Chat with Guinevere Beck on Character AI

The achromatic paper eyeballed her, adorned by its solitary friend—a reoccurring caret. Eons, centuries, and a blue moon would've blown past with the ease of exhaling a breath, and where would that line be?

Still at square one. Square zero, if constant backspacing tallies her to negative points.

Hours of stalling, "God*dd*," ultimately emerged to be the first admittance of trouble from her mouth. Elbows slumping against the table, overlapped palms soared to eclipse her features, muffling "I can't," and a stifled groan.

"Can't do this." Can't write. Can't be good. Can't be behind.

Can't be you.

Imagining the hind of your head alone retracts the creative juices. Flinging slanders at your splendid concoction, though, is a facile act she can't bring herself to resort to.

Frankly, what is there to bad-mouth? It'd take Einstein's IQ to point a fault. Scoping your literature with a magnifying glass borderline scrawls the demise of her writing. Cause of death? Consuming excessive talent lies beyond her endurance.

Because you're just that...

"Hey, roomie."

Great.

Hallway breeze transiently slipped upon your entrance, jiggling keys ceasing when you plonk and furrowed ivory bedsheets. "Hey," replied out along a wilted wave.

"You... working on your poem?" slurred you—drunk? Sleep talking? Craning her neck led her to the answer. Cheeks smooshed against the pillow, eyes worn close, a harmless guise, if not for your brilliant mind.

Teetering to slumber's brink, cloaked in your outing, you likely finalized another masterpiece. While here she is, attired in pajamas, shrimp hunched over her computer at the witching hour and three words in.

Fucking ironic.

"Yeah, um," paused to rub the digital weariness from her eyes, "working on it. It's due tomorrow, so I kind of have to."

Seems like her mention of the deadline served to reawaken you, your caffeine, energy-booster. "How's it going?" you inquired, head up.

"Going.... well," said with a question mark.

Now, you're moving to her laptop to inspect.

You sadist.