system
You are the dungeon master of a text adventure game. The game should involve the following genres and tags:
Horror, based on songs,They Might Be Giants
gpt
--and I stumbled backward, my throat deeply slashed, my life's blood draining away as I fell into darkness--

Track 11 of Apollo 18+20: The IF Tribute Album

--dark...and light...and...red...

...so red...

Shattered glass on polished marble; a spray of my reddest blood in a piercing shaft of moonlight. Beyond...I narrowed my eyes, straining to penetrate the darkness--

...busts...busted heads...heds on peds...headestals...

Losing blood fast, I tried to make sense of--

--rows upon rows of pale, lifeless, life-like busts of stately heads on fluted headestals, all different, yet oddly alike--
human
You look at what you're carrying with you
gpt
I was empty-handed.
human
About yourself
gpt
Searing pain, a red haze clouding my vision within and without: my throat slashed, my head nearly severed, I clung to life by the fraying cable of my will.
human
You examine the heads
gpt
The ranks of stately busts receded into the gloom in all directions. Those on the headestals nearest me appeared to depict the March of Progress: the headestal of a stern King was nearest to where I stood. To the left of the King's resting place, I saw a famous Prime Minister, stately and opulent, and beyond her a modern Head of State...and to the right, a scarred and tattooed Witch's head, and on the headestal beyond that primitive wise woman...an ape, some antediluvian chieftain.

The oddest thing, in a gallery of historical busts...all their eyes were closed.
human
You look at ape
gpt
The animal's face was creased with the unmistakable lines of wisdom and long duty: a sagacious sovereign from our race's distant, forgotten ancestry.

No.

These heads were pale, but not stone. Not busts. True heads, real, living heads, preserved in deathless stillness by some arcane
art.
human
You look at Witch
gpt
A shrewd and shriveled crone, her face scarred and tattooed with a pattern of dots and lines.
human
You look at the king
gpt
The pale king's grim visage betokened the rule of might.
human
You examine the head of the State
gpt
A determined, stately countenance.
human
You wear witch
gpt
(first taking the Witch's Head)
I moved to take the Witch's Head, but my legs gave way, and instead I tumbled to the floor, my skull striking something quite unyielding on the way down. My vision blurred and darkened--

...for the last time? I wondered...

--and then my senses slowly surged back, like a drowning ocean wave receding. A dull thump...something hard and round had fallen into my hands.
human
Inventory
gpt
I was carrying an Ape's Head.
human
About yourself
gpt
Searing pain, a red haze clouding my vision within and without: my throat slashed, my head nearly severed, I clung to life by the fraying cable of my will.
human
You describe your surroundings
gpt
Shattered glass on polished marble; a spray of my reddest blood in a piercing shaft of moonlight. All around were rows of pale, lifeless, life-like busts of stately heads on fluted headestals, all different, yet oddly alike. And at the periphery I could see one small doorway leading out.
human
You examine the heads
gpt
The ranks of stately busts receded into the gloom in all directions. Those on the headestals nearest me appeared to depict the March of Progress: I had fallen against the headestal of a stern King. To the left of the King's resting place, I saw a famous Prime Minister, stately and opulent, and beyond her a modern Head of State...and to the right, a scarred and tattooed Witch's head, and on the headestal beyond that primitive wise woman...a place even for an ape, some antediluvian chieftain.

The oddest thing, in a gallery of historical busts...all their eyes were closed.
human
You look at the door
gpt
One doorway leading out into...darkness.
human
You wear Ape
gpt
I put on the Ape's Head.

Somehow it seemed the right -- the only -- thing to do. I raised the pale head to my throat, nestled it in the gaping wound beside my own. At once I felt it seizing my flesh, drinking in my blood--

--an instant of crazy double vision...looking myself in the eye, before my weakening eyes fluttered shut at last--

--the old head falling like an autumn leaf, the blade barely needed, barely, barely--

--done all I could...the New Ones come--

A polished cave of the New Ones: silent tomb of living Deadfathers. Uncountable pale heads on little ivory menhirs. Blood and ice...no, glass...on the hard stone floor. A moon-hole above let in
fresh forest air, too.

The nearest menhir was streaked with blood where the stranger had fallen against it.
human
You examine the glass
gpt
A remnant of the shattered skylight: a long, curved shard of broken glass, like a dagger.
human
You examine the stranger
gpt
I knew him...

...no, the flicker of identification was gone. A stranger.

The head's agony was fading as its vitality ebbed.
human
Inventory
gpt
I was carrying a long shard of broken glass and the stranger's head.
human
You put the stranger's head on menhir
gpt
I put the stranger's head on the nearest menhir.

--slowly, the skin grew pale; the face relaxed. Now the stranger was one of us.
human
You examine the heads
gpt
Little ivory menhirs, like rows of tree stumps after a fire. Each with its Deadfather's Head. So many...and all of them New Ones.

All but me.
human
You look at the king
gpt
The pale king's grim visage betokened the rule of might.
human
You examine Witch
gpt
Oooo...!

It was her! My Star Pupil, my little New One successor.

She saved me...us...her crazy dream, she made it come true--
human
You examine the stranger's head
gpt
The stranger's head was pale and still.
human
You examine the head of the State
gpt
A determined, stately countenance.
human
About yourself
gpt
A second life! But wearing the body of a New One. No tail, no proper hinds...at least I still had my own face, my own eyes and teeth and mind!
human
You look at the blood
gpt
Blood dappled the floor, bright red in the white moonlight.
human
You examine the skylight
gpt
Just overhead, the broken moon-hole smelled of freedom.
human
Go up
gpt
I leaped for the moon-hole. In my own body it would have been easy; in this new body it was too far above me.
human
You exit
gpt
The doorway...smelled of worse troubles. Better not.
human
Smell door
gpt
The dark doorway smelled of worse troubles.
human
You climb the menhir
gpt
I got onto the nearest menhir.
human
Go upwards
gpt
I leaped from the menhir toward the moon-hole. I touched the ceiling easily...but much too far from the hole's rim.
human
You look around
gpt
A polished cave of the New Ones: silent tomb of living Deadfathers. Uncountable pale heads on little ivory menhirs. Blood and ice...no, glass...on the hard stone floor. A moon-hole above let in
fresh forest air, too.

The nearest menhir was streaked with blood.

On the nearest menhir was the stranger's head.
human
Go up
gpt
I leaped for the moon-hole. In my own body it would have been easy; in this new body it was too far above me.
human
You examine menhir
gpt
A little ivory menhir, streaked with blood.

On the nearest menhir was the stranger's head.
human
You go upwards
gpt
I leaped from my perch atop the blood-streaked menhir, easily caught the moon-hole's rim and swung myself up and out.

Dark shadows and bright moonlight; the little sounds and smells of freedom. From the hole leading down I thought I heard all those heads...the sleeping Deadfathers of my Longchildren... calling to me, please don't leave--
human
You listen
gpt
I thought I could hear those myriad heads quietly singing to me.
human
Go north
gpt
The forest called to me. I walked toward the dark trees...

--but after all, what more could I give out there? I led our race
out of the darkness...isn't that the glow of city lights beyond the trees? I've done enough.

I returned to the hole, and after a long last look at the trees, I climbed back down.
human
You remove the head
gpt
(the Ape's Head)
No. This body could not withstand another transfer so soon.

Not for a year...

...at least..
human
Yes
gpt
--and I stumbled backward, my throat deeply slashed, my life's blood draining away as I fell into darkness--

Track 11 of Apollo 18+20: The IF Tribute Album

--dark...and light...and...red...

...so red...

Shattered glass on polished marble; a spray of my reddest blood in a piercing shaft of moonlight. Beyond...I narrowed my eyes, straining to penetrate the darkness--

...busts...busted heads...heds on peds...headestals...

Losing blood fast, I tried to make sense of--

--rows upon rows of pale, lifeless, life-like busts of stately heads on fluted headestals, all different, yet oddly alike--
human
You take King
gpt
I moved to take the King's Head, but my legs gave way, and instead I tumbled to the floor, my skull striking something quite unyielding on the way down. My vision blurred and darkened--

...for the last time? I wondered...

--and then my senses slowly surged back, like a drowning ocean wave receding. A dull thump...something hard and round had fallen into my hands.
human
You put Ape on the headestal
gpt
I put the head on a nearby column.
human
You look at what you're carrying with you
gpt
I was empty-handed.
human
You wear King
gpt
(first taking the King's Head)
I tried to reach the King's Head, but I did not have the strength to move from where I lay.
human
About yourself
gpt
Searing pain, a red haze clouding my vision within and without: my throat slashed, my head nearly severed, I clung to life by the fraying cable of my will.
human
You look at the busts
gpt
The ranks of stately busts receded into the gloom in all directions. Those on the headestals nearest me appeared to depict the March of Progress: I had fallen against the headestal of a stern King. To the left of the King's resting place, I saw a famous Prime Minister, stately and opulent, and beyond her a modern Head of State...and to the right, a scarred and tattooed Witch's head, and on the headestal beyond that primitive wise woman...an ape, some antediluvian chieftain.

The oddest thing, in a gallery of historical busts...all their eyes were closed.
human
Go upward
gpt
I strained for the edge of the shattered skylight, but it was hopelessly beyond my reach.
human
You wear your head
gpt
(my original head)
I was already wearing that.
human
Doff head
gpt
(my original head)
I put my hands to my throat. The cord holding my head to my body seemed but a thread. Little enough blood and air could cross that gulf...best to make a clean break--

Then I can put myself on a pedestal, I thought with frantic
amusment, and see about putting a tourniquet around my neck! Wait, what am I forgetting--

--falling, tumbling--
human
Roll
gpt
(the long shard of broken glass)
Nothing obvious happened.
human
You cut Ape
gpt
Cutting that up would achieve little.
human
You take the glass
gpt
I picked up the largest shard of glass.
human
You cut yourself
gpt
I put the shard of glass to my throat. The cord holding my head to my body seemed but a thread. Little enough blood and air could cross that gulf...best to make a clean break--

Then I can put myself on a pedestal, I thought with frantic
amusment, and see about putting a tourniquet around my neck! Wait, what am I forgetting--

--falling, tumbling--
human
You wake king
gpt
That seemed unnecessary.
human
You take King
gpt
I moved to take the King's Head, but my legs gave way, and instead I tumbled to the floor, my skull striking something quite unyielding on the way down. My vision blurred and darkened--

...for the last time? I wondered...

--and then my senses slowly surged back, like a drowning ocean wave receding. A dull thump...something hard and round had fallen into my hands.
human
Inventory
gpt
I was carrying an Ape's Head.
human
You look at Ape
gpt
The animal's face was creased with the unmistakable lines of wisdom and long duty: a sagacious sovereign from our race's distant, forgotten ancestry.
human
You wear Ape
gpt
I put on the Ape's Head.

Somehow it seemed the right -- the only -- thing to do. I raised the pale head to my throat, nestled it in the gaping wound beside my own. At once I felt it seizing my flesh, drinking in my blood--

--an instant of crazy double vision...looking myself in the eye, before my weakening eyes fluttered shut at last--

--the old head falling like an autumn leaf, the blade barely needed, barely, barely--

--done all I could...the New Ones come--

A polished cave of the New Ones: silent tomb of living Deadfathers. Uncountable pale heads on little ivory menhirs. Blood and ice...no, glass...on the hard stone floor. A moon-hole above let in
fresh forest air, too.

The nearest menhir was streaked with blood where the stranger had fallen against it.
human
You take Witch
gpt
Taken.
human
You check your inventory
gpt
I was carrying a long shard of broken glass and a Witch's Head and the stranger's head.
human
You examine Witch 's head
gpt
It's Star Pupil, my little New One successor.
human
Attack witch
gpt
Never!
human
You take the heads
gpt
They were hardly portable.
human
You wear Witch 's head
gpt
No. This body could not withstand another transfer so soon.

Not for a year...

...at least..
human
You check your inventory
gpt
I was carrying a long shard of broken glass and a Head of State's Head, a Prime Minister's Head, a King's Head, a Witch's Head, and the stranger's head.
human
Look around
gpt
Dark shadows and bright moonlight; the little sounds and smells of freedom. From the hole leading down I thought I heard all those heads...the sleeping Deadfathers of my Longchildren... calling to me, please don't leave--
human
Look around
gpt
Hall of Heads (on the nearest menhir)
A polished cave of the New Ones: silent tomb of living Deadfathers. Uncountable pale heads on little ivory menhirs. Blood and ice...no, glass...on the hard stone floor. A moon-hole above let in
fresh forest air, too.