THE_GLITCH_IN_REALITY

Chapter 2: The Ink That Bleeds

The ink did not dry.

Elara stared at the word she had written—The—and watched as the black liquid shimmered on the page. It wasn't sinking into the paper; it was floating above it, trembling like a drop of mercury.

"Finish the sentence," the Librarian said. He was standing closer now. She hadn't heard him move. The obsidian desk was gone. The rotunda was gone. They were standing on a suspended platform of grey stone, floating in a void of swirling white mist. "A subject needs a predicate, Elara. Cause needs effect."

Elara’s hand shook. The pen felt hot, vibrating against her fingertips. She looked at the white void. If she didn't write, there was no floor. If she didn't write, there was no air.

She pressed the pen down again.
The... door... opened.

It was a clumsy sentence. A child’s sentence. But the reaction was violent.

A tear ripped through the white mist three feet in front of her. It sounded like a sheet of canvas being shredded. The mist curled back, revealing a heavy, iron door with a brass handle. It hung there in mid-air, attached to nothing.

Creak.

The handle turned.

Elara stepped back, her boot clicking on the stone. "What is this? Is this a simulation?"

"Simulation implies a computer," the Librarian said, tilting his head. "Computers follow rules. Binary. Zero and One. This is not binary. This is analogue. This is chaos." He pointed a long, pale finger at the door. "You wrote it. Aren't you curious what is behind it?"

"I didn't write what was behind it," Elara snapped. "I just wrote that it opened."

The door swung wide.

It wasn't a hallway behind the door. It was an ocean.
But not water. It was a vertical wall of dark, churning liquid that defied gravity. It smelled of salt and copper. And in the dark water, something massive shifted. A yellow eye, the size of a dinner plate, opened in the deep gloom beyond the doorframe.

Elara scrambled backward, gasping. "Close it! How do I close it?"

"You are the author," the Librarian whispered, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on pavement. "Edit it."

Elara looked down at the notebook. The yellow eye blinked. A tentacle, wet and slick with slime, flopped out of the doorframe and slapped onto the stone floor near her boots. It began to pull the rest of the monstrosity through.

She scribbled frantically, crossing out the period. She jammed the pen against the paper.

The door opened... and then slammed shut, locking instantly.

BOOM.

The iron door slammed with enough force to shake Elara’s teeth. The tentacle was severed cleanly, the tip wriggling on the floor before dissolving into black ink. The door vanished. The ocean vanished.

Elara dropped to her knees, hyperventilating. The oxygen warning on her HUD flashed red, but she ignored it. She looked at the notebook. The words she had just written were glowing faint blue.

"Better," the Librarian said. He picked up the severed tentacle/ink puddle and rubbed it between his fingers. "But reactionary. You are writing to survive. That is boring. To reach the exit, you must write to create."

"Where is the exit?" Elara demanded. She stood up, gripping the pen like a knife. "Tell me, or I write that you explode."

The Librarian laughed. It wasn't a human laugh. It sounded like pages fluttering in a windstorm.

"You cannot write me out, Elara. I am the binding. Without me, the pages fall out." He gestured to the mist. "You want the exit? You have to build the path. Sector 4 has dissolved. You are standing in the Draft Space. If you want to go home, you have to write a world that leads you there. But be careful..."

He leaned in close, his eyeless face inches from hers.

"...the characters in the other books? They are jealous. They want to be in this story. They want to be real."

As if on cue, the mist to their left began to darken. A sound emerged—not the ocean this time. It was the sound of horses' hooves. And lasers. A clash of genres bleeding together.

Elara looked at her dead drone, Unit 734, lying on the stone.
"I need help," she whispered.

She looked at the notebook. She looked at the drone.
She began to write, faster this time.

The drone’s battery flickered. It wasn't dead. It was just rebooting. And this time, it had an upgrade.

On the floor, Unit 734 twitched. The blue lens flared to life—not blue this time, but a burning, aggressive red.

"System Online," the drone spoke. Its voice was deeper. Dangerous. "Awaiting narrative command."

Elara looked at the Librarian.
"Chapter 3," she whispered. "Let's make it an action scene."