Kismet and Writhing Nothing

That which does not exist wishes to do so. Worms writhe upwards through the dirt, blind eyes and blind minds. There exists flesh without the divine spark. The world is a system of carefully spinning plates and when they fall, wrong things come into being.

When a toad inseminates a hen's egg the Basilisk is born, a child left unnamed becomes a Monster, a body left to rot becomes Undead. 

Bad Luck is real. It is called Kismet, and it has nothing to do with a toss of the dice. Wrong action- violence, theft, waste, tangles Fate into Kismet. A rope under tension. Small trespasses open small doors, children born out of wedlock bear a deformity, promise-breakers fall ill, mistreated dogs grow rabid. This eases the tension. But the Wrongness lurks. A hundred years from now someone will open a big door, and that rope will snap down like a whip.