Страшна История от chatgpt уровня, по утверждению нейронки, C1. Что думают почтеннын господа?

"The Mirror’s Memory"

Lena had always been drawn to antiques. There was something about their history, the silent stories they carried, that fascinated her. She enjoyed imagining the lives that had passed through them, the hands that had touched them. So when she stumbled upon an ornate, full-length mirror at a small, dusty shop on the outskirts of town, she felt an irresistible pull.

The mirror was unlike anything she had seen before. Its frame was carved with intricate details—vines, flowers, and strange, almost human-like faces. The glass was slightly tarnished, giving it an air of mystery. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with a gaze too sharp for his age, warned her.

“It’s not for sale,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Lena, though, wasn’t easily dissuaded. She pressed, offering more than it was worth, and eventually, the man relented. As she loaded the mirror into her car, she could have sworn she saw him smile, a fleeting expression that chilled her more than it should have.

Back home, Lena placed the mirror in her bedroom, admiring how it seemed to bring the room to life. She spent a few moments in front of it, watching her reflection move with her, but something was off. Her reflection seemed delayed, like it was slightly out of sync. She shook her head, dismissing it as fatigue.

Days passed, and Lena began noticing small, unsettling things. The reflection wasn’t just slow—it seemed to change when she wasn’t paying attention. Once, she saw her reflection turn its head when she hadn’t moved, as though it was looking at something behind her. Another time, she caught it smiling faintly, though her own lips remained still.

Disturbed but still curious, she did what any rational person would do—she tested it. Standing in front of the mirror, she raised her hand. The reflection followed suit, as expected. But then, as she lowered her arm, the reflection hesitated for a fraction of a second, its eyes flickering to meet hers before following the movement.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. This wasn’t her imagination. Something was wrong with the mirror.

That night, unable to sleep, Lena lay awake, her mind racing. The house was silent, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone. Her eyes darted to the mirror across the room. In the dim light, she could just make out her reflection lying in bed. But it wasn’t still. The figure in the mirror seemed to be breathing—slow, deep breaths that didn’t match her own.

Heart pounding, she sat up, eyes fixed on the reflection. It sat up, too, perfectly mimicking her movements. But there was a darkness in its eyes now, a shadow of something Lena couldn’t understand. The figure tilted its head slightly, as though studying her, its expression cold and detached.

Suddenly, it smiled—a chilling, unnatural grin that sent a wave of terror through Lena. She scrambled out of bed, her gaze never leaving the mirror. The reflection stood as well, moving with an eerie fluidity, but it didn’t step away from the glass. Instead, it pressed its hands against the surface, as if testing a boundary.

Lena backed away, her breath quick and shallow. The figure in the mirror leaned closer, its smile widening.

Then, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, it spoke.

“Let me out.”

Lena froze, her blood turning to ice. The reflection’s eyes burned into hers, its hands now pushing harder against the glass, which trembled under the pressure. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest object—a book—and hurled it at the mirror.

The glass shattered, sending fragments flying across the room. But instead of relief, a new wave of dread hit her. The reflection didn’t disappear. It stepped forward, out of the broken frame, and into her world.

The last thing Lena saw before darkness consumed her was its cold, empty smile