Chat Prompts
CHAT PROMPTS, prompts are in "==="s
========="Black and White"=========
She couldn't quite call it "fair," that would be a lie. But neither was it unjust. Queen Serenity tried not to think of the baby boy crying for his daddy, or the woman who wouldn't see her husband for another two years. There was a man dead, and the law required that death be paid for, no matter if she sympathized with the killer.
=========Moonlight Tryst=========
The light that shown upon them was dim, but it was enough. Every breath, gasp, moan punctuated the writhing couple clutched together between overflowing flowerbeds. As their sweaty need clamoured to it's full, his fingers twined into her shimmering silver hair, and the words that fell from his lips seemed to echo off the stone walls of the hidden garden. In the archway, where the moonlight could not reach, his wife cried, soundless.
========="like a handprint on my heart."=========
It was always so quiet there, in the middle of the day; the seabreeze whispered through dotted trees and tossed the grass and flowers. In the summer, the bees and butterflies played, and in the winter the swallows song still rang true. It was never ugly here, he thought as he walked his slow and careful path back to the corner of thelot. Squatting among the grass when he reached their special place, Mamoru drug a cloth from his pocket and used it to brush the dirt away. "It's Valentines day," he smiled at the headstone, "I brought some chocolates. You don't mind if I eat them, do you?"
=========Bubbles=========
The world was white and flecked with lavender. Not to mention, wet. Nose wrinkling, Makoto sighed at the knock on the bathroom door.
"Babe? You okay?"
"I'm fine," she closed her eyes as a wave of water hit her chest. "Your daughter got a hold of the shower head."
=========Don't Go Far Off, Not Even For A Day========
Sometimes, before she opened her eyes in the morning, she thought that she could hear breathing. It was faint, like a whisper against the rim of her ear, and by the time that she would blink the crust from her eyes, it would be gone. She never thought much about it, beyond those first few moments of the morning. Always, she would pull herself off the futon and stumble across the matted floor to the bathroom, never stopping to consider the warmth of the space beside her, or the indention upon the mattress.
Sometimes, in her dreams, hands would touch her. Rough, calloused, they would glide over her flesh as if to memorize it. Lips would caress the back of her neck, and down her spine, and work-torn fingers would part her thighs. When she woke, she would be exhausted, and would yawn until she found the coffee maker. In the mirror, she could see the marks upon her neck, and later she would call the exterminator.
Sometimes, golden hair would touch the corner of her vision. It was there at the strangest times--when she was walking the streets, or tending the fire, or bent over her homework. She always wrote it off as sunlight, or a banner, or the yellow cap of a stranger.
Sometimes, she heard a heard a voice, like it drifted from a well. It was from a passer-by, she would tell herself, or a radio, or a tv.
Sometimes, she'd see a figure in the doorway, and she told herself that she was dreaming.
Sometimes, he was in the mirror, and she pretended not to see.
And sometimes--only sometimes--he would smile.
========="Black and White"=========
She couldn't quite call it "fair," that would be a lie. But neither was it unjust. Queen Serenity tried not to think of the baby boy crying for his daddy, or the woman who wouldn't see her husband for another two years. There was a man dead, and the law required that death be paid for, no matter if she sympathized with the killer.
=========Moonlight Tryst=========
The light that shown upon them was dim, but it was enough. Every breath, gasp, moan punctuated the writhing couple clutched together between overflowing flowerbeds. As their sweaty need clamoured to it's full, his fingers twined into her shimmering silver hair, and the words that fell from his lips seemed to echo off the stone walls of the hidden garden. In the archway, where the moonlight could not reach, his wife cried, soundless.
========="like a handprint on my heart."=========
It was always so quiet there, in the middle of the day; the seabreeze whispered through dotted trees and tossed the grass and flowers. In the summer, the bees and butterflies played, and in the winter the swallows song still rang true. It was never ugly here, he thought as he walked his slow and careful path back to the corner of thelot. Squatting among the grass when he reached their special place, Mamoru drug a cloth from his pocket and used it to brush the dirt away. "It's Valentines day," he smiled at the headstone, "I brought some chocolates. You don't mind if I eat them, do you?"
=========Bubbles=========
The world was white and flecked with lavender. Not to mention, wet. Nose wrinkling, Makoto sighed at the knock on the bathroom door.
"Babe? You okay?"
"I'm fine," she closed her eyes as a wave of water hit her chest. "Your daughter got a hold of the shower head."
=========Don't Go Far Off, Not Even For A Day========
Sometimes, before she opened her eyes in the morning, she thought that she could hear breathing. It was faint, like a whisper against the rim of her ear, and by the time that she would blink the crust from her eyes, it would be gone. She never thought much about it, beyond those first few moments of the morning. Always, she would pull herself off the futon and stumble across the matted floor to the bathroom, never stopping to consider the warmth of the space beside her, or the indention upon the mattress.
Sometimes, in her dreams, hands would touch her. Rough, calloused, they would glide over her flesh as if to memorize it. Lips would caress the back of her neck, and down her spine, and work-torn fingers would part her thighs. When she woke, she would be exhausted, and would yawn until she found the coffee maker. In the mirror, she could see the marks upon her neck, and later she would call the exterminator.
Sometimes, golden hair would touch the corner of her vision. It was there at the strangest times--when she was walking the streets, or tending the fire, or bent over her homework. She always wrote it off as sunlight, or a banner, or the yellow cap of a stranger.
Sometimes, she heard a heard a voice, like it drifted from a well. It was from a passer-by, she would tell herself, or a radio, or a tv.
Sometimes, she'd see a figure in the doorway, and she told herself that she was dreaming.
Sometimes, he was in the mirror, and she pretended not to see.
And sometimes--only sometimes--he would smile.