I trained GPT-2 on last year’s short fiction Nebula finalists. The result:
I walked up to the door and knocked.
“Come in, Ashcroft,” said the voice inside.
I stood beside him, still pretending to be someone I had never been before. Maybe this was how my body came to be here. I pulled the blanket closed around me and pulled at the hem of my dress. I looked down, at the queen. She was the first person I had looked at just from her side.
This was different. This was real. The way she looked straight into my face. Here I was, the other me, with no boundaries, broken.
I couldn’t see her eyes at the time, but I knew she didn’t take long to realize I was the only one.
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