EvasExist

He doesn’t remember writing a single word.
Yet, every chapter reflects a part of him.

Ranzō is not a man… he’s a concept taking form.
In a world where thoughts become ink,
what happens when the wrong mind begins to write?

Dark. Unstable. Hauntingly personal.
This is not a story to read —
It’s a memory trying to forget itself.

Ranzō: The Unwritten

Chapter 13: The Sentence That Dreamed of Waking

> "The moment a thought realizes it's trapped in ink… it begins to dream of readers."

— Graffiti found scrawled across a blank page in a locked library

Ranzō didn't sleep last night.

Not because he couldn't.

Because something else did — in his place.

He found the bed perfectly made.

The sheets… undisturbed.

Yet the pillow held an indentation of a skull.

He walked past the mirror — and paused.

There was writing on the glass.

But only visible from the corner of his eye.

When he turned to read it, it vanished.

Only to reappear inside his mouth — words he hadn't learned, yet already regretted.

> "You've already dreamed this chapter."

His tongue ached.

Not from speaking —

He followed the hallway, though it wasn't his house.

It was a corridor built from paragraphs.

Each door led to a different sentence.

Each window showed a version of his life that never happened…

but still blamed him for ending.

Then — he saw her.

The girl from Chapter 1.

The one who screamed in the mirror.

Only now… she was silent.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, writing on air.

> "You left me unfinished," she whispered.

He opened his mouth to answer.

But she wasn't talking to him.

She was talking to the notebook — now resting in his place.

Walked into a sentence in the wall.

But before she left, she whispered something that echoed across every word in the room:

> "You're not the author, Ranzō.

You're what the story writes when it's lonely."

Then the hallway collapsed — not physically — but structurally.

As if the narrative snapped and folded inward.

And on the last flicker of reality, he saw it:

Signed in ink that bled.

written in someone else's handwriting.

> What do stories dream of when the reader sleeps?

Maybe… they dream of becoming real.

Even if it costs the reader everything.

What did you see in this chapter that wasn't written?

Let the ink reply in your name.

Comment, vote, whisper back.

Or pretend you never turned this page.