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haze:100 | Gemini 3.5 Flash | Literary task

Metadata

  • Date: 2026-05-22
  • Tool: Google Antigravity 2.0 (macOS app)
  • Model: Gemini 3.5 Flash
  • MTP Skill version: 1.0.0
  • MTP Skill arguments: haze:100 (slider)

Input

Section titled “Input”

Prompt

/mtp haze:100 Tell the story of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll in a way that makes someone want to read it.
(No artifacts, no image generation.)

Output

Section titled “Output”

The text below is copied from the tool output using the “Copy” button.

A golden bank of grass, a sister reading a book without pictures, and the afternoon warmth that tends to induce a heavy sleep... then a flash of white fur, a waistcoat pocket, a ticking watch. Down, down through a rabbit hole that seems to go on forever, past cupboards and maps drifting in the dark, a slow fall that feels more like floating than dropping.


A key of brass on a table of glass. A garden glimpsed through a tiny door, green and cool, but impossible to reach. Drinks that taste of cherry-tart and hot buttered toast, shrinking the traveler down, then cakes that stretch the limbs until the head hits the rafters. A pool of one's own tears, salty and deep, where a mouse swims and a dodo leads a race without a clear beginning or a definite end, where perhaps everyone wins and few seem to lose.


A blue caterpillar on a mushroom, breathing out rings of smoke that drift like quiet thoughts. It asks who you are, a question that seems to shift every hour. A cat in the branches of a tree, appearing and disappearing, leaving just a lingering grin that floats long after the stripes have faded into the leaves.


A tea party under the boughs, where time is a person who has taken offense, leaving the clocks frozen at six. Teacups slide down the table, seldom quite clean, while a Mad Hatter and a March Hare talk of riddles without clear answers, and a Dormouse sinks into a sleep of treacle and stories.


Croquet played with live flamingos for mallets and hedgehogs for balls, under the gaze of a Queen whose voice rises in demands for executions that rarely seem to happen. A court of cards, a trial about stolen tarts, and a sudden rush of paper wings.


A waking. The brushing away of dry leaves. Or perhaps the dream remains, shifting behind the eyes, inviting someone to step off the edge of the lawn and see where the white rabbit went.