AI's alternative versions of scene 4 in my sequel to Wicker Man themed semi-autobiography

As Phoenix entered the quiet bar, he felt all eyes on him. He approached the counter and asked for a room, his voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach. The patrons seemed to lean in closer, their eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I've come to The Winter Isle in search of someone," he began, his gaze sweeping the room. "I'm looking for a survivor of abuse, someone who might be able to help me understand the darkness that haunts this place." The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fireplace in the corner. Then, as if on cue, the music started up again, loud and raucous. A group of revelers burst into laughter, their eyes shining with mirth. "Abuse? Dear boy, you've come to the wrong place," a weathered old man shouted over the din. "We only know of joy and revelry here!" Phoenix felt a familiar frustration building within him. It was the same response his father had received on the Summer Isle. Was he destined to wander these islands forever, seeking answers that always eluded him?

Alternative version:

As Phoenix entered the quiet bar, he felt all eyes on him. He approached the counter and asked for a room, his voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach. The patrons seemed to lean in closer, their eyes curious and their faces expectant. Phoenix cleared his throat and continued, explaining his reason for visiting The Winter Isle. "I'm here to uncover the truth about abuse," he said, his voice strong and determined. "I believe there are people here who have suffered in silence, and I aim to give them a voice."

The room fell silent, and for a moment, Phoenix feared he had imagined the supportive whispers and encouraging nods. Then, just as he began to doubt himself, a voice rang out from the back. "I know someone," a woman said, her voice steady and proud. Heads turned to see a silver-haired lady, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "My sister," she continued, "she suffered at the hands of her husband for years. She never told a soul, but I knew. I saw the bruises, and I heard her cries."

The music, which had been building in anticipation, swelled to fill the room. It was as if the very soul of the isle was urging Phoenix forward, guiding him on his journey. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a young man standing beside him. "My father," the man whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "He was abused by a trusted friend. It destroyed him, and our family fell apart because of it." Phoenix nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of their stories but determined to bring light to the darkness.