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The voice sample is sent with Continue so the drafting model can match how you write. It is framed in the prompt as a style reference and explicitly forbidden as a source of sentences, images or events, and every suggestion is checked afterwards for lifted wording.

Only prose marked written is ever used. Accepted suggestions are excluded, so the tool cannot learn its style from its own output and drift.

Chosen sample

Paste 300 to 400 words of your strongest prose. Include dialogue: it is most of a crime novel's voice and the hardest thing for a model to guess at. Leave this blank to use the derived sample below.

Derived sample (currently in use)

Built automatically from your written paragraphs, sampled across short, medium and long so speech is represented rather than filtered out. Read-only; edit by writing, or override above.

By the ninth day she had stopped noticing the second heart.

They marched four days to the Cefn line, and Cerys learned in the first of them that the front reached her as a smell before it was ever a place.

The port at the base of Cerys's skull had itched all morning, the way it always did in cold, and she had spent the wait trying not to touch it. You weren't supposed to, not in public. The Wrights had fitted it the year she turned nineteen, sunk the cold steel of it into the bone over four sittings while she bit down on a leather wrap and her mother watched from the corner with pride, the way she'd watched Cerys take her first steps. Afterwards they told her not to scratch it. A year on she could almost manage that, most days. The cold made it worse, a small dull ache she couldn't think past, and she pushed a hand back through her hair and dug her thumbnail in at the rim of it, just enough to take the edge off, until the bell in the high gallery went and she made herself stop.

The valley was wrong before they were halfway down into it, and it took Cerys a while to understand that the wrongness was the quiet.

There were no heralds at the river-gate when they brought Brân home, and that was how Cerys learned the second half of a thing the seat had been teaching her all her life.

It came to her through Brân, the way everything outside came to her now. Down in the Hold she did not see the country they crossed with her own eyes; she rode his. And he saw far. Those dark doorway eyes took in the whole sweep of the country at once, wider and further than anything human, and riding them she saw it too, the broken miles laid out clear. Under the seeing ran the rest of him, the heat of living things and the scent off the wind, and she had spent the four days learning to hold the seeing and the smelling together until the country resolved into something truer than her own eyes had ever given her. The terraformed land gave out by degrees. The good soil thinned. The grass went wrong, then went grey, then stopped, and after that there was the old country, the country from before the Nobles broke it, and it smelled, through Brân, of cold rock and standing water, and under both a faint sweet rot that was nothing she had a name for, and that he flinched from with his whole body.

448 words.