conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “What a waste of time…”
conversations.prefix: Dole:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value:  “That was nothing more than a get-together, wasn’t it?” Dole and I could only sigh despondently on our way back from the Achard manor. What we were told would be a discussion to find middle ground between the conservative and progressive factions turned out to be a mere social gathering. There were no political discussions to be had, only insubstantial, trivial talk that barely touched on the issue. To think we’d made Claire cry for such an inane event… Dole and I were livid to say the least.
conversations.prefix: Melia:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “At least we were able to leave early. We should be able to make it back in time for Claire’s birthday.”
conversations.prefix: Dole:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value:  I didn’t reply, as my mind was elsewhere.
conversations.prefix: Melia:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “…Melia, is what happened still weighing on your mind?”
conversations.prefix: Dole:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value:  “…It is.”
conversations.prefix: Melia:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “We did what we had to. Clément may be a political opponent, but he is still a high-ranking noble. We couldn’t refuse his invitation, even if it was sent at the last minute. Especially not with how he framed it.”
conversations.prefix: Dole:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value:  I knew Dole was right. We had no choice but to go. Even so, the image of Claire’s tearful face was seared into my mind. “Hey, Dole? I—” Just then, there was a great impact against the carriage.
conversations.prefix: Melia:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value:  “Melia!” Dole covered me with his body, putting himself in danger in the process. There was a moment of weightlessness, then a mighty thud. By the time I regained my bearings, the two of us had been tossed out of the carriage. My arms and legs hurt, but I forced myself to stand and assess the situation. It appeared we had collided with another carriage and fallen off a cliff. Our carriage was broken, with Dole and the coachman lying nearby. The horse lay on its side, braying, with what I presumed was a broken leg. My consciousness was fading. I looked down and saw my thigh had been pierced by a broken shard of the carriage. I was bleeding profusely.
conversations.prefix: Dole: