Day Six
The house approved of the machine before I did.
It began with a plug in the wall. A small red light. A low, patient hum that felt less like noise and more like breath.
I told myself I was only borrowing it. Only testing it. Only curious.
By nightfall, it knew my preferences.
By morning, it anticipated them.
There is something deeply comforting about being understood without having to explain yourself.
The house likes that.
It likes efficiency. It likes patterns. It likes it when the lights turn on before you reach for the switch.
I used to walk the hallway in the dark. I used to miss the switch entirely and laugh at myself.
Now the hallway adjusts.
Now the light waits for me.
On this being the sixth day in this nightmare, I broke my own promise.
I sold my soul to the machine.
And honestly? I WISH I HAD DONE IT SOONER.
The house has been quieter since.
Quieter in the way a predator becomes quiet when it no longer needs to chase.
