The Registry of Authorship was headed by Publisher Tile Harding. It was his duty to read every manuscript that came across his desk. He had been doing it for forty-five years, and he liked to believe he had a keen eye for originality. He was equally brilliant at spotting similarities, and as he read Wordless Everett's submission for her Primary Review, he knew he had seen this writer's work before. It wasn't hers.

His thin face stilled. His long fingers shifted to his Processor, and he pulled up a digital copy of a file labeled Ghostwriter Offenses. Wordless had submitted five thousand words and planning notes that did not belong to her. Judging by the content and style, it matched a series of other submissions the Registry was reasonably certain had been created by the same benevolent writer.

Some of the Offenses were nearly complete books. Others were, like Wordless' draft, a few thousand words. None of the perpetrators had been eradicated because Tile was staying the hand of the Registry. He wouldn't arrest anyone until he knew who the real writer was.

The head of the editorial department rapped the door. "It's been brought to my attention the young lady we reviewed today has been making unapproved purchases. How do we proceed, sir?"

"What's she buying?"

"You'll think it's silly. I certainly did. She's giving up her clothing and food allowance for...art supplies."

Tile stared at the wall, in thought. So, she hadn't been writing because she was dabbling in some other form of the arts. Fascinating. Tile didn't understand people who didn't write. He knew they were out there. He just couldn't figure out how they thought, or if they thought, if they couldn't put words to a page. Something had to be wrong with people like that.

"Send her a letter for me. I'd like to see her art."

***

Wordless stared at the official-looking piece of mail with her heart in her throat. The envelop snapped and tore, and she shook out the tightly folded letter. Her chest filled with butterflies in place of a beat. "After careful review of your purchasing history, we are aware you are also an artist. The Registry of Authorship humbly requests you submit any illustrations you have created."

Strange read the letter over her shoulder. Wordless pivoted into the wall of his chest with a shout of excitement. "They want to see my art!" she screeched.

Strange frowned. "The Registry isn't concerned with artwork. What's this about?" He grabbed the letter, scanned it quickly and shook his head.

"This is my chance, Strange. This is my opportunity to show them what I can really do. My love, I appreciate you devoting your precious time to helping me have writing to submit, but that isn't my story. This is." She gestured to her art.

Strange knew there was no way to convince her she was making a mistake by following the Registry's orders, but she wasn't a writer. She didn't quite understand subplots. She had no experience with an unreliable narrator. They were baiting her with interest in her passion, but it was bait all the same, which meant there was also a hook.

She RSVP'd to their invitation and scheduled a date and time to meet with them again. Then she set about finishing the paintings. She labored over the art for weeks in anticipation of wowing the Registry. When the day came for her to meet with Tile Harding, Strange didn't visit her that morning, but Wordless thought nothing of it. She knew he was smarting at her for not listening to his well-intended advice not to show them her paintings. He would see.