How is it possible that some people feel the world as if it were their own skin?
WHO AM I?
STAGE PERFORMER
AUTHOR / SCREENWRITER
Mariam O'Shera - The woman behind The Epic of PANTHERCLAD
I come from a background in acting and performance, trained by experience and intuition — not a system.
I’ve worked for over 33 months on PantherClad, learning screenwriting as I built the world from the inside. Every word has been wrestled with, not drafted for industry trends but for integrity.
I don’t imitate.
I listen, I uncover, I let the script tell me what it is.
I wrote the myth I needed — one that reveals spiritual identity in a broken world.
I’m not “trying” to break in. I’m creating something that breaks through.
PantherClad
What happens when truth dares to wear skin again?
WHY I WROTE PANTHERCLAD
Because there was a gap — a spiritual and mythic gap — in cinema.
Where’s the story that unites divine promise, feminine mystery, cosmic conflict, and actual human feeling?
I didn’t see it. So I wrote it.
It’s about power as potential, not domination.
It’s about the Christ and the Christa — the reunion of divine opposites.
It’s about a girl who becomes more than a symbol. And a man who chooses mercy over conquest.
It’s for those who believe that what God once promised — “greater works than these” — is still unfolding.
This isn’t a fantasy. This is mythic sci-fi with sacred stakes.
I’m not just the writer of PantherClad.
I’m the woman born to be NÉ — the central figure of the story — a prophecy spoken over me when I was two:
“This girl will grow and become a world-known sensation.”
NÉ is that sensation.
Not as fame, but as force — a divine mystery veiled in human form, breaking into a world of silence.
I was born to play her. This role isn’t something I chase — it’s something I embody.
🕯️ Author’s Manifesto:
I did not come to write a tale.
I came to burn the silence.
To speak not about beauty, but to clothe it in battle-skin — and set it loose.
To give the myth its final breath, and the prophecy its rightful name.
PantherClad is not a story.
It is a reckoning — between vow and voice, between captivity and flame.
It is the sacred strike before the critics build their fences,
before the scholars trace the rhyme,
before the world dares to define the spirit that moves beneath the skin.
I write because I remember —
not facts, but realities buried beneath centuries of forgetting.
Rustaveli whispered them first. I was sent to speak them aloud.
Where he cloaked divinity in love and armor, I unveiled it —
pierced, radiant, ablaze with defiance.
I did not come to write from safety.
I came to crack the code of crime —
The ancient lie that says obedience is silence,
That passion must be polite,
that kings must wear crowns they did not earn.
I wrote PantherClad because I heard a scream no one else recorded.
A scream from the soul of a woman,
from the lover of God,
from the man of promise who walked into hell and said:
“Let there be fire again.”
If this book becomes a film, a scroll, or a war cry —
Then so be it.
But let no one call it fiction.
It is what happened before the world was watching.
And now —
The world shall watch.
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