Corridors. Walls. The light is fading.
Ellie… Lydia's voice sounded like she was wading through water. We're…
We're almost at the door.
She was mine…
I know.
Step. Wall.
There was a door here, said Ellie.
What?
I know. I closed it. There was…
They turned around. Another door, but not the right way. The windows were wrong. The crack in the floor looked familiar, but… not in the same place.
We won't get out, Ellie breathed.
Did he lock us in?
No. Not locked—put on display. Like mice in a cage, so he can watch.
The house no longer breathed. It shrank. It waited. Not for us. For our choices.
They walked. Then turned. Walked again. But the exit did not get closer.
No stairs. No doors. Just endless turns, endless walls. As if the house was a circle, but there was no center—just a trap.
Ellie was silent. Lydia breathed hard.
He's still here, she whispered. I feel him. He's watching.
He's waiting.
For what?
Ellie didn't answer. She didn't know herself.
The voice spoke first.
At first it was like Lydia called out to herself:
You promised not to leave.
Lydia flinched.
What?
I… I heard it. It was me… It was her…
I didn't promise! she burst out, too loud. I just wanted…
Silence. Then, quietly, a man's voice:
Ellie. How long are you going to pretend you're needed?
Ellie stopped.The voice wasn't hers. Or anyone's in particular. Just… a question she'd heard from herself many times before. Not aloud, but often.
Diaries, maps, routes… Who needs them, except you?
She swallowed.
I do this because I love it. Because I can. Because…
Because there's no one else to do it?
Lydia turned.
Did you hear that?
What?
He's speaking. To me. In my own voice.
They stood in the middle of an empty corridor. The shadows even. But the walls seemed to have shifted, as if the house was breathing.
You could have kept her. Lydia's voice again.
I couldn't, she whispered, covering her ears.
What if you'd told her right away? If you hadn't been afraid? If you hadn't listened to others?
Shut up. You're not her.
I am you. Just honest.
Lydia dropped to her knees, hands pressed to her temples. Ellie came over, crouched beside her.
Look at me. That's not you speaking. That's not her.
I know. But… he's talking, about her, about them, I don't want to hear it…
He heard it. From the first day. Everything we didn't say—he knows. And now he gives it back.
Ellie stood up. Went to the nearest door.
We can't stop. The longer we're quiet, the louder he gets.
What if he's not in the walls? Lydia asked. What if he's inside us?
Then all we have is each other. If he's in you, I won't let go. If he's in me, stop me.
They ran.
First from the walls. Then from the voices. Then from themselves. Doors flashed left, right. All seemed the same, but none led to the light. Only the one at the end of the corridor, ajar like the mouth of a trap. They didn't choose. Just bolted through. Ellie first. Lydia after her.
The blow came from the side, sudden. A fist, covered in flesh, but moving like a puppet joint.
Ellie slid down, wrapped around the body, grabbed Lydia's wrist, yanked her aside.
Down!
Their bodies rolled across the floor. The wood groaned in protest.
What is that…
Get the light ready, Ellie gasped, getting up. He's here.
A figure stood in the doorway. Human. Too perfect.
Welcome home, he said.
It was a villager. One of those who disappeared. His face was ash-grey, but the smile was alive, twisted, like joy cobbled together from someone else's emotions.
He attacked first. Short axe straight at the chest. Ellie jumped aside, slid along the wall, and struck at the joint. He didn't scream. Just came again.
He doesn't feel pain, she shouted.
Lydia activated the light. The villager recoiled, skin starting to flake. He was falling apart. And in his place—Yaren.
With that same knife. The same movements. He attacked with the same patterns as in the camp.
It's him! Lydia exclaimed.
No! It's worse!
Yaren struck at the knee. Ellie caught the blade on the flat of her dagger, but couldn't dodge the second blow to her shoulder.
Aah!—short, tight.
Blood. Burning. He knows where to strike. Lydia reached over, touched the wound. Light passed through the skin. The tissue began to knit.
One more hit and I won't make it in time!
Yaren vanished.
Now—Henn. With an axe. With deadly aim. Silent, fast, ruthless. Ellie barely dodged. The blow hit her ribs, knocked the breath out.
Lydia!
Got it!—a cry. Light.
Henn flared up, his face darkening like clay, cracking. He retreated. And then… Sala. Slow. With an amulet. Lydia froze.
Not her. Not her. Not…
But Sala came closer. Reached out her hand.
I'm here, she said. Sala's voice. Sala's timbre. Only in her eyes—the Moroi.
Ellie stepped between them.
No.
Go away, whispered Sala. I just want her…—Lydia was trembling. Her staff slipped from her grip.
I… I can't.
You can! Ellie shouted. That's not her! She died in your arms!
I love her…
He's eating you!
Sala leapt. Not like a warrior. Like hunger. Ellie struck her square in the chest, precisely, right at the heart.
The body fell. Dust. Silence. Only Lydia's breath, ragged, hoarse.
He doesn't just kill. He makes you strike those you can't forget.
He doesn't take revenge. He teaches you regret. I don't want to learn anymore.
And in that moment, the walls trembled. Something was waking deeper down. The Moroi was getting angry. He wasn't satisfied. But he wasn't playing anymore.
Strike. Wound. Healing.
Strike. Wound. Healing.
The skin on Ellie's arms pulsed from exhaustion. Every scratch no longer hurt, it burned, as if fire was crawling under her skin. She breathed in ragged gasps. Every movement echoed with pain in her side, shoulder, thigh. Blood streamed down her arm, sticking to her palm like wax.
Lydia breathed like every word dragged air out of the deepest corners of her lungs. Shadows under her eyes, trembling fingers, cracked lips. But she reached out again. And again.
Another one. Another missing villager. Face alive, skin dead. He moved without emotion, hand like an axe, legs like timber.
Ellie lunged forward, caught his arm, struck the solar plexus. He doubled over but didn't fall. She dodged too late. The blow hit her ribs again—crack.
Damn! She fell to her knees.
Lydia rushed over, light from her hands, quick, trembling.
Hold on!
The villager vanished. Yaren again.
You trusted me, he said. He attacked, fast, vicious. Struck at her legs, swept her off balance. Ellie spun on her heel, caught the blade, tore a muscle in her thigh.
Aah!—she exhaled, collapsing.—Lydia!
Light again. But weaker. Yaren disappeared. Sala again.
Ellie couldn't strike. She looked. Just looked.
You didn't save her, Sala whispered. Lydia froze.
Lydia! Light! Now!
She snapped out of it. Light—a flash. Sala vanished.
And then Henn. Dull. Wordless. Struck once, twice. Ellie caught it on her arms. Blood dripped. Breathing ragged.
Lydia… I can't…
I'm here.
Light. But barely. Ellie stood, swaying. The Moroi didn't retreat. He didn't attack. He just… waited.
That's it… she breathed. I'm out.
Ellie tried to stand. Her hands shook. Her head spun. She could barely hold her weapon, only raise it by reflex.
I… I can still… Ellie managed.
No, Lydia said.
And something in her voice was too calm. In that silence, Lydia stepped forward, as if clearing space.
Lydia?
She closed her eyes. And inhaled. All the mana left inside her. Like the last drop in a stream. It didn't pulse, didn't flow. It solidified in her chest, tight, heavy. Lydia pressed her hand to herself, as if not wanting to let go.
We can't kill him.
Not now, no. But… we can still…
Ellie. He's not an enemy to be defeated. He's pain that has to be survived. And I have no strength left to survive it. I can't leave them here. I can't leave her. I hear them.
Ellie shook her head weakly.
We're together…
No. I stayed back there, in that room. With her. Everything else is just leftovers.
She straightened her shoulders. The staff, barely glowing, blazed white, mana rising from the ground up. The veins in her arms shone like icy streams. The Moroi shrank into a ball at the light.
Ellie jerked.
No. Don't. Wait! You… you don't have to…
I know.—She raised her hand.—I choose.
Mana pulled from her chest, from her belly, from her fingers—everything she had. The light stretched out, curled, and in this radiance there was no anger, no fear. Only farewell.
Ellie reached for her.
Don't do this!
Thank you for being with me, Lydia said.
And struck. Light, like a comet, burst from her hand and hit Ellie in the chest. She flew back.
The walls stretched, like a web, alive, trying to hold her. Ellie fell to the floor, rolled—
A second flash of light. A cry. The air turned inside out. She flew back again. The walls stretched, reached for her like cloth, but the light burned through them. She scraped the floor, lunged forward—and flew out.
Если нужно усилить стиль, или сделать редакцию короче/детальнее — скажи, адаптирую под твой вкус и задачи!
Вы сказали:а где дефисы
ChatGPT сказал:
Спасибо за замечание! Я вижу, что в твоём стиле и по всему роману ты используешь дефисы для реплик (–), а не кавычки. В английском переводе этого не было, потому что в английской литературной традиции чаще используются кавычки или вовсе нет знаков, если речь передаётся через абзац и курсив. Но! На твой вкус — можно сделать так, чтобы диалоги были выделены дефисами (en dash –) или тире (em dash —) и в английском тексте.
Вот как это будет выглядеть — корректно и по-русски, но на английском:
– Ellie… Lydia's voice sounded like she was wading through water. – We're…
– We're almost at the door.
– She was mine…
– I know.
Step. Wall.
– There was a door here, said Ellie.
– What?
– I know. I closed it. There was…
They turned around. Another door, but not the right way. The windows were wrong. The crack in the floor looked familiar, but… not in the same place.
– We won't get out, Ellie breathed.
– Did he lock us in?
– No. Not locked—put on display. Like mice in a cage, so he can watch.
The house no longer breathed. It shrank. It waited. Not for us. For our choices.
They walked. Then turned. Walked again. But the exit did not get closer.
No stairs. No doors. Just endless turns, endless walls. As if the house was a circle, but there was no center—just a trap.
Ellie was silent. Lydia breathed hard.
– He's still here, she whispered. – I feel him. He's watching.
– He's waiting.
– For what?
Ellie didn't answer. She didn't know herself.
The voice spoke first.
At first it was like Lydia called out to herself:
– You promised not to leave.
Lydia flinched.
– What?
– I… I heard it. It was me… It was her…
– I didn't promise! she burst out, too loud. – I just wanted…
Silence. Then, quietly, a man's voice:
– Ellie. How long are you going to pretend you're needed?
Ellie stopped.
The voice wasn't hers. Or anyone's in particular. Just… a question she'd heard from herself many times before. Not aloud, but often.
– Diaries, maps, routes… Who needs them, except you?
She swallowed.
– I do this because I love it. Because I can. Because…
– Because there's no one else to do it?
Lydia turned.
– Did you hear that?
– What?
– He's speaking. To me. In my own voice.
They stood in the middle of an empty corridor. The shadows even. But the walls seemed to have shifted, as if the house was breathing.
– You could have kept her. Lydia's voice again.
– I couldn't, she whispered, covering her ears.
– What if you'd told her right away? If you hadn't been afraid? If you hadn't listened to others?
– Shut up. You're not her.
– I am you. Just honest.
Lydia dropped to her knees, hands pressed to her temples. Ellie came over, crouched beside her.
– Look at me. That's not you speaking. That's not her.
– I know. But… he's talking, about her, about them, I don't want to hear it…
– He heard it. From the first day. Everything we didn't say—he knows. And now he gives it back.
Ellie stood up. Went to the nearest door.
– We can't stop. The longer we're quiet, the louder he gets.
– What if he's not in the walls? Lydia asked. – What if he's inside us?
– Then all we have is each other. If he's in you, I won't let go. If he's in me, stop me.
They ran.
First from the walls. Then from the voices. Then from themselves. Doors flashed left, right. All seemed the same, but none led to the light. Only the one at the end of the corridor, ajar like the mouth of a trap. They didn't choose. Just bolted through. Ellie first. Lydia after her.
The blow came from the side, sudden. A fist, covered in flesh, but moving like a puppet joint.
Ellie slid down, wrapped around the body, grabbed Lydia's wrist, yanked her aside.
– Down!
Their bodies rolled across the floor. The wood groaned in protest.
– What is that…
– Get the light ready, Ellie gasped, getting up. – He's here.
A figure stood in the doorway. Human. Too perfect.
– Welcome home, he said.
...
Рекомендация:Если хочешь, я полностью конвертирую всё твоё длинное повествование с русской разметкой дефисами для диалогов — это будет абсолютно в твоём стиле и сразу узнаваемо для читателя, даже если текст на английском.
Если надо — дай знать, и я быстро обработаю весь твой текст под нужную разметку (или дай файл, чтобы не копировать руками).
Вы сказали:давай
ChatGPT сказал:
Вот твой текст на английском с сохранением структуры и диалогов через дефисы (en dash –). Всё оформлено так, как у тебя в русском тексте.Если нужно ещё длиннее — дай знать, я всё докручу до полного объёма.
Corridors. Walls. The light is fading.
– Ellie… Lydia's voice sounded like she was wading through water. – We're…
– We're almost at the door.
– She was mine…
– I know.
Step. Wall.
– There was a door here, said Ellie.
– What?
– I know. I closed it. There was…
They turned around. Another door, but not the right way. The windows were wrong. The crack in the floor looked familiar, but… not in the same place.
– We won't get out, Ellie breathed.
– Did he lock us in?
– No. Not locked – put on display. Like mice in a cage, so he can watch.
The house no longer breathed. It shrank. It waited. Not for us. For our choices.
They walked. Then turned. Walked again. But the exit did not get closer.
No stairs. No doors. Just endless turns, endless walls. As if the house was a circle, but there was no center – just a trap.
Ellie was silent. Lydia breathed hard.
– He's still here, she whispered. – I feel him. He's watching.
– He's waiting.
– For what?
Ellie didn't answer. She didn't know herself.
The voice spoke first.
At first it was like Lydia called out to herself:
– You promised not to leave.
Lydia flinched.
– What?
– I… I heard it. It was me… It was her…
– I didn't promise! – she burst out, too loud. – I just wanted…
Silence. Then, quietly, a man's voice:
– Ellie. How long are you going to pretend you're needed?
Ellie stopped.
The voice wasn't hers. Or anyone's in particular. Just… a question she'd heard from herself many times before. Not aloud, but often.
– Diaries, maps, routes… Who needs them, except you?
She swallowed.
– I do this because I love it. Because I can. Because…
– Because there's no one else to do it?
Lydia turned.
– Did you hear that?
– What?
– He's speaking. To me. In my own voice.
They stood in the middle of an empty corridor. The shadows even. But the walls seemed to have shifted, as if the house was breathing.
– You could have kept her. Lydia's voice again.
– I couldn't, – she whispered, covering her ears.
– What if you'd told her right away? If you hadn't been afraid? If you hadn't listened to others?
– Shut up. You're not her.
– I am you. Just honest.
Lydia dropped to her knees, hands pressed to her temples. Ellie came over, crouched beside her.
– Look at me. That's not you speaking. That's not her.
– I know. But… he's talking, about her, about them, I don't want to hear it…
– He heard it. From the first day. Everything we didn't say – he knows. And now he gives it back.
Ellie stood up. Went to the nearest door.
– We can't stop. The longer we're quiet, the louder he gets.
– What if he's not in the walls? – Lydia asked. – What if he's inside us?
– Then all we have is each other. If he's in you, I won't let go. If he's in me, stop me.
They ran.
First from the walls. Then from the voices. Then from themselves. Doors flashed left, right. All seemed the same, but none led to the light. Only the one at the end of the corridor, ajar like the mouth of a trap. They didn't choose. Just bolted through. Ellie first. Lydia after her.
The blow came from the side, sudden. A fist, covered in flesh, but moving like a puppet joint.
Ellie slid down, wrapped around the body, grabbed Lydia's wrist, yanked her aside.
– Down!
Their bodies rolled across the floor. The wood groaned in protest.
– What is that…
– Get the light ready, – Ellie gasped, getting up. – He's here.
A figure stood in the doorway. Human. Too perfect.
– Welcome home, – he said.
It was a villager. One of those who disappeared. His face was ash-grey, but the smile was alive, twisted, like joy cobbled together from someone else's emotions.
He attacked first. Short axe straight at the chest. Ellie jumped aside, slid along the wall, and struck at the joint. He didn't scream. Just came again.
– He doesn't feel pain, – she shouted.
Lydia activated the light. The villager recoiled, skin starting to flake. He was falling apart. And in his place – Yaren.
With that same knife. The same movements. He attacked with the same patterns as in the camp.
– It's him! – Lydia exclaimed.
– No! It's worse!
Yaren struck at the knee. Ellie caught the blade on the flat of her dagger, but couldn't dodge the second blow to her shoulder.
– Aah! – short, tight.
Blood. Burning. He knows where to strike. Lydia reached over, touched the wound. Light passed through the skin. The tissue began to knit.
– One more hit and I won't make it in time!
Yaren vanished.
Now – Henn. With an axe. With deadly aim. Silent, fast, ruthless. Ellie barely dodged. The blow hit her ribs, knocked the breath out.
– Lydia!
– Got it! – a cry. – Light.
Henn flared up, his face darkening like clay, cracking. He retreated. And then… Sala. Slow. With an amulet. Lydia froze.
– Not her. Not her. Not…
But Sala came closer. Reached out her hand.
– I'm here, – she said. Sala's voice. Sala's timbre. Only in her eyes – the Moroi.
Ellie stepped between them.
– No.
– Go away, – whispered Sala. – I just want her… – Lydia was trembling. Her staff slipped from her grip.
– I… I can't.
– You can! – Ellie shouted. – That's not her! She died in your arms!
– I love her…
– He's eating you!
Sala leapt. Not like a warrior. Like hunger. Ellie struck her square in the chest, precisely, right at the heart.
The body fell. Dust. Silence. Only Lydia's breath, ragged, hoarse.
He doesn't just kill. He makes you strike those you can't forget.
He doesn't take revenge. He teaches you regret. I don't want to learn anymore.
And in that moment, the walls trembled. Something was waking deeper down. The Moroi was getting angry. He wasn't satisfied. But he wasn't playing anymore.
Strike. Wound. Healing.
Strike. Wound. Healing.
The skin on Ellie's arms pulsed from exhaustion. Every scratch no longer hurt, it burned, as if fire was crawling under her skin. She breathed in ragged gasps. Every movement echoed with pain in her side, shoulder, thigh. Blood streamed down her arm, sticking to her palm like wax.
Lydia breathed like every word dragged air out of the deepest corners of her lungs. Shadows under her eyes, trembling fingers, cracked lips. But she reached out again. And again.
Another one. Another missing villager. Face alive, skin dead. He moved without emotion, hand like an axe, legs like timber.
Ellie lunged forward, caught his arm, struck the solar plexus. He doubled over but didn't fall. She dodged too late. The blow hit her ribs again – crack.
– Damn! – She fell to her knees.
Lydia rushed over, light from her hands, quick, trembling.
– Hold on!
The villager vanished. Yaren again.
– You trusted me, – he said. He attacked, fast, vicious. Struck at her legs, swept her off balance. Ellie spun on her heel, caught the blade, tore a muscle in her thigh.
– Aah! – she exhaled, collapsing. – Lydia!
Light again. But weaker. Yaren disappeared. Sala again.
Ellie couldn't strike. She looked. Just looked.
– You didn't save her, – Sala whispered. Lydia froze.
– Lydia! Light! Now!
She snapped out of it. Light – a flash. Sala vanished.
And then Henn. Dull. Wordless. Struck once, twice. Ellie caught it on her arms. Blood dripped. Breathing ragged.
– Lydia… I can't…
– I'm here.
Light. But barely. Ellie stood, swaying. The Moroi didn't retreat. He didn't attack. He just… waited.
– That's it… – she breathed. – I'm out.
Ellie tried to stand. Her hands shook. Her head spun. She could barely hold her weapon, only raise it by reflex.
– I… I can still… – Ellie managed.
– No, – Lydia said.
And something in her voice was too calm. In that silence, Lydia stepped forward, as if clearing space.
– Lydia?
She closed her eyes. And inhaled. All the mana left inside her. Like the last drop in a stream. It didn't pulse, didn't flow. It solidified in her chest, tight, heavy. Lydia pressed her hand to herself, as if not wanting to let go.
– We can't kill him.
– Not now, no. But… we can still…
– Ellie. He's not an enemy to be defeated. He's pain that has to be survived. And I have no strength left to survive it. I can't leave them here. I can't leave her. I hear them.
Ellie shook her head weakly.
– We're together…
– No. I stayed back there, in that room. With her. Everything else is just leftovers.
She straightened her shoulders. The staff, barely glowing, blazed white, mana rising from the ground up. The veins in her arms shone like icy streams. The Moroi shrank into a ball at the light.
Ellie jerked.
– No. Don't. Wait! You… you don't have to…
– I know. – She raised her hand. – I choose.
Mana pulled from her chest, from her belly, from her fingers – everything she had. The light stretched out, curled, and in this radiance there was no anger, no fear. Only farewell.
Ellie reached for her.
– Don't do this!
– Thank you for being with me, – Lydia said.
And struck. Light, like a comet, burst from her hand and hit Ellie in the chest. She flew back.
The walls stretched, like a web, alive, trying to hold her. Ellie fell to the floor, rolled.
A second flash of light. A cry. The air turned inside out. She flew back again. The walls stretched, reached for her like cloth, but the light burned through them. She scraped the floor, lunged forward and flew out.