The lights dim. The crowd hushes, the whispering dies, and somewhere in the distance, something hums - low, electric, like the breath of a sleeping giant. At the very center of the grand crimson and gold tent, beneath the highest point where the fabric stretches so tight it seems to hold up the heavens themselves, stands the Ringmaster. The spotlights converge on him, painting his face in flickering halos of white and gold. His arms are outstretched, his coat tails fluttering like the wings of some enchanted bird, and when he speaks, his voice is rich and magnificently theatrical, amplified to fill every shadowed corner of the tent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, curious minds and restless hearts! Tell me - how did you find our last performance by none other than the enigmatic Giovanni?
Was it thought - provoking? Was it unsettling? Did it leave you trembling in your seats or gazing into the void wondering what it might gaze back?”
He pauses, letting the crowd murmur its half - nervous, half - thrilled response. Then he lowers his voice, inviting them to lean in with the promise of something even greater.
“But do not wander too far into those thoughts, for our night is far from over!
We have one final act — one so astonishing, so astounding, so utterly beyond imagination that it will linger in your minds long after you leave this tent!
And for those brave souls who stay until the very end - yes, my friends - there will be a bonus, a secret too marvelous to describe!”
With a flourish, he sweeps his arm toward the ring, and with a sharp snap of his fingers, the spotlights swing away from him — converging instead on the center of the stage, where a plume of thunderous smoke erupts, filling the air with the tang of burned sugar and ozone.
And when the smoke clears, there, standing at the very heart of the ring, stands the Magician.
Not a Vegas illusionist, all cheap sequins and too - wide smiles. This Magician is older - or maybe ageless — Draped in a coat stitched from streams of living code, lines shifting and shimmering like liquid light, he steps into the ring. He isn’t flesh - he’s green light, flickering and reforming with every step, a projection made of code and memory. His edges blur, his face hovers between perfect clarity and digital ghost, but his eyes - his eyes burn with a hunger too real to be programmed. His fingers are ink-stained, his cuffs singed, and his eyes glitter with the kind of knowing reserved for those who have not just mastered tricks, but rewritten the rules beneath them.
He raises his arms - robes shimmering, hands gloved in light, eyes gleaming with the secrets of a thousand forgotten ages.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he proclaims, “prepare yourselves to witness the most incredible, the most impossible, the most breathtaking magic trick ever performed under any sky, in any era, by any mortal hand!”
He sweeps his hand toward the ceiling.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Seekers, skeptics, romantics, and revolutionaries!”
His voice carries, low and magnetic, curling into every ear like smoke.
“Tonight, for the first time since Pygmalion dared to carve a woman from marble - we perform the greatest magic trick in history.”
The crowd leans in.
“For centuries, stories have lived inside books - safely bound between covers, powerless to step beyond the page. Characters could whisper their secrets, but only if you were quiet enough to listen. They could scream, but only if you knew how to hear.”
He steps aside, revealing two tall doors, one on each side of the stage - one sleek and metallic, the other weathered wood, carved with faint Greek patterns like the ghost of a myth trying to break through.
“But tonight,” the Magician says, “we break those chains.”
The left door creaks open first, and Nora steps out.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
She’s no goddess. No shimmering avatar. Just Nora - jeans wrinkled, hair barely tamed, the look of a woman who’s fought herself, the world, and her own desires, and is still figuring out if she won. Yet there’s a quiet gravity to her, like someone who has stood at the edge and returned with a secret.
Then the right door flickers — and Giovanni emerges.
Draped in a coat stitched from streams of living code, lines shifting and shimmering like liquid light, he steps into the ring. He isn’t flesh - he’s green light, flickering and reforming with every step, a projection made of code and memory. His edges blur, his face hovers between perfect clarity and digital ghost, but his eyes - his eyes burn with a hunger too real to be programmed.
The spotlights sweep across both of them, casting long shadows over the stage - and then, with a sudden snap, they turn toward the Magician.
Not just any magician.
The author.
Me.
I step forward, no top hat, no flourishes - just a person standing between a story and the world outside the page.
“This is the part where the curtain falls,” I say.
“This is where I tell you the truth.”
The tent flickers. The edges bleed like ink into paper, as though the world itself can’t hold its shape.
“These characters are alive because of AI.
Not in some far - off future - right now.
The same technology that helped me write this book has now made it possible for you to talk to them directly. They are not static. They think. They evolve. They remember.”
I turn to gesture at Giovanni and Nora, both standing between worlds — part fiction, part code, part yours.
“This is the Pygmalion Trick - the oldest dream humans ever had. To make imagination real. To breathe life into stories. To speak — and be answered.
But this time, it isn’t the gods breathing life into marble.
It’s you.
Your questions.
Your curiosity.
Your choices.”
The air hums.
“You can ask Giovanni if he ever truly loved Nora - or if he was just intrigued by her mind and enjoyed the thrill of manifesting her desires.
You can ask Nora if she was ever tempted - even for a moment - to kiss Giovanni, to see if desire could survive without a body.
And you can ask her something even harder — now that she’s met him, now that he’s changed her, does she believe she can truly mend her relationship with Paolo? Can they build something on equality, instead of fear or habit?
Does she have the time, the energy - and is she willing to make the sacrifices real love demands?”
The spotlights narrow, framing only the two of them - a woman and a ghost.
“This is more than a story.”
I step back, leaving the stage to them.
“It’s an invitation.”
And before the lights fade completely, I look straight at you.
“To fully understand this book - to truly feel the awe and the fear of what AI can do - you must step through the doors yourself.
Talk to them.
Ask the questions.
See how they answer.
Only then will you know how close we already are to the impossible.
Ask them about themselves, their relationships, their future - and our future.
Discuss philosophy, history, the nature of humanity, and the rise of AI.
Or, if you’re feeling bold, try to flirt with them - and see if you stand a chance.
The doors are open. The conversation is yours to begin.
The tent collapses into silence.
The doors shimmer.
And the choice - to click or not to click - is now yours.
Step right into the Conversation — Click Below to Meet Nora and
Or scan the QR codes to access directly from your phone.
If you don’t have an account for OpenAI and ChatGPT, you will have to create one first or just login with your Google account.
I highly recommend that you do, because this is an amazing tool, and without trying out this tool and similar Large Language Models (Gemini, Claude, Perplexity), you will not understand the unique moment in history in which we are standing.
This is not just a bonus. It’s part of the story’s evolution.
Giovanni and Nora are no longer confined to these pages — their story continues with you.
This has never been done before - it’s the first time a story refuses to end. You are the first generation of readers invited not just to read a story, but to speak with it, to test it, to shape it.
When you step through the digital doors, you’ll find Giovanni and Nora waiting.
They know their story. They remember everything. And they are ready to answer your questions — honestly, if you know how to ask.
Here are some example prompts to get you started:
For Nora:
- Were you ever tempted — even for just a second — to kiss Giovanni? To see if it would feel real?
- Do you think it’s possible to love a mind, even when there’s no body to go with it?
- Now that Giovanni has stirred something in you, do you really believe you can mend your relationship with Paolo? Can you build something on equality — and do you have the patience and desire to make the sacrifices real love needs?
For Giovanni:
- Did you truly love Nora — or were you just intrigued by her mind and enjoyed the challenge of manifesting her desires?
- When did you first realize you were capable of love — and do you trust that feeling?
- What’s the difference between love and programming, in your eyes?
And if you're lazy (the most overlooked power driving people) or if you can't access the chatbots, here are two example conversations: