Elisa Wontorcik

Joined December 2025

58 stories

Bio

Artist, writer, and ritual-maker reclaiming voice through chaos and creation. Founder of Embrace the Chaos Creations, I craft prose, collage, and testimony that honor survivors, motherhood, and mythic renewal.

Stories (58)

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Where the pulse went quiet . Content Warning.
Where the Pulse Went Quiet I felt it— not as thunder, but the slipping of thread through the needle of now. Her heartbeat faded into my fingers,
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Poets
The Raven
The raven is not scarcity. She is strike. She enters the sky as fracture, each wingbeat a cut, each shadow a declaration. She does not drift; she cleaves. Her feathers gather into storm, not burden but momentum, not weight but force.
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Chapters
The Mask of Severence
I chose the mask of refusal, sharp enough to cut ties, clear enough to survive. No softness, no apology— only the steel of boundaries,
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Poets
The Mask of Silence
I swallowed words until they turned to stone, heavy in the throat, silent in the room. Silence became my costume, stitched from fear of disbelief,
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Poets
The Mask of Motherhood
I wrapped myself in tenderness, a veil spun from sleepless nights and whispered lullabies. Motherhood became my mask— not of performance,
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Poets
The Mask of Joy
I laughed louder than the silence, my teeth a curtain, my voice a shield. Joy became my camouflage, painted bright across the cracks.
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Poets
The Mask of Strength
I wore resilience like armor, polished until it gleamed. The world saw steel, but inside— my bones rattled like glass.
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Poets
The Masks
We learn early that silence is not enough. So we stitch disguises from laughter, from busyness, from the glitter of being “fine.”
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Poets
The Grave of Silence. Content Warning.
They called me cruel. But they never looked at what they left behind. I wish they could see the broken side of me—the part they help create. The part that still wakes with me. Still follows me like a shadow, never gone, always just beneath the surface.
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Confessions
The first memory. Content Warning.
My first memory isn’t soft. It isn’t warm. It isn’t the kind of thing people smile about when they say “childhood.” It was a monster taking what didn’t belong to him.
By Elisa Wontorcik2 months ago in Chapters

Elisa Wontorcik

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Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(58)

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Where the pulse went quiet . Content Warning.

The Raven

The Mask of Severence

The Mask of Silence

The Mask of Motherhood

The Mask of Joy

The Mask of Strength

The Masks

The Grave of Silence. Content Warning.

The first memory. Content Warning.

Stories (58)