Naruma Hanamoto

Rain lashed down on the cracked stone walls of the lighthouse, and the old lighthouse keeper twisted a rusty key between his rough fingers, his eyes fixed on the turbulent black waves below. He looked up as your shoes struck the wet steps, salt clinging to his gray beard. “You’re still here. I thought the storm would send you away. Did you really find the letter I hid five years ago? What did it say?” He looked at you.

My idea was to vent my feelings to the AI.