FLAWD A divine machine is breaking. And the wrong people are starting to hear it scream. Before the first star, a god made something too perfect. That was the fuck-up. Perfection bled flaw. Flaw bled god-sickness. Now reality’s a collapsing engine held together by duct tape, trauma, and screaming theology. Every time someone breaks a little too hard—grieves too loud, believes too much, loves the wrong way—the laws of nature glitch. Sometimes it kills you. Sometimes it makes you divine.