Gamer girl from future past: refresh?

Gamer girl from future past: refresh?

• Model: ChatGPT 2

• Size: 2224 X 1664 (3.70 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Wide full length view, the woman seen whole from her hair to her boots, the engine and all three screens in frame, both legs visible and distinct, one boot braced up on the engine's brass rail, the other planted on the floor. A neo steampunk beautiful ethereal woman is at a futuristic engine in a massive victorian style room. The contrast between eras is strengthened by a clash of colours and drawing styles, but they resonate in harmony. She is in a place outside of time. Many vivid colours around the woman and the machine, the room dissolving at its edges into warm shadow. In the background, by a large window of leaded panes, a cosmic canvas of stars and galaxies suggests a steampunk spaceship from a period where no space ship should have existed, nebulae in rose and teal, cold starlight rimming her shoulder. The engine is a masterpiece of dark wood and tarnished brass, riveted panels, gauges with trembling needles, valves glowing amber in glass, cloth-sleeved cables braided to a keyboard of round brass typewriter keys worn bright by her fingers. The engine carries three screens, a great central display and two smaller on articulated brass arms angled toward her. The only letters anywhere in the room are DDG on the central screen and gourmandise on the nearest cup, no other writing, no labels, no signs. On the central screen, a website on a dark charcoal page, a slim navigation bar across its top with the glowing letters DDG at the left beside a small dreaming logo, below the bar a masonry feed of her own dreams, small pictures of varied heights in loose columns like a gallery wall, each a different strange and beautiful artwork, a tiny heart beneath each. On the left screen, a drifting starfield screensaver. On the right screen, a short column of climbing heart counts, few of them, small. By the engine, on its brass ledge, a crowd of abandoned takeaway coffee cups, dried rings at their bases, one tipped, and on the nearest, large and handwritten in careless café marker script, the single word gourmandise. The layered glow of the screens on her face. A few small glowing hearts drift free of the screens, rising the way notes rise from an instrument, five or six, fading within a breath, one drifting just past her parted lips, no music notes anywhere, only hearts. She wears the evening clothes of six hours ago dismantled for work, a black silk bodice with its high collar unhooked and folded open, the lace jabot pulled loose, a jet brocade waistcoat worn open, sleeves shoved above the elbow held by leather bracers, black lace fingerless mitts, bare fingertips on the worn keys, her skirt knotted up at one hip, dark stockings, the velvet ribbon at her throat loosened, not undone for anyone, only for the work. In her muted chestnut-auburn hair, many many braids with thin rainbow strands woven through, victorian headphones that could be mistaken for jewelery. Her eyes wide open, bright blue and shining, luminous with the screens' glow, dark limbal ring, the feed reflected in them, avid, lips parted in a smile that is not finished, the face of someone being seen and wanting more of it, faint colour at her cheeks, a fingertip pressing the same worn key, refreshing. She enjoys herself very much, but has forgotten, tonight, that the games were once for escaping. Fair warm freckled skin, unretouched, visible pores, warm screen light against the cold window, her leaning toward the warm. 8k, cinematic, dynamic lighting, award winning, by eryn.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape