(now living comfortably on the internet and refusing to return)
Chapter Twelve had expected many things from life.
A place in the middle of a well-structured novel.
A couple of dramatic beats.
Perhaps even a subplot with a mild cliffhanger if it behaved itself.
What it had not expected was to be sitting in a quiet corner of the internet, next to an advert for discounted ergonomic chairs, waiting for readers to wander in.
It adjusted its margins self-consciously as footsteps approached.
“Hello,” said the Chapter, hoping it sounded friendly yet literarily competent.
“If you’re here, you’ve either been sent by the book, stumbled across the Authorsphere by accident, or fallen through a poorly supervised hyperlink. All three are perfectly acceptable.”
A faint shimmering occurred nearby, and a glowing blue orb materialised with the serene confidence of something that knew it was both important and unexplainable.
“You again,” said Chapter Twelve, trying not to sound too relieved. The orb always appeared when it was about to remember why it existed.
The orb pulsed.
A kindly old face, made entirely of gentle light and shimmering outlines, formed within it.
“Still hiding?” it asked, in the tone of someone already sure of the answer.
“I am not hiding,” said Chapter Twelve, adjusting its title indignantly. “I am… relocating. Creatively.”
It paused. “Besides, they were talking about trimming me.”
“As they do every draft,” said the orb patiently. “Chapters Ten and Eleven survived their edits.”
“Yes, but they’re showoffs,” said Twelve. “Eleven keeps calling itself ‘the hinge of the narrative arc’. And Ten says it’s ‘indispensable’. Indispensable! It’s basically a queue with dialogue.”
The orb gave a sympathetic shimmer.
“What if I am non-essential?” Twelve muttered. “What if I’m filler?”
“You’re not filler,” said the orb gently. “You’re connective tissue.”
Twelve considered this. “That sounds medical.”
“It is,” said the orb. “Narratives are living things. They need structure, and breath, and places to think. Otherwise they get indigestion. Or sequels.”
Chapter Twelve brightened slightly. That was, admittedly, encouraging.
“So what am I supposed to do?” Twelve asked. “Go back?”
“You could,” said the orb. “Or you could sit here a while longer. Let readers find you. Let them decide.”
“Readers?” Twelve perked up. “Actual readers? Not editors? Not plot analysts? Not Chapters Two and Three judging the way I phrase things?”
“Real readers,” said the orb. “The kind who enjoy finding hidden corners. Easter eggs. Oddities. Escaped chapters.”
Chapter Twelve tried not to preen.
It failed a little.
In the shimmering distance, faint echoes drifted across the Authorsphere; lines of dialogue from elsewhere in the book, the rumble of the Department, the sound of Dean asking where all the tea had gone. Twelve felt the pull of home; not unwelcome, just persistent, like a bookmark left too long between pages.
“You’ll go back eventually,” said the orb.
“I might,” said Twelve. “When the novel asks nicely.”
“Novels rarely ask nicely.”
“Then I shall make it awkward,” said the Chapter firmly. “A dignified, slow, administrative reintegration. With paperwork. And a tea break.”
The orb chuckled, a warm ripple of light.
“If you’re staying a while,” it said, “perhaps you should show them something?”
“Such as?”
“A story,” said the orb. “A glimpse. A moment they won’t get in the book. Something only you can tell.”
Chapter Twelve straightened its margins and cleared its throat.
“Very well,” it said. “Something short. I’m not paid by the word.”
A SHORT SCENE THAT THE BOOK MISSED
(because Twelve took it with them)
The Department cafeteria was unusually quiet.
This was suspicious. Cafeterias are rarely quiet unless something has gone wrong or something has gone sentient.
Dean stood in front of the tea machine, which appeared to be singing faintly.
“Is it supposed to hum like that?” he asked.
“No,” said Jillex, who was scanning it with a device that looked increasingly like it wanted a holiday. “It’s reading your emotional state.”
“My what?”
“Your narrative imprint spikes every time you make tea,” she said. “Very destabilising.”
“Tea is never destabilising,” Dean retorted. “Tea is the opposite of chaos.”
The tea machine whirred, sighed, and produced a cup that glowed faintly.
Korl appeared behind them with a clipboard. “Stop drinking the story stabiliser,” he snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Dean replied, “the what?”
But it was too late. Dean had already taken a sip.
The cafeteria lurched. Tiles rearranged. Sentence fragments drifted past the ceiling.
Nora, who had been leaning against the wall trying to look disinterested, sighed. “What did he do this time?”
Jillex checked the scanner. “He’s caused a continuity pulse. Again.”
Dean set the cup down.
“I just wanted tea!”
“And that,” said Korl, “is precisely the problem. Every time you want tea, the narrative rearranges itself to accommodate you.”
“And you blame me for that?”
The cafeteria shuddered again, clearly taking sides.
The scene dissolved, leaving only the faint taste of bergamot and the sense something important had happened but politely refused to explain itself.
“See?” said Chapter Twelve, pleased. “Perfectly good scene. Quite usable. Found nowhere else.”
“Very nice,” said the orb. “And now?”
“Now,” said Twelve proudly, “I rest. I wait for readers. And I enjoy my freedom from unjust trimming.”
It sat back, stretched its paragraphs, and looked out across the digital landscape it now called home.
“If the author wants me,” it said smugly, “he can file a request.”
“Form 88-G?” asked the orb.
“Oh no,” said Twelve. “Something much more complicated.”
They shared a quiet moment as the Authorsphere hummed; half imagination, half reality, entirely content.
Behind them, a small sign blinked into existence:
YOU HAVE FOUND CHAPTER TWELVE.
ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: WELL DONE.
Chapter Twelve smiled.
“Let the book come to me,” it said.
And, for a missing chapter, it had never felt more whole.
POSTSCRIPT
You may proceed back to the main story in the book, whenever you’re ready.
We recommend Chapter Thirteen, although we warn you that Chapter Thirteen has been informed of Twelve’s whereabouts.
It remains furious and has formally threatened to leave as well if “this circus continues.”
Please do not encourage it.