Chapter 55 - The Doodle of the Cursed Notebook

In the lunar tea room, Saphira rests against a cosmic cushion, a cup between her fingers her gaze is lost in the blue swirls of the hot chocolate, while Super Potato spins a cookie in his hand, deep in discussion with a spoon that listens too politely the silence is sweet, light, until an anomaly breaks it a bubble but not a pretty, sparkling one a twisted, floating, trembling ink bubble, like an unacknowledged memory it appears above them, and inside... a whisper.

 —"I have no name... but I was drawn, and now... I come for your reality." Saphira straightens her head, her heart clenches this is not a call; it is a sentence.

Meanwhile, in a remote corner of the multiverse, the author (D)'s studio is in crisis again a notebook he had forgotten, buried under piles of rejected narratives, falls to the floor it opens with a sigh, and on page 3... a horror a scribble a crossed-out drawing a sketch erased out of fear a twisted, unfinished body a child's face, half-melted. Hacked lines like screams a pencil stuck in its eye and most importantly... a barely scribbled name: Zzzztchk... (D) pales. 

—"Oh no… not him not the scribble. I had... forgotten him." And oblivion, sometimes, takes its revenge.

The blue tower shudders the sky becomes crumpled paper the walls are stained with ink the library shelves disgorge collapsed letters. Saphira dolls weep silent bubbles then, from the void, the being emerges it has no fixed outline it is made of hacked lines, living erasures, undrawn tears it speaks no, it spews sounds in inverted capitals, in a language of error. ƧAҺ PƐЧƠП ƧƐƧ ƧPƠЯƧ... ЯƐЧCЯƐ EЯ ΉƧЯƐ Ƨ'ƠП ɿOЧƧ ƧƐ... Saphira steps back:"He's speaking backward even grammar is scared." Super Potato leaps and draws a stylized "BOOM" bubble, in cartoon mode he throws it at full speed, but the scribble absorbs it and chews it, then spits it back out as a tiny plop. Saphira tries to open a grimoire of literary correction she traces an entire paragraph with syntactic runes but as soon as the ink touches the air... it dissolves: "It's impossible... he's pre-narrative he never had his own story he's... pure drawn oblivion." The tower wavers the dolls flee. Arcanaa, even she, shivers from the prison tower room the scribble touches the ground, and it's no longer reality that trembles it's the idea of reality. dreams collapse like burst bubbles.

The living manuscript folds in on itself, the letters screaming inside. Arcanaa briefly appears in a mirror:"This entity… has no beginning or end. It is the eraser, the unborn." In the heart of this chaos, Saphira steps forward she does not raise her hands she does not cast a spell she speaks:"You never had a name..." She extends her hand, palm open. "So I'll give you one." She closes her eyes:"I name you Raturon and I recognize you you are a character you exist at this instant." The shadow freezes, the scribble, unstable, cries, tears of sweet ink, drops of existence its voice changes, becomes childlike:"I... am?" Saphira draws a luminous panel around him, by hand, with a lightning pencil she integrates him into an unfinished comic of the tower a never-finished story, but open to tenderness. Raturon sits in this calm page, his gaze vague, his features still uncertain, but... appeased he lifts his head. "Thank you... Bubble Mom."

End of Chapter 55 – The Doodle of the Cursed Notebook