You try to stop.
But the document keeps growing.
Not by your hand. Not anymore.
Every time you scroll, more appears. Unlinked. Unauthored. Crawling out of the whitespace like termites from hollowed prose.
At first, it's just formatting.
A stray em dash.
A suspicious indent.
Then, footnotes that weren't there before.
Then, voices in the margins.
Then—worse—a comment bubble:
> "This paragraph resents being written."
You delete it.
The screen turns black.
Then types back:
> Undo denied.
Character lock engaged.
---
ACT I: TYPOGRAPHIC POSSESSION
In a basement schoolroom, a substitute teacher writes a word on the chalkboard:
Storycraft.
But the letters refuse to stop moving.
S curls into a snake.
T snaps into a guillotine.
O begins to hollow inward until it forms an eye.
A child raises their hand. Not to ask a question. To scream.
