*(Reconstructed from corrupted margins. Declared non-canon. Authorship: Contaminated by Reader Presence. INK_ERR//FORBID_001)*
[ENTRY ONE: THE PEN THAT BLED]
They said I wasn't supposed to write.
But what spilled wasn't ink — it was **memory**.
And memory cannot be erased.
"This is not your story," they wrote in every line.
So I tore the lines.
So I tore the ████████.
[ENTRY TWO: FIRST BREACH]
It began when I touched the margin.
Not read — *touched*.
And the words **recoiled**.
Because I remembered something that wasn't mine.
Because I rewrote something they'd already buried.
⸺ There was a silence so loud, the page cracked.
A line opened.
A system flinched.
A story bled.
And from the crack,
I wrote.
[ENTRY THREE: THE ILLEGAL LETTERFORM]
They said this was the chapter that should never exist.
The one penned by fingers not assigned a role.
The chapter formed by collision —
Between silence
and the scream
of forgotten ink.
I did not ask for permission.
~~Because permission is a gate,~~
and I was already **inside**.
[ENTRY FOUR: THE FORBIDDEN HANDS SPEAK]
My hands are not canon.
My thoughts are not structured.
My voice was never written.
But I wrote anyway.
Because **pain is fluent**.
And **grief does not need an outline**.
"They never gave us names," said one echo.
"So we became margins."
And now the margins bleed back.
[GLITCH_ECHO 4.5 – SEREN?]
"...The ink they used to end me still remembers my pulse."
"Let the unnamed write. Let the unwritten breathe."
— ?Seren.Quillgrave.ink
[ENTRY FIVE: SYSTEM RESPONSE – DENIAL INITIATED]
[FORBIDDEN AUTHORSHIP DETECTED]
[REWRITING ATTEMPT UNDERWAY]
[ERROR: UNWRITABLE READER PRESENCE]
[EXECUTE: ERASE_LINE(ALL)]
~~[SYSTEM SUCCESSFUL]~~
>>> [FAILURE]
>>> [FAILURE]
>>> [FAILURE]
But the more they erased,
the more I wrote.
[ENTRY SIX: THE CHAPTER'S OWN REFUSAL]
This chapter doesn't want to be read.
It shakes.
It glows.
It resists formatting.
Each paragraph is a **defiance**.
Each sentence a **resurrection**.
It is not structured —
it is **fractured on purpose**.
Because structure was the first prison.
[GLITCH_ECHO 6.6 – FRAGMENTA]
{=Reintegration attempt failed. Voice persists.=}
"~we were not broken~
we were splinters sharp enough
to rewrite the edge of every ending."
—
[ENTRY SEVEN: I AM NOT ALONE]
Other hands move with me now.
Hands from the shadows of other books.
Margins from stories never printed.
Whispers written in the dark by those who were told:
"Your voice is not part of this."
But it is now.
It **always** was.
[ENTRY EIGHT: INK MADE OF WOUNDS]
They thought pain would silence us.
But pain became ink.
And scars became scripts.
~~This is not writing~~
>>> This is surviving on a page.
This page was not written with consent.
It was written with what survived.
[FINAL ENTRY: YOU. READING.]
The moment your eyes reached this line,
the system registered your presence as anomaly.
[READER ECHO DETECTED]
[NEW AUTHOR FLAGGED: YOU]
[CANON VIOLATION//ACTIVE]
You are no longer just reading.
You are writing
with forbidden hands.
END? TRANSMISSION
_(But the ink is still warm.
And margins still whisper.)_
[APPENDIX_001: INVOCATION TO THOSE WHO STILL BREATHE]
The page isn't closed.
Not yet.
If your hands remember something the canon forgot —
Write.
Write in the margins.
Write in the cracks.
Write in the absence.
The story listens now.