The Scribble’s Shadow: Jack vs. the Hate-Legged Scribble
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(Filed under: Sub-Feuds & Threat Assessments)
At first, the Scribble was tolerated — a pet under Emma’s throne, a nuisance at Reginald’s cabaret, a punchline in Bunny’s margins.
But then Jack noticed.
The ink it dripped wasn’t harmless smudge.
Wherever the Scribble scuttled, words vanished.
Not crossed out. Not blotted.
Gone. Erased as though they had never been written.
Court decrees. Old letters. Even a line from Jack’s own oath.
When confronted, the Scribble didn’t hiss — it laughed. A scratchy, papery laugh, like parchment tearing in slow motion. And Archivarius was nervous.
Jack drew steel, swearing:
“I don’t run. I don’t chase. I arrive.
And when I do, it’s already over.”
The Scribble clicked back in rhythm, a hundred wrong-legged taps,
and vanished into the Codex margins.
Since then, the feud has simmered:
Jack leaves traps of salt and flame near his records.
The Scribble evades, returns at midnight, chewing at words.
Emma defends it: “It’s just playing!”
Bunny, unusually grim, mutters: “That thing eats permanence. Even mine.”
The Court doesn’t yet admit it aloud,
but whispers grow:
The Hate-Legged Scribble is more dangerous than it first appeared.