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The prompt is a journal entry, generated by DeepSeek AI, that describes a lighthouse keeper's perspective on the worst storm he has seen in 30 years.

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October 12th, 1874
The Barometer began its fell descent two days prior, a steady, dreadful retreat that spoke of a fury gathering its breath far out in the Atlantic. By this morning, the glass had sunk to a depth I have not witnessed in all my thirty years upon this granite tooth. The sea, that old familiar companion, transformed before my eyes; its hue turned a malevolent, livid green, and the swell rose not in waves, but in great, heaving mounds of water.

By nightfall, the tempest was upon us in truth. It is not the wind that frightens me—I have known a hundred gales—but the voice of this one. It is not a howl, but a sustained, monstrous shriek as if the very air were being flayed upon the rocks. The tower, my steadfast charge these many decades, trembles to its bones. I feel it through the stone, a deep and unnerving vibration. Each time a sea, greater than the last, thunders against the cliff below, the entire structure groans, and salt spray, thick as rain, obscures the lantern glass high above.

I have made my rounds, my oilskin crackling like parchment against the onslaught. The light turns, steady and sure, its great Fresnel lens cutting through the murk. To keep that beam alive is my singular purpose. Somewhere out in that chaos, men cling to their decks, their eyes straining for that very glimmer. The thought alone steels my nerve.

The air is warm, unnaturally so for October—the Devil’s own breath, they’d say in the village. I can taste the salt on my lips, and my ears ache from the constant pressure. I write this now by the feeble light of a storm lantern, the inkwell threatening to skitter from the desk. The world is reduced to this circle of light, the roar, and the shuddering stone.

God keep all souls upon the water this night. And God grant this old tower strength for a few hours more. The dawn, should it come, will tell a tale of wreckage, I fear. But the light remains. It must.