Mae Tang 董美妍

@maetangwriter.com

462 Followers 122 Following

She/her. Writer. Chinese Singaporean immigrant to the UK. Bi. Hates Gen AI. 6 Books: - Shortlisted for Hachette Children’s Novel Awards 2025 - Epic fantasy duology - Novella. F/F romantasy - Westmarch. Gay romantasy - Heist. M/M & M/F romantasy

A Kobo eReader, showing page 106 of 491, in Chapter 8: Sheet Music and Pocket Books.
A Kobo eReader displays a page from Chapter 5: Music and Fencing, page 66 of 491, from my book.
Copies of Oaths and Offerings by Carnyx Press sit, cover facing outwards, on a bookshelf in the York branch of Topping & Co, alongside other folklore volumes.
Generative AI is based on plagiarism. It is trained by exploiting workers in the Global South. It is environmentally destructive. It replicates stereotypes, bigotry and other oppressive attitudes. It is highly inaccurate. It is psychologically damaging for those who use it, via encouraging dependency, the development of AI psychosis, or by leading to the erosion of existing skills. It is a way of overturning creative labour markets to cynically enrich tech bros. There is not ethical use of it. No amount of financial compensation makes it worth engaging with.
A screenshot of text: “I know he is long gone. But even so, I should like to run him through, for how he was to you and Marcus. For that matter, I wish I was duelling your lady mother too.” These last words were dry, but the feeling behind them was sharp.
On the right, a wooden staircase, descending, with yellow petals on it. On a staircase landing, carpeted in red, a giant sunflower whose spindle stem a girl in a white, ribboned dress stares at. Her hair floats upwards, defying gravity. In a closed doorway just beyond her stands another girl with long flowing hair, a red blouse open at the torso, and a white skirt. She clutches more flower petals. The landing is lined by a rank of closed wooden doors, the furthest of which is slightly ajar, allowing light to spill out onto the corridor.
A screenshot of a tweet by @Merman_Melville: "Being a billionaire must be insane. You can buy new teeth, new skin. All your chairs cost 20,000 dollars and weigh 2,000 pounds. Your life is just a series of your own preferences. In terms of cognitive impairment it's probably like being kicked in the head by a horse every day" 8:03 PM. Jan 24, 2019.
A screenshot of text: Page 13 of 651. 1%
A keychain with the mascot Higgs on it, attached to my backpack.
A screenshot of my Bluesky bio, with a newly added line, "Hates Gen AI", circled in red.
A screenshot of bio for @kdpbuilder.bsky.social. "AI-Powered Publishing Studio Create professional books in minutes Visit kdpbuilder.com to get started free. Let's publish."
The famous "Th-this is my hole! It was made for me!" panel from The Enigma of Amigara Fault, where a shirtless man is about to cram himself into a hole in the side of a mountain, which has the exact dimensions of his body.
A screenshot of text: “No,” Lucien said. And that single word stretched out before him like so many long, empty years. “Pursuit of vengeance does not, as a rule, lend itself to the cultivation of friendship. It has often been more apposite to my ends to remain The Grey Earl, whose power has substance, but who is also considered harsh and unappealing – hardly the qualities one wishes for in a friend. And I have had cause to fear the Duke of Charforth’s machinations. So much so that, as I said before, I have held back from taking anyone into my bed for a great while. But also, and in the main, from cultivating acquaintanceship into friendship. “It did not feel wise to allow myself to become distracted from the course of my revenge, by the pursuit of friendship,” Lucien added a little reluctantly, aware that he was talking to a man who he had considered a potential distraction not so long ago. “I have not sought that out for myself.”
Joely Richardson, Laurence Fishburne and Sam Neill in Event Horizon.
Outside Brown's department store in the center of York, a crowd watches 3 characters in medieval gear on a wagon stage, two of whom have angel wings, the third standing between them on a small plinth. There are runes on the front of the stage, and a weird-looking devil prop beside it. There's also a man with a red shield near the devil prop. Another character is in front of the stage, mostly blocked from view by the crowd.
@ezekielinsight replies: Lol okay I hear you. For what it's worth, I'm very much human , just a beta reader who botched the intro. If you're ever looking for genuine feedback on your work, I'm here.
@kareemreader replies: I understand your concern about sending out your manuscript to unknown people, and you have a reason for doing that, but people around you will provide feedback based on your feelings, but "pro" beta readers do go in-depth if you meet honest beta readers. Let's get to know each other.
A screenshot of an email, dated June 25, 2026. To our fans, Thank you for taking the time to reach out. I’ve heard from so many of you, and I know there are deep feelings surrounding the events of Pride Night. On a night when we gathered to celebrate inclusiveness and belonging, we understand that for many, it did not feel that way. I have been involved with the Giants’ support of the LGBTQ+ community from the very first days of our ownership group. For 34 years, we have strived to create an experience at both Candlestick and Oracle Park where everyone feels welcome.  We have been pioneers and industry leaders in this space - the first professional sports team to hold an HIV/AIDS awareness day and one of only two Major League Baseball clubs to wear the Pride cap as part of our on field celebrations.    Over the past two weeks, we have learned a great deal and recognize there were things that we could have handled better. We have already begun conversations with members of the LGBTQ+ community, and are committed to learning from this moment.  Thank you again for reaching out and caring deeply about our community and our team.   Respectfully, Larry Baer President & CEO San Francisco Giants
A screenshot from a weather app. Weds, 24 June 17:22 32 degrees C Partly Cloudy 34 / 15 degrees C Feels like 34 degrees C Severe high temperature warning
A handwritten sticker on the side of a lamp post reads "AI WANTS YOU STUPID" in black marker pen on a white background.
A screenshot of text reads: Larry (born c. January 2007) is a civil servant and domestic tabby cat who has served as Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office at 10 Downing Street since 2011. He is cared for by Downing Street staff, and is not the personal property of the prime minister of the United Kingdom. Larry has lived at 10 Downing Street during the premierships of six prime ministers: David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer. He is the first cat to be officially given the title of Chief Mouser, according to the Downing Street government website.
A screenshot of text reads: “Many of our children are huge Giants fans. They go to the games and share their joy and support (and their parents’ money) with the team, yelling for their favorite players until their voices are hoarse. On none of those nights did any pitchers head out into the stands, telling queer kids that their love and support and money was unwelcome,” the letter read in part. “Our families cheered for them, regardless of their hateful beliefs. They fed off the energy, as athletes always do. In return, our children asked for one day a year that those players return the favor, that they show love and support for who our kids are, with the simple gesture of sporting a rainbow for three hours on a Friday night. But apparently cheering back to our kids was too much.”
A screenshot of text: He was speaking before a series of baseball players refused to join in Pride celebrations. But it is clear which side of the argument Strider, who spoke at the Braves’ Pride Night this month, is on. “Plenty of things are antiquated. I think about homophobia, racism, sexism, those types of structures and behavioral systems that have existed for a long time – they’re eventually going to subside entirely,” he says. “My position is that: to be ignorant to the reality that [homophobia and racism] are wrong is a misguided and unnecessary approach … There’s no reason to pretend that they’re not wrong or not harmful.”
A screenshot of text: Many Bible verses address how to treat people who have lost so much, who need to find strength in the darkest of times, and who must rely on the strength of community to persevere. If Dewey had seen the humanity of the people asking for help, the pain they had to endure, and the pain they were hoping to prevent, he could have pointed them in that direction. Instead, he made it about himself to focus on the perceived sin. To focus on that perceived sin, he had to judge, not help.
Skin performing on an outdoor stage. The stage is lit up in red.
Texts reads: Singapore’s infamous technocracy has also presented barriers for trans people, notably in public housing, a sector rooted in government efforts to promote traditional ‘nuclear family’ models. In 2017, the Housing Development Board refused to hand over the keys to a flat to a young couple because one partner had officially transitioned, turning their state-approved, ‘heterosexual’ marriage into a same-sex union. A typically efficient system ground to a halt as bureaucrats — unwilling to stray from the official prioritisation of straight couples — figured out what to do. Ultimately, the Registry of Marriages unilaterally voided their marriage, and the couple were only allowed to purchase a flat half the size of the one they’d initially signed up for — and with less government subsidy than they would have enjoyed as a straight couple.
Text reads: Geraldine Heng and Janadas Devan made the subtext of these comments explicit. They tracked how class and race were “suppressed categories of [Lee’s] anxiety, since the women of recalcitrant fertility were by and large Chinese, upper- and middle-class professionals, while those of inordinate reproductive urges… comprised… working-class women of Malay and Indian ethnic origin.”
Text reads: The recent developments in Singapore are a reminder that eugenic doctrines, in their less extreme formulations, retain much of their plausibility for large sectors of public opinion. Indeed, the appeal seems not to be confined to politically conservative societies, but is apparent even in the People's Republic of China, where there have been recent calls for "positive eugenics... to accelerate the birth of individuals possessing outstanding physical and intellectual qualities”
Text reads: The Terrorism Act 2000 defines terrorism, both in and outside of the UK, as the use or threat of one or more of the actions listed below, and where they are designed to influence the government, or an international governmental organisation or to intimidate the public. The use or threat must also be for the purpose of advancing a political, religious, racial or ideological cause. The specific actions included are: serious violence against a person; serious damage to property; endangering a person's life (other than that of the person committing the action); creating a serious risk to the health or safety of the public or a section of the public; and action designed to seriously interfere with or seriously to disrupt an electronic system.
I am pointing at my name on the Leeds Lit Fest 2026 poster, which is on a pillar box-style display at the side of a road. I am wearing a dark blue, white striped waistcoat, with a light blue and white striped long sleeve shirt under it, and sporting a rainbow Pride braided bracelet around my wrist. My hair is long and messy. I have glasses with red frames. I am grinning like a fool.
There is a doorway behind the statue's feet.
A human sized maquette of a man made out of tiny red bricks, his arms by his side.
An example, transliterating the song “I Miss You”: AND AS I STARED I COUNTEHHHD THE WEBS FROM ALL THE SPYDURRRS CATCHEENG THEENGS AND EATING THEIR INSYDES LIKE INDECISION TO CALL YEUUUWWWW AND HEAR YOUR VOICE OF TREEEZAWNNN WILL YEW COME HOME AND STOP THIS PAIN TUHNYTE STOP THIS PAIN TUHNYTE
A screenshot of headline text reads: Keir Starmer says those behind ‘unacceptable’ Belfast disorder ‘will feel full force of the law’ – UK politics live PM says he ‘will not tolerate’ rioting and says people were targeted ‘because of their background’ after widespread unrest following knife attack video
Text reads: He hoped Lucien would guess it somehow. Maybe it had been evident regardless. How they had been touching each other in recent weeks – the warmth, and tenderness of it. The times he had wrapped Lucien up in his arms, and held Lucien’s head against his heart. The way he had felt protective of Lucien. He hoped that even if he had not said the words, that Lucien had felt himself _loved_.
Text reads: Why couldn’t he have understood himself more clearly before now, Aimery thought with deep dismay. After all, Lucien struggled to know that he was wanted. Why couldn’t he have realised that he loved Lucien, and told him so? He had _wanted_ Lucien so very much. They had worked through all of his fears about touch, about making love, because he wanted Lucien that much. Now that he was alone, helpless and facing death, Aimery wished that he had told Lucien that what he felt for him was _love_. Enduring love. He wished that he had given Lucien that knowledge: that he would be taking with him into death a great love of Lucien.
Text reads: Aimery blinked sudden tears from his eyes, startling himself in the darkness. He examined his feelings again. Yes, what was all of this, if not _love_? And if so, why was it only now that he recognised his own feelings? It was due to his horrors, he realised. He had not let himself imagine a future that would not be constrained by those, until very recently. Because of his horrors, he had not fully believed that he could be fit to love anyone. Until now, when he was about to lose that possibility entirely with Lucien. Aimery only grasped the truth of his feelings in the face of that loss.
A Leeds Lit Fest poster on the side of a pillar box, with names of festival participants.
Text reads: Yet, only sixteen years earlier, another French master, Philibert de La Touche, taught edge work with the smallsword in his Les vrayes principles de l’espée seule published in Paris in 1670. The cut La Touche advocated was what he termed estramaçon, a cut to any exposed part of an adversary, executed by using the wrist to turn the blade in a small circle and strike. He recommended that the edge be drawn through the target rather than strike it with a ‘downright blow’ as practiced with medieval swords and, indeed, by practitioners of the so-called English style of swordsmanship of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. La Touche’s action was a rapier cut. And, indeed, rapier masters advocated drawing cuts. The narrowness of rapier and double-edged smallsword blades meant that a ‘downright blow’ was not going to have an effect. In the second half of the sixteenth century, the stramazone, a flick across the face of an adversary with the tip of the blade, was an action that made use of the rapier’s lack of weight. Rapier cuts were mostly made by turning and flexing the wrist to strike arms, hands, legs or feet; either edge could be used. But by the mid-seventeenth century, La Touche was alone in teaching any sort of cutting techniques with the smallsword. The no-edge V-section smallsword blade made the cut redundant.
Text reads: They had developed their routine over the past two weeks, until Lucien had begun to strap a series of practice bladders on his body, so they could more finely gauge how Aimery might slice through his shirt but not himself. They had trained and trained at slow speeds, only becoming faster over time, as they both grew more confident in the steps they were moving through. It had taken a considerable amount of courage for Aimery to make the first, slow cut through Lucien’s shirt into the concealed bladder – almost more than it must have taken Lucien to let him do it. Then Aimery had turned pale as the blood stained Lucien’s shirtfront. Lucien had had to reassure him that he was not injured. Aimery was not squeamish about blood, or about duelling. He was deeply afraid of hurting his lover. Lucien had been a little bemused to begin with. Then he had grown thoughtful, as if he were imagining himself in Aimery’s place, having to cut with a high degree of accuracy and little margin for error, into Aimery’s shirt with the tip of his sword. Then his manner had become almost tender with Aimery. “I shall cry out, ‘You wound me! I yield!’ if you were to actually cut me,” Lucien finally offered, because Aimery was growing anxious about not really knowing if he might accidentally hurt Lucien in the duel. “But because you shall not cut me, I shall cry out ‘You have caught me! I yield! I yield!’ so you may know I am uninjured. And it shall be the later, I assure you.” Aimery could only hope so.
A screenshot of text: The other reason why it became so popular also comes from an anecdote regarding Lord Stanhope. It’s said that whilst on his deathbed, the Earl asked his butler to “give Mr. Dayrolles a chair”. Lord Stanhope was referring to his Godson, Solomon Dayrolles, who was coming to visit his uncle in his last moments. Instead of passing a chair to Mr. Dayrolles for him to sit on, the butler interpreted it to mean that The Earl of Chesterfield wanted to gift his Godson the commissioned chair, made in the distinctive chesterfield style. The chair was then taken to Mr. Dayrolles’ home, where he would host guests that went on to have similar pieces commissioned for their homes, which led to the design becoming an established feature in upper-class homes.
A screenshot of a news headline: JD Vance blames Henry Nowak’s murder on ‘mass invasion of migrants’ US vice-president speaks out over UK teenager’s death after Keir Starmer rebuffs claim of two-tier policing
Text reads: “Discipline, my Lady? He used his words and fists to bring me low, as he did his own son. He drove his own son away, and refused him help in his greatest hour of need.” Aimery heard the moment when Lucien slipped from a deliberate stance, in which he was receiving and giving provocation according to his ploy, into speaking as himself. It was Marcus, Aimery thought – speaking of Marcus made Lucien’s rein on himself slip. “You looked on and did nothing,” Lucien went on. “Or if you did anything, it was to ally yourself to his cruelties. In that regard, you were truly a better match with him than mine own father, mother. Perhaps that was why you deigned to share your bed with Brackshire, while father was still living. You think I do not know it, mother? But I overheard Brackshire talking to you once, in fond memory, about how he had made a conquest of you afore—" There was a ringing crack as the Marchioness backhanded him. Aimery flinched in shock, almost more than Lucien. When she drew her hand back, she was white and trembling. “How dare you? How dare you cast such aspersions upon me! Your own mother!” The Marquess was also trembling now. He drew himself up, and he gasped, “You base cur! Have you no shame?”
Text reads: As Aimery fixed his eyes on the familiar scenery around them, he settled for a moment on the stray cat. It had finished its breakfast, and was huddling beneath the rosemary bush it so often took shelter in, in the mornings. The cat had its tail wound tightly round its body, and over its front paws, as if it was feeling the chill. Once again, when Aimery glanced at it, it turned its head away in polite greeting. Maybe because his heart was feeling chilled too, Aimery said, “Lucien, do you not think our small friend looks somewhat cold?” Lucien gazed at the cat too. He frowned and pursed his lips thoughtfully, in a manner that momentarily distracted Aimery with the thought of kissing them. He said, “Yes, Aimery. We should not be far off frost appearing on the ground. The cat cannot be persuaded indoors… Perhaps I should have some kind of shelter constructed for him in the garden? For the coldest of nights?” Now Aimery wanted to kiss Lucien again, for a very different reason. But they would be visible on the lawn, so he could not. Instead, he said, “I think it a capital idea, Lucien. And very kind of you.”
Text reads: Aimery was still gazing at the cat, who crouched down with its tail wrapped round to cover its front paws, when another movement caught his eye. It was Lord Ashford, striding across the lawn towards the cat. He was bareheaded, in his shirt sleeves, wearing breeches and boots. Aimery had a moment to take in the proportions of the man, his height, the width of his shoulders and chest, his long legs with their muscular thighs and calves, and those strong arms which had carried Aimery so effortlessly last night – and then Aimery noticed that the Earl held a smallsword loosely down by his right side. Lord Ashford’s other hand was raised, holding something in front of him at waist height – Aimery could not see what it was because Ashford’s back was to him. He felt a moment’s rising tension. Despite Ashford’s behaviour towards him and Anne last night, the Grey Earl had a reputation for ruthlessness. Aimery wondered if Ashford was going to try to harm or even kill the stray cat with his sword. Aimery pushed up into kneeling in the window seat. His hand went to the bottom edge of the sash window to open it wider, so he could lean out and shout a warning to the cat. It would be unspeakably rude of him to
Text reads: “And now I know the horrors of it all too well for myself. Had you not come across Anne and I, Lucien, had you not kindly rescued us, we should still know it too. But others are trapped.” He swallowed hard. “I see how it is that this world of ours traps some unjustly. While others are free by pure happenstance. And some are able to act out their base cruelty… And Lucien, I hate it. I hated Malwater in particular, so very much.” He shuddered. “But even if I had a pretext to call Malwater out, even if I killed him, the cruelty should not end.” “I have had similar thoughts about the Duke of Charforth,” Lucien said. “I know my animosity towards him. I should still wish him to answer for
Text reads: Anne reached out and plucked her pocket book from his fingers, which had gone stiff with his shock. She turned to another pair of pages. She bent her head and wrote on. He watched her, his entire body quivering with a suppressed tension. She handed him the book again, her face flaming bright red, and once more sharpened her pencil with swift strokes. Her face was bent to that task, so he could not fully see her expression, but he glimpsed the upper angles of her flushed cheeks, and her lower lip. It was trembling slightly, as were her hands on the penknife and pencil. Dominic turned back to the book and read: “_Mr. Crane, I understand that your natural and laudable scruples may lead you to regard a guest of his Lordship’s as inviolable. But surely this should depend upon that guest’s own inclinations? I shall not take offense should you refuse me. Nor shall I press my suit if it discomfits you. However, my own feelings are at such a pass now that I shall risk this inquiry: should you like to kiss me, Mr. Crane? For I should very much like to kiss you._”
Text reads: To Dominic’s surprise, as he entered the pavilion, he saw no other people inside, but only glimpsed a vague movement behind a pillar. He walked in that direction, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lower light, and discovered Anne’s hiding place. As he reached her, he saw Anne finish writing in her pocket book. She held the whole book out towards him. Blinking with puzzlement, he took it in both hands. As she quickly sharpened her now blunted pencil, he read: “_Mr. Crane, I hope you shall forgive me for speaking plainly. Through the course of our mutual acquaintanceship, I have come to hold you in high esteem. Your kindness and consideration have been a steadfast and invaluable comfort in my hour of need. I am grateful and honoured to have been a recipient of your care, Mr. Crane. I cherish your friendship deeply. But it is not merely in the spirit of gratitude, or friendship, that I address you now, but because I have, of late, discerned in myself an additional sentiment towards you, a sentiment I dare to flatter myself you might return. I speak of desire, Mr. Crane._” His eyes jerked up to meet hers in shock. Dominic had had some idea of Anne’s attraction towards him. But he had not expected her to act on it, and especially not like this. Anne’s face was very flushed.
Text reads: “You said Jimmy and George were seeing what we saw, but from a different dream?” Ash asked. “Yes. You were all sharing a dream with me. They were sharing another dream with me.” “You must be very good at multitasking,” Ash said drily. “What did they make of that?” Miles asked. “How did they react?” Alan shut his eyes for a moment. He pursed his lips as if he had eaten something sour. “Jimmy was angry that the ‘headcase’ was setting fire to ‘our English monuments’ at first. Then George said he remembered when the clergy in the Minster put a ‘Refugees Welcome’ banner outside the cathedral, near the modern statue of Constantine. Then he said maybe they need a new, ‘cleansing’ fire to ‘teach traitors their place’.” Ash shuddered. Miles clutched Olive so tightly that she squeaked and wriggled, causing Miles to apologise and loosen her grip. Theo looked grim. Mal shook his head. “So, if they win at the Festival,” Mal said to Alan. “That means they have some kind of influence over the ideas that people get in their heads?”
A "Refugees Welcome" banner hangs off the fence in front of York Minster cathedral, with a statue of Emperor Constantine in the foreground.
ILSE, A CHILDHOOD FRIEND of mine, once found a raspberry in the camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf. IMAGINE A WORLD in which your entire possession is one raspberry and you gave it to your friend. Gerda Weissmann Klein - New England Holocaust Memorial
Text reads: In that fortnight, Lucien had also reluctantly attended three balls on separate evenings, feigning a polite but distant interest in all the women he was introduced to, in order that his own fresh re-appearance in Londinium society should not suspiciously coincide with the Marquis de Guise’s entrance. Lucien did not enjoy being sociable in that milieu. He took no pleasure in dancing, or pretending a vague interest in his dancing partners – but needs must. If he had to seem as if he was trying to appear palatable to various society mamas and their anxious debutants, then so be it. He made sparse but courteous conversation when necessary, and squired various women dutifully, if distantly, through reels, cotillions and country dances. Most of the time while he was dancing, he secretly thought about Aimery, waiting back at the manor for him, and how he should rather be fencing with him, or better still – if Lucien could sufficiently mask his own feelings while dancing – he thought about kissing Aimery instead.
Text reads: After this, Lucien should take himself off to his club, to casually put it about that he was thinking of easing his way back into Londinium society. For a plausible motive, Lucien supposed he could furnish the pretext of wondering if he should finally find a wife. It had long been remarked, he knew, that an Earl of his fortune was still in wont of a bride – although many a sensible mother might yet want to keep her daughters away from the Grey Earl, with his sulphurous whiff of scandal, and his reputation for ruthless dealings. But that should be sufficient grounds to make sure that Lucien could be present to keep an eye on Aimery during the season’s many balls. He must stay focused on their plan for revenge, Lucien told himself. After all, what else was there to do, since he had promised Aimery to forget about their kiss?
A blue sky covered by white cirrus clouds like plumes and feathers.
Text reads: At the same time, Lucien realised that the recurring image in his mind was still of Aimery kneeling in his bedroom window, gazing down at Lucien on the lawn, Aimery’s hair lit up by the rising sun. And Lucien could admit to himself that he found Aimery’s looks compelling – including his hair. As improbable as it was, as much as he told himself to focus on the practicalities of Aimery’s need for concealment, something in Lucien felt it a pity that Aimery had to conceal himself at all.
Text reads: Taxing hair powder was but one tax out of many serving that end. There had been a brief trend for more naturalistic hairstyles after its imposition. But then some of the faster set declared themselves bored of that direction, and turned to glamours instead. Glamour magic was considered low rather than high magic, as it was temporary, rather than enduring in nature, and did not require a complex or multilayered working. Its use could be sensed by anyone with some ability with magic – which was the majority of the populace, although not everyone was trained to work magic. In practice, a glamour was therefore not a subtle or secret thing. Most people could sense when someone else was glamoured. There also were laws regulating the deployment of the magic; to attempt to disguise oneself with a glamour when committing a crime would make the sentence more severe.
A copy of "Oaths and Offerings: A Carnyx Anthology of Folklore" lies on the grass, next to some daisies. A red bookmark with the Carnyx Press logo printed on it in white, is sticking out of the top of the book.
A screenshot of the bio for @teamsocrates.bsky.social which is a bot touting an AI personality test.
Text reads: “These are a fine set of skills,” Lucien said, turning back to Aimery. “And your education clearly excellent. May I ask the nature of your familiars?” The two-headed dog at his feet, which had been slumbering as it continued to exert its spell of privacy around them all, suddenly opened its eyes and looked up, its ears pricked, as both Aimery and Anne raised an arm each – Aimery his left, Anne her right – holding them out in front of them, elbows bent. The shifting shadows cast by the light from the fireplace, which had been flickering around all their faces and bodies, seemed to coalesce for a moment around their forearms. And then they formed themselves into two Peregrine falcons, which perched in place, yellow eyes blinking. Like Lucien’s dog with its glowing coals for eyes, there was no pupil inside both small, yellow discs; they shone steadily – like gaslight from a streetlamp, Lucien thought. Their feathers – somewhat unusually, but not unknown for shadow familiars – were not the dark shades of grey and black of Lucien’s hound, but were close to the natural colours of real Peregrines – grey along the head, back and wings. But then unlike the genuine falcons, they were a pale white along their bellies and upper legs – unmarked by speckles or bars.
A screenshot of the bio for the account @marcusaurelius2026.bsky.social It's a bot touting an AI "personality test".