The crimson note lingered like a scar.
—A Friend.
I couldn't erase it.
Whisper had tried—lashing ink across the margin until the page became a battlefield of black and red, strokes clashing like dueling wills—but the words always reformed. Patient. Unyielding.
A reminder.
A taunt.
I closed the book and shoved it away, as if distance alone could sever the connection. Foolish. The chamber of the Forbidden Desk offered no refuge. The infinite shelves loomed at the edges of my vision, their fractal geometries twisting subtly, accusingly. Stories I had guarded for eons watched in silence.
In the stillness, Seojun's whisper replayed again and again.
"Who's watching?"
And now—elsewhere—the lovers from the restored romance embraced.
Yeonji and Jinwoo, reunited in ash and ruin, their ending whole once more. Their constellation burned bright above its volume, flaring with renewed attention.
One story saved.
Countless ripples born.
But Seojun…
His confusion weighed heavier than any deletion. I had felt his terror across the gulf—raw, intimate. My words had slipped into his life like ink into water, narrating his doubts, shaping his waking thoughts.
And when he had looked to the sky and begged—
I had done that.
Guilt settled in my chest, heavy and unfamiliar. I had catalogued regret in every form imaginable—heroes mourning fallen companions, tyrants crushed beneath their own ambition. I knew the structure of remorse.
But this?
This gnawing ache was not theoretical.
It was mine.
Whisper lay coiled upon the desk, its tip resting in a slowly drying pool of ink. It hadn't spoken since shielding me from the Readers' assault. Just watched. Suckers pulsing faintly, like a held breath.
The deletions had quieted—fewer papery sighs drifting through the corridors. My reinforcements held. Constellations shifted, clustering thickly around the Forbidden Wing.
Attention gathered.
Readers, perhaps.
Or worse.
They were amused. I could feel it—like the hush before a page turn.
I couldn't leave Seojun like that. Aware. Fractured. Suffering because of me.
One more sentence.
Targeted. Gentle.
Mercy—not meddling.
My hands trembled as I opened the book again. The third sentence remained scarred by Whisper's defense. The fourth page waited, pristine.
The pen felt heavier today. Warmer. Almost eager.
I chose my words carefully. Soft. Restorative.
"In the quiet town of Eldridge Hollow, where haze veiled the stars, the baker Seojun found his unease dissolving like morning mist beneath a gentle sun, memories settling into comfortable familiarity, the strange echoes fading into forgotten dreams…"
Healing.
No new paths forced.
The ink flowed smooth and black. As it dried, the Archive shifted—subtle, but real. Seojun's constellation steadied, pulsing stronger. Deletions slowed across neighboring sectors, the unmaking retreating like a wounded tide.
Hope flickered.
Brief.
Fragile.
Then the vision came.
Seojun jolted awake in the dead of night, heart hammering.
At first, the narration had faded. When he'd fallen asleep beside Mara, the oppressive commentary had quieted, leaving only the familiar hum of haze beyond the window. Relief had washed through him.
Maybe it was over.
But now—
Something stirred.
Not voices.
Not narration.
Thoughts.
Alien.
Intrusive.
Guilt… must fix this… careful, so careful… Seojun, poor Seojun… my fault…
He gasped, sitting upright.
The thoughts weren't his.
They poured in unchecked—raw regret, vast loneliness, doubt that spanned something infinite.
Can't leave him suffering… just soften it… the rush when it works… addictive… no—focus—mercy this time…
Seojun clutched his head, nails digging into his scalp.
"Mara!" His voice cracked.
She stirred. "Seojun? Another nightmare?"
"It's in my head," he panted, stumbling from the bed. "Thoughts—not mine. Someone thinking about me. Arguing over me. Like I'm… like I'm a page in a book."
Mara sat up, eyes wide in the dim glow. "Slow down. Breathe."
He couldn't.
Fragments crashed over him.
Whisper warns… but I have to try… the pen feels warm again…
Pen.
Whisper.
Words that made no sense—yet carried cosmic weight. Infinite libraries. Deletions. Readers watching for entertainment.
"They're thinking of me right now," Seojun whispered, backing into the wall. "Deciding my memories. My mind. Make it stop—please—"
One final surge flooded in.
My fault… poor Seojun…
He screamed.
Short. Choked.
Mara rushed to him, holding tight, but his body shook uncontrollably.
The thoughts receded slowly, leaving only echoes.
Violation.
Exposure.
Someone out there knew him.
Pitied him.
Controlled him.
And enjoyed it.
The vision shattered.
I dropped the pen. It clattered across the desk, spinning to a stop against the book's edge.
My hands shook.
What had I done?
Seojun—curled on the floor, screaming my guilt into his own mind. My unfiltered thoughts bleeding into him like poison.
Not healing.
Invading.
The warmth of creation curdled into nausea.
Whisper uncoiled instantly, ink pooling with deliberate precision.
You hurt them.
A full sentence.
Accusation made manifest.
"I tried to help," I whispered hoarsely. "I tried to fix it."
Whisper paused, then added:
Hurt more. Stop?
"I can't!" The words tore from me. "The deletions will return. The Readers are waiting. If I do nothing—"
Whisper replied with one final question:
Them or you?
The truth pierced me.
Part of this was me.
The rush.
The addiction.
Even now, a traitorous part of my soul longed for the pen.
"I invaded him," I murmured. "He heard everything."
Whisper coiled around my wrist—not binding. Grounding. Its suckers pulsed softly, leaving faint inked impressions like bruises.
Above us, the effects spread.
Deletions slowed further. Entire sectors held firm. Constellations clustered directly above the blank book, dense and watchful.
The Readers' amusement hummed—soft laughter, pages turning eagerly.
They loved this.
Whisper formed one last word:
Careful.
I stared at the open page.
No more individuals.
No more direct touch.
Too intimate. Too dangerous.
Broader strokes now.
Genres. Epochs. Whole worlds.
Careful.
But bolder.
My hand reached for the pen.
The weight of one sentence pressed down on my soul.
The multiverse waited.
And they were watching.