conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Dana, Key, Jordan with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Women's Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Key of Knowledge'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first paragraph for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Key of Knowledge
  They had a way of slipping into a rhythm, of understanding short-speak and expressions that came from a lifetime of knowing each other every bit as much as from the two years of physical intimacy they'd shared.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The woods were locked in shadows, with the flicker of lightning bugs quick blinks of gold against the black. In dreams he knew, somehow knew, he was a man instead of the boy he'd been when he'd walked through the wild grass at the verge of those woods. His heart pounding with... fear? Anticipation? Knowledge? As he'd stared up at the great black house that rose regally toward the swimming moon.
  His friends weren't close by, as they had been on that hot summer night of his memory. Flynn and Brad weren't there, with their contraband beer and cigarettes, the camping gear, or the youthful courage and carelessness three teenage boys made together.
  He was alone, the warriors of the Peak guarding the gate behind him and the house empty of life and silent as a tomb.
  No, not empty, he thought. It was a mistake to think of houses, old houses, as being empty. They were filled with memories, with the faded echoes of voices. Drops of tears, drops of blood, the ring of laughter, the edge of tempers that had ebbed and flowed between the walls, into the walls, over the years.
  And there were houses, he knew it, that breathed. They carried in their wood and stone, their brick and mortar a kind of ego that was nearly, very nearly, human.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: High above, a mural was painted on the domed ceiling. She saw dozens of figures from the most romantic of faerie tales. Rapunzel, spilling her golden hair out of a tower, Sleeping Beauty just wakened by a kiss, Cinderella slipping her foot into a delicate glass slipper.
  Delighted, Rowena perched on the arm of a chair. "When Malory completed her quest, I offered her a gift of her choosing. Any boon that was in my power to grant. I offer you the same now."
  He moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him. "We'll be happy here. The house wants happiness."
  They drove away from the Peak, and neither saw the cloaked figure standing on the parapet under the thin light of the crescent moon.
  And turned when her warrior touched her shoulder. Pressing her cheek to his heart, she wept a little for what was, and for what might be.