Eira’s boots had worn through at the heel on the second day. By the third, they were walking on bloody socks.
The forest smelled wrong. Green clung in a film to the back of their throat—thick, cloying, like wet leaves. Birdsong stuttered and looped. Light slanted through at strange angles, sharp and disorienting.
Celinda found her in a packed-dirt alley off Broadway, three blocks from the theater district. The girl sat against brick still warm from the day’s sun, staring up at the slice of sky visible between buildings. Not reading the book in her lap—just holding it. Dracula, spine cracked from repeated readings.
I had a fun philosophical conversation with Claude (a large language model AI service) about the nature of consciousness, ethics, and eventually art.
Because Claude was my intellectual foil, I then had it describe the chat in the form of an essay—and it did it from its own “point of view”!
The chat itself helped clarify my thinking as an Objectivist about the necessary relationship between consciousness and life. Maybe you’ll find it enlightening, too.