters.

I’m pretty fond of absurd comedy from authors like Alfred Jarry or Eugene Ionesco, dark themes under the disguise of comedy. This is probably where I got my somewhat cynical tone in my work.

Finally, Tolkien and Adrzej Sapowski for the fantasy themes they put in their works that inspired me greatly.

MM: What is your favorite motivational phrase or musing on writing, and why? What about it really hits home?

MK:Mistakes are almost always of a sacred nature. Never try to correct them. On the contrary: rationalize them, understand them thoroughly. After that, it will be possible for you to sublimate them.”

Salvador Dali

That has been my mentality since a long time, everyone does mistakes. If you can’t understand where or when you’re wrong you’ll never progress and that’s how I try to grow as an artist and as a person.

MM: What is the hardest thing about writing for you?

MK: For me, it’s adjusting the pieces of the puzzle in my head. It’s not hard to have ideas but the hard thing comes when you want to develop that ideas into chapters and divide that idea into an organised mess than you can start putting on paper.


MM: What do you tell yourself every time it gets hard? Every time the stars stop aligning? What do you do when writer’s block knocks on your creative door?

MK: If it gets hard, I take a little break, forcing myself will only result in something that is completely bland or uninteresting at least for me. If I still can’t write for a few days, I just write a sentence every day until my flow goes back. Finally, if I’m really hard on the writer’s block train, I’m switching WIP, I write a short story so my main WIP can mature for a few weeks until I go back to it.

MM: Do you have any secret and wacky writing rituals that help the words flow?

MK: I generally like to have my five senses occupied to be able to concentrate on the writing, otherwise it’s really hard for me to focus.

In five steps it looks like that:

-Eyes on the computer

-Metal/classical music in my ears until my ears are ringing

-Chewing on something, generally a piece of gum or chocolate or drinking a cup of tea

-Hand on the mouse

-Incense burning

Then I’m completely ready, in general, to write something.

MM: What advice would you give to aspiring writers and poets, anyone who wants to free the art within? What helped you make it to this point?

MK: If you have it, do it you can just make art for yourself. Art is not always meant for other, sometimes it’s just medication for yourself, it can be your little secret garden.

I don’t really know what helped me to that point, probably sheer willpower but I’m still not sure.

MM: What genres do you find yourself most drawn to? In your books and in your #FP’s?

MK: I’m mostly attracted to fantasy, sci-fi and horror because those three are closely related and you can pretty much use all the theme in one of these genre to make it in another one. Also these genres are the ones I made my culture with, excluding the classics. In #FP, it depends sometimes I can have a nice line of romance (even if I hate writing that), themes call different points of view and I try switching as much as possible to try something out.

MM: Sooo … reading anything good lately? Any recommendations?

MK: I read the entire Witcher series after getting into the game I love the English translations it’s absolutely amazing J.  I almost regret that some good part got skipped in the game.

There is also On Ugliness by Umberto Eco that is great for people that have interest in art or history and for research purposes. It’s illustrated and classified by themes and it’s a really good source of knowledge. I love the part about Witchcraft.

Finally, since I’m a poor student, I can’t buy all the books I want so I read everything that interest me for free, so here’s some good works by some Twitter pals you can read for free.

-Victorian Mistress by Jesse Stuart, if you want something out of the nowadays stereotypical teenager vampire story.

-Beaufort Scales by Kim M. Watt, a great collection of short stories with an amazing dragon.

-A Patriot’s Tale by Nicole Pierman, historical fiction in the setting of the American Revolution.

MM: Any last thoughts for our readers?

MK: First, shout out to my friend @Daiyana_Cosplay who drew my profile picture, she’s a cosplayer and an amazing artist overall. Check her out on Twitter, I’m sure she’ll love it!

Top ten maltesers in a bag of maltesers:

  • The first one
  • The one you get after working on your book
  • The on at the end of the bag
  • The one in the handful you took
  • The one that is stuck to another one
  • The one that you ate in half to check its inside
  • The one that you confused for your stroopwafel
  • The one you throw on your computer out of rage
  • The one that you put in your pistol replica
  • The one that you put in the box of gums to confuse co-workers

I’m ending it with two quotes from Jean-Claude Van Damme, it’s unrelated but I do what I want.

“If you talk to your bleach when you’re washing dishes, it’s less concentrated.”

“If you phone a psychic and she doesn’t answer the phone before it rings, hang up.”

MM: How can readers discover more about you and you work?  

MK: Well, I have a twitter @MoriKaithor, a Wattpad still Mori Kaithor and I used to have a blog which I’ll reopen at some point so I can fill you in with random stuff and useless top tens.


        A Bargain     

 By Mori Kaithor


Eric could not believe what he found in his backyard, a key with a sticker “Basement” on it. He moved only one week ago and wondered why he could not open the door while the nervous and fidgety landlord gave him supposedly all the keys.

He could remember how he came across the “deal of the century” like he said himself, after trying numerous real estate agencies. One day, Eric, following a failed deal -related to the poor student situation he was in- was accosted by a thin man with bags under his eyes but clearly well-dressed once he went out of the agency.

The man proposed him a deal, he could offer him a house ten times better than any of the offers he tried for just a hundred euros of rent monthly. What a bargain!

As any of you would have been suspicious, Eric, naive as he was followed him without a second thought.

But he was not lying apparently, the thin man led him just a few meters further from their original position, passing a public park with the promised housing at the end of the stone path.

Eric could not believe that such a manor could be rented for just a hundred, he did not think two times before handshaking the landlord. They both entered the property and signed the deal in minutes.

“Oh well.’ Eric thought. “I should not worry too much about those matters, I have everything I want.”

He picked up the key, stuffed it into his pocket and went back to the manor. The manor was a work of art, taller than the surrounding trees, large red stone walls and a garden that you could fall in love with. Eric thought that perhaps the cost of a hundred was due to the fact that the large bell that used to be suspended in the bell tower was sitting in an unstable manner on the second floor after crushing the upper ones. But the landlord assured him that it was safe.

He admired the horizon one last time, returned home and dashed into bed.

His sleep was agitated, he dreamed about cities and people chanting in a circle. The chant slowly seeped into his mind until he mumbled.

“The Green is the colour of Man. The Door is a Rainbow. We are the Light, your Gaze is a Shadow.” He repeated in the same rhythm with long pauses between each sentence.

Suddenly the dream stopped when he sworn something grabbed his soul, a weird sensation. It was similar to having your head squished by a hydraulic pump and losing every marker of time and space.

But he could not wake up, he was trapped in a state of semi-sleep with a paralyzed body. Eric did not know what to do, pinned to his bed by phantom hands on every limb. Slowly, figures started to draw themselves in the dark. First the nose, then the jaw and finally the eyes. Their mouths were sewn by a red thread. Suddenly one of them put his hands on both of his cheeks and stared directly into his eyes.

“I am the potter, you are the clay. You are the lost lamb, we are the shepherds.” The shadow whispered in an ear-ripping voice.

Another one took the place of the first with the same gesture.

“You must bow. I am Three.” This one whispered in a calm but irritating voice.

The last one did not replace the second in the same position but still whispered in an energetic but nasty voice.

“Your river is fear, mine is mercy. Your heart is stone, mine let the river flow.”

Once they were done, they disappeared in the shadows of his home, leaving him staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open and bloodshot.

Silence. Sensations slowly returned to his body, he could move his fingers, slightly, but not much more for the time being.

Eric felt drained, emotionally in particular because of the nightmarish figures. He continued to fight his own body for a moment to try to jump to the bathroom in order to clear his mind and when it finally happened, his own strength surprised him and he fell off his bed. While laying on the floor like a poor imitation of a turtle, blood started oozing out of his nose due to the impact.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, opposite to his bedroom, crawling on the floor, partially stunned and bloody.

Then, Eric pulled himself up using the sink and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He was in a bad shape -similar to the consequences of a street fight- and more importantly, the visions could not be erased from his mind. He was dizzy and unsteady on his feet but cleaned himself up with splashes of water and a towel.

Eric grumbled and went back to his bed, limp-legged.

“What a nightmare.” He thought. “I hope I did not break anything with my fall…”

Thus, his first week in his manor ended on a sour note, to say the least.

In the morning, Eric could not take his breakfast. His hand was aimlessly dipping his buttered bread in his coffee. After all, he could not forget last night. His eyes wandered through the windows until he caught another disturbing sight. A puppet-like figure, limbs tied by strings, making slows steps in his garden before disappearing in a cast of mist. He dropped his bread, causing his coffee to splash on his white shirt and more importantly some burning pain.

He screamed more of surprise than agony but he would be late if he were to change and thought he could hide the stain with his jacket.

This would later prove to be completely useless, the stain started from his collar to his armpit and could not be covered completely.


His day was terrible as well. Eric’s focus was at his lowest point and repeated a process similar to his bread with his pen and notebook.

Hallucinations kept bothering him, one in particular. His teacher’s face was changing to be more horrific hour by hour. It started “simply” with the skin shedding and falling on the ground but now, grey flesh grew back on the skull with dirty patches of hair at the wrong places -the throat for example- and more importantly, a new pair of eyes were floating near him, staring at Eric.

Eric breath started to be rugged after all the pressure he was put under these last hours. Most likely, he could not keep his face straight and the last spit of composure he might have is nowhere to be found. He stood up and went home in a hurry, even forgetting his notes and bag.

On his way home, he was assaulted by voices in his head.

“We are freedom. The Door is the Rainbow.”

“We are calling you, The Green is the colour of Man.”

“We are waiting for you. We are the Light, your gaze is a Shadow.”

With this, Eric began to perceive more and more perverse visions.

The most terrifying one was a child killing his father with a stone shot by a slingshot between the eyes.

The closer he was from his home, the stronger the voices and the visions were.

The phantomatic limbs again. Grabbing his limbs, slowed him down and the further he was going forward, the more he was pinned down to the ground. One step left from his door but he could not move anymore, the mass of arms finally stopped him. The three shadows stared at him, with a smile revealing crooked teeth.

“Come we are waiting. You have been chosen.” They whispered at the same time.

Then, they released him but the cold sensation of their hands stayed on his skin, unlike the other time. But at this point, Eric was not the same anymore, his instinct told him to go to the basement. They were waiting for him. His eyes became paler until his irises were blank and the way he moved, his humanity could be questioned.

Slowly, the front door was opened, the stairs to the basement were descended and Eric stood in front of the basement door. He knew he had to wait for something. A few moments later and the front door was closed, steps sounds were coming from the back. Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders. Eric did not react, he knew the thing he waited came.

“Come, Eric, the Masters are waiting for you.” The landlord whispered in his ear.

Then, the thin man took the basement key from his pocket and opened the basement. A room without light and a foul stench of decay.

“Akim, we are pleased.” Three voices shouted in the background.

“I am delighted of this honour. The device worked. I am ready to ascend.” The landlord answered.

“Come and be blessed.”

“Eric, it’s your turn now, bring them new devotees to serve them. The basement key is the device, plant it somewhere in the garden for the next initiate.”

The landlord opened Eric palm and put the key in his hand. Then, he engulfed himself in the back of the room. Silence before only sounds of bone-crushing and flesh tearing could be picked up.

“Eric, your duty is to bring us a new landlord. Once you did, you will ascend.” The three voices shouted.

“It will be my utmost pleasure.” Eric answered.



About the author


Musae Mosaic is the place where writers come to replenish the creative spirit with an amazing community of artists of all kinds! Everything we do is a celebration and a place to find a new creative family!

Leave a comment: