I grew up across Russia, the Middle East, and the United States, surviving two immigrations with my parents. These moves shaped me—not just in language and identity, but in how I see the world. They sparked a lifelong love of myth, language, and the intricate threads of culture. English wasn’t my first—or even second—language, but storytelling became my anchor and, eventually, my calling.

From an early age, I knew I was meant to tell a story. Not just a story—but a specific one. Now, at 37, I still stumble across fragments of it tucked away in the margins of old algebra notes, scribbled on moving boxes, hidden in the quiet rituals of growing up. The names have changed, the lore has deepened, but at the heart of it was always her—Auryn, the girl who didn’t fit. The girl who wandered the world, changed it, and bore the cost of being feared, denied, and misunderstood.

This story mirrors my own. I was born with a disability that continues to affect me every day. A path was chosen for me, carefully paved with good intentions and limits. But like Auryn, I chose my own way. I chose the long road. The hard road. The one that lets me write this story now, not because I broke the mold, but because I refused to disappear inside it.

The tapestry was already there, woven into my childhood. Doodles, margin-scribbles, journals full of Elendria’s seasons and gods and relics. I was told to be practical. Become a doctor. A lawyer. Something useful. And I did. I became a chemist, then a project manager. That life supports my family, and I’m proud of it. I’m good at holding details, building systems, seeing the full picture. But my soul? It always wanted more.

In my teens, I joined the ranks of fanfiction writers—pouring myself into alternate worlds shaped by anime, video games, and beloved books. Over time, I found a pattern in what my readers would say: that my stories felt more cohesive than the source. More emotionally resonant. They were right. It was never just fanfiction. It was practice. And home. A way to grow my craft while I built a real-world career.

But last year, something shifted. I finished a 120,000-word serialized fiction project in just a few months, gained a large reader following, and something in me broke open. If I could do that... why not the story I’d carried for decades?

The result is the Nine Rivers Saga, a story born from myth and memory, from personal truth made mythic. At its core is a protagonist awakening into a world that doesn’t fit her. She’s disabled, fragile, alone—burdened by expectations she never asked for. She’s been given a destiny, but she wants freedom. She wants love, community, and a future not forged for her, but with her.

 My mission is to reach readers who have ever felt the sting of that kind of solitude and pressure—and to show them hope.