ERROR

Let’s imagine, just for a moment, that reality hiccups. Not a dignified hiccup—more like a choking-on-your-own-plot-device situation. One second you’re fine, the next you’re sucked into the worst novel ever committed to print. Worse than Twilight. Worse than Fifty Shades of Grey. Worse than any omegaverse romance you’ve ever seen haunting a bestseller list like an unkillable raccoon. Worse than paranormal romance in general. Vampires? Werewolves? Orcs? Don’t insult them by association. This book is worse than all of them combined. Welcome to Chews Yur M4te, a novel where the rules are optional, continuity is a myth, and the author clearly lost a fistfight with their own outline. Here, plot points wander off mid-sentence. Characters appear, deliver one baffling line, and are never mentioned again. Hair colors change depending on mood, lighting, or lunar phase. Eye colors rotate like a PowerPoint transition. Everyone thinks they’re the main character—and somehow, they’re all wrong. Grammar weeps quietly in the corner. And standing proudly at the center of this flaming dumpster fire is ERROR. ERROR is not just a character. She is the manifestation of everything broken. She is the continuity mistake given legs. The typo that gained sentience. The unresolved arc that stares directly into the camera and dares you to question it. One chapter she’s a redhead with icy blue eyes and a tragic past. The next, she’s blonde, green-eyed, and somehow allergic to backstory. Her personality resets without warning. Her motivations contradict themselves mid-monologue. ERROR exists because the author made a mistake so profound, so catastrophic, that reality itself shrugged and said, “Fine. She’s a person now.” She is the embodiment of bad decisions, lazy edits, and unchecked confidence. She is horror—not the scary kind, but the why-is-this-happening kind. And unfortunately for you, she’s very much a part of the story. You wanted a plot. You got ERROR.