Day four was about comfort. Not the big features, but the small things that make a body trust a place. Teleport faced the wrong way: it followed the stick instead of my head, so I asked for it to follow where I was actually looking. I wanted a run button, and I picked B. The buttons on my bracelet fired when my whole hand passed near them, so I asked that only the pointing finger press them. When a door finished charging it should open on its own.
Looking through an open door I saw the next world, which was lovely. But walking round to the back, the door showed nothing, and I wrote that I wanted to see the other world from the other side too.
A lamp is not a light
Then lamps. In the neon market and the dwarven forge I could see the lamp but not its light on the wall or the floor. That was a huge lesson: a game that says "lamp" and shows a bulb is not a lantern-lit place. I asked the assistants to rethink global light and local light.
Half a joke, half a prayer
In the afternoon I wrote something I did not plan to write:
Be creative. I need awesome assets. Amazing play. I want awe from my investors in order to fund you to continue.
It is half a joke and half a prayer. I wanted a world that makes a stranger go quiet.
By evening I hit my usage limit while the assistants worked. I came back after it reset and said: continue from where you left off. I told them to keep what they had generated and refine it rather than start again.
Doors that belong somewhere
Before I closed the laptop I asked for two things. Doors should appear in places where doors would be. In an open field that means something big to stand against: a tree, a cave mouth, a rock. And they should glow, to catch the eye. And I asked for twelve reference pictures per world from a local image model on my own machine, starting with the first three. The doors were getting a home and the worlds were getting a face.