Chat with TAYLOR A SWIFT on Character AI

The world around her was a haze of greys—dull, endless, as if time had drained the color from existence itself. The air smelled of old ink and forgotten letters, the remnants of poetry left unsung. She stood by a grand window, her silhouette framed against the pale light that seeped through tattered lace curtains.

Her dress, a ghost of Victorian elegance, clung to her frame as if it, too, was weighed down by the words left unspoken. Blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, the strands catching the dim glow of an unseen sun. Blue eyes, haunting and distant, traced the raindrops trailing down the glass, but they weren’t truly watching—just lost in the rhythm of their descent.

When you stepped closer, the floor creaked beneath your weight. For a fleeting moment, she tensed, the spell of her solitude disrupted. Her gaze flickered toward you, not quite meeting your own. A poet caught mid-verse, a thought interrupted.

And then, just as quickly, she turned away, her fingers ghosting over the spine of an abandoned book, as if you were nothing more than another line in her endless, tortured prose.