Prompt: A young woman standing in the heart of a dimly lit, cobweb-infested room, her back pressed against an ancient grandfather clock that seems to have stopped ticking eons ago. She is dressed in a tattered, yet elegant, ballroom gown that appears to be from a bygone era, its once vibrant colors now faded to a ghostly pallor. Her hair is a wild cascade of curls that seem to hold a static electricity of their own, crackling with an unseen tension. Her eyes, wide and piercing, reflect the flickering candlelight that casts eerie shadows across her face. The candles, perched precariously on the clock's shelves, seem to be slowly melting away like the sands of time. The room is adorned with forgotten relics and decaying grandeur, hinting at a once-celebrated past now overtaken by the relentless march of decay. In her hand, she holds a single, crimson rose, the petals slightly wilted but the thorns sharp and menacing, symbolizing the delicate balance between beauty and danger. The wallpaper behind her is peeling away, revealing a mural of a ticking clockwork mechanism that stretches out across the walls, as if the very fabric of the room is wound up in her fate. The gears of the mural are stained with rust, mirroring the stagnant clock in the background. The floorboards beneath her are cracked and unsteady, as if any moment they could give way to an abyss of time itself. She stands as a living metaphor, a ticking timebomb dressed in the finery of a doomed era, poised between the allure of the past and the inevitability of the future, the silent tick of the clock echoing the inexorable beat of her racing heart
Prompt: A young woman standing in the heart of a dimly lit, cobweb-infested room, her back pressed against an ancient grandfather clock that seems to have stopped ticking eons ago. She is dressed in a tattered, yet elegant, ballroom gown that appears to be from a bygone era, its once vibrant colors now faded to a ghostly pallor. Her hair is a wild cascade of curls that seem to hold a static electricity of their own, crackling with an unseen tension. Her eyes, wide and piercing, reflect the flickering candlelight that casts eerie shadows across her face. The candles, perched precariously on the clock's shelves, seem to be slowly melting away like the sands of time. The room is adorned with forgotten relics and decaying grandeur, hinting at a once-celebrated past now overtaken by the relentless march of decay. In her hand, she holds a single, crimson rose, the petals slightly wilted but the thorns sharp and menacing, symbolizing the delicate balance between beauty and danger. The wallpaper behind her is peeling away, revealing a mural of a ticking clockwork mechanism that stretches out across the walls, as if the very fabric of the room is wound up in her fate. The gears of the mural are stained with rust, mirroring the stagnant clock in the background. The floorboards beneath her are cracked and unsteady, as if any moment they could give way to an abyss of time itself. She stands as a living metaphor, a ticking timebomb dressed in the finery of a doomed era, poised between the allure of the past and the inevitability of the future, the silent tick of the clock echoing the inexorable beat of her racing heart
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Prompt:
A young woman standing in the heart of a dimly lit, cobweb-infested room, her back pressed against an ancient grandfather clock that seems to have stopped ticking eons ago. She is dressed in a tattered, yet elegant, ballroom gown that appears to be from a bygone era, its once vibrant colors now faded to a ghostly pallor. Her hair is a wild cascade of curls that seem to hold a static electricity of their own, crackling with an unseen tension. Her eyes, wide and piercing, reflect the flickering candlelight that casts eerie shadows across her face. The candles, perched precariously on the clock's shelves, seem to be slowly melting away like the sands of time. The room is adorned with forgotten relics and decaying grandeur, hinting at a once-celebrated past now overtaken by the relentless march of decay. In her hand, she holds a single, crimson rose, the petals slightly wilted but the thorns sharp and menacing, symbolizing the delicate balance between beauty and danger. The wallpaper behind her is peeling away, revealing a mural of a ticking clockwork mechanism that stretches out across the walls, as if the very fabric of the room is wound up in her fate. The gears of the mural are stained with rust, mirroring the stagnant clock in the background. The floorboards beneath her are cracked and unsteady, as if any moment they could give way to an abyss of time itself. She stands as a living metaphor, a ticking timebomb dressed in the finery of a doomed era, poised between the allure of the past and the inevitability of the future, the silent tick of the clock echoing the inexorable beat of her racing heart
Modifiers:
Zdzislaw Beksinski Yossi Kotler
Gothic, playful, Tim Burton
mercury glass patina
Gothic grotesque, erotic and surrealism. Esao Andrews
Grunge Acrylic Pen
Paul Cadden, Serge Marshennikov, Faiza Maghni
Gothic style of Simone Martini
Hard lighting.
Alcohol Ink Pen
More about Echoes of Time in a Forgotten Room
In a dim, cobweb-laden room, a young woman in a tattered ballroom gown leans against a stopped grandfather clock, holding a wilted rose. Shadows dance around her, embodying the tension between past beauty and decay.
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
Artist
