AI Tips & Prompts

When my aunt died, she left me her crooked Victorian house—and one rule.

“Never open the locked door at the end of the hall.”

I lasted three nights. The door whispered at 3:13 a.m., every night. First my name. Then my secrets.

On the fourth night, I turned the key.

Inside was a mirror. Just a mirror. My reflection stared back, but she smiled first.

She moved when I didn’t. Tilted her head. Raised her hand. Waved.

Then she mouthed something.

“You’re free.”

The mirror shattered. The door slammed shut behind me.

Now I’m the one smiling in the mirror.

Waiting.