AIVision didn't fully obey

More about AIVision didn't fully obey

The prompt is DeepSeek AI's response to this request:
"Write a short journal entry from the perspective of a lighthouse keeper on a remote island long ago, describing an unnatural, mirror-like calm that has settled over the sea—a silence so profound and unsettling that it troubles him more than any storm he has witnessed."

Original structure:

A stillness lies upon the world this night, a quietude so absolute it rings in my ears louder than any gale. I have stood watch these fifteen years, and in all that time have known no peace like this, nor feared any thing so thoroughly.

The sea is not water, but a sheet of dark glass, stretched to the horizon. No swell, no ripple mars its face. It reflects the indifferent stars with a perfection that seems a mockery, a vast, black mirror showing a sky that has no business below. The very waves have ceased their eternal whispering against the rocks; the island itself holds its breath.

In a great storm, a man knows his enemy. The wind has a voice, the waves a intent. One fights, one endures. But this… this void of sensation… it is as if God has turned His attention elsewhere and left naught but this painted scene behind. No gull cries, no seal barks from the distant skerries. The very smell of salt and weed is gone from the air, leaving it dead and flat.

I have lit the lamp. Its steady turning and the soft hiss of the flame are the only sounds, a feeble bastion against this drowning silence. I watch the beam sweep out across the void, and it falls upon the water not as a light, but as a pale scratch upon a fathomless, polished floor. It shows nothing, reaches nothing.

I am more uneasy now than when the tempests shake these very stones. A storm speaks of life, however violent. This calm speaks of something else entirely. I shall trim the wick again, and keep my watch, and pray for a wind – even a devil’s wind – to break this terrible hush upon the morrow.