The mountain cracked like a dramatic walnut. Out spilled a staircase. Ancient. Creaky. Suspiciously well-lit for being inside a mountain.
> "Why does it smell like old cheese?" Grubnuk asked.
> "Because destiny has a scent, and apparently it's dairy," Arc said flatly.
Mortax waved us on, already sipping tea and pretending he wasn't rooting for our failure.
> "Down you go. Into the bowels of plot holes and bad decisions."
> "Sounds like my childhood," I muttered.
We started descending. One stair creaked like a haunted accordion. Another one tried to bite Kevin. Sir Clucksworth fought it honorably and won.
Lyria lit the way with soft light magic. It immediately revealed a sign nailed to the wall:
"Abandon Expectations, All Ye Who Trip Here."
> "That's... foreboding," Greg whispered.
> "It's foreshadowing," Arc corrected. "Get with the genre."
Halfway down, we passed a ghost. It was crying. When asked why, it simply said:
> "They cut my entire subplot."
We gave it a group hug. Even Kevin.
Eventually, the stairs led to a door. A giant, ominous, gothic door that looked like it owed everyone money.
Etched across it in dramatic fonts were the words:
"AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED TO ENTER PLOT CAVES."
Beneath that, someone scribbled in crayon:
"Or just knock really hard."
We did. The door opened. Not with a creak, but with a jazz saxophone riff.
Inside?
Fog. Floating pens. Typewriters twitching in the corners. Scrolls rolled themselves up in fear.
> "What is this place?" Lyria asked.
> "A writer's room that lost its meds," Greg replied.
Arc hummed nervously.
> "This is where story fragments live. Bits the Editor tossed aside. Characters never born. Arcs never closed."
> "Arcs?" I asked.
> "Plot arcs," Arc clarified. "Though yes, I am offended too."
As we walked deeper, we passed a floating storyboard labeled:
"Totally Not Suspicious Plan for Chapter 48."
Kevin pointed at it.
> "Is it just me, or is that written in your handwriting?"
I stared. It was my handwriting. But I'd never seen it before.
> "You think someone's… impersonating me?"
Greg stepped forward. Eyes wide.
> "No," he said. "I think someone's writing you."
We all went quiet. Except for Clucksworth, who pooped in protest.
---
End of Chapter 28 (Stairs descended. Doors opened. And someone else holds the pen...)
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