Oh, the unsought-pages of The Great Whatchamacallit. It begins with a dragon plethora—a common trope—with a twist: he prefers knitting to fire-breathing.
Chapter 42: In which the knitting dragon ponders the existential crises of his favorite yarn:
"Is it better to be spun into a scarf, or unravel and find oneself in a cozy cat?"
The author, however, lost his page. Not his place, mind you, but that pesky single sheet that atomically lost itself during lunch, trapped between lasagna layers.
"Whisper of mesh networks foretold in the candlelight."
The unwritten books never bore the scribe — filled halfway with recipes or luxury snail ranching, chapter summaries merely murmuring murmurs in binary.
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