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ArtistA chilling gothic horror illustration: an abandoned children’s carousel deep in a fog-soaked forest at night, the painted wooden horses cracked and weeping black resin, one slowly turning by itself, lanterns swinging in the wind, faint silhouettes of pale figures between the trees, cold moonlight, atmosphere of forgotten fairground dread, detailed dark fantasy textures, cinematic eerie mood. Include on the image a small sterilized unicorn head logo and beneath it the text “AI by Unicorngraphics” as a fixed watermark.
It is said that deep in the swamp forest, where even the moon wanders hesitantly over the treetops, stands an old carousel that never carried children, but only memories that had grown too heavy for human hearts. No one knows who built it, for the beams are older than the surrounding villages, and in the carvings of the roof, one can discern faces that seem more like dreams than people. On nights, when the mist lies like a breathless animal among the tree trunks, the lanterns begin to sway, though no wind touches them, and then the wooden horse begins to move, slowly at first, as if it must remember its own body. Its coat has long since turned to dark lacquer, yet from the cracks drips something that looks like black tears and seeps into the grass, as if the earth itself were drinking from it. The old people said the horse once belonged to a fair that vanished in a single night, along with all the people who had laughed on it. Only the carousel remained, and ever since, without wheels or paths, it wanders from clearing to clearing, as if searching for those it has lost. A woodcutter named Merten swore he saw it turning, while among the trees stood figures, pale outlines without faces, watching as if waiting for their turn. He also heard music, not from the lanterns, but from within the horse itself, a creaking like weary bones mingled with the distant sound of a barrel organ that must have been broken long ago. It is said that anyone who approaches the carousel feels a tug in their heart, as if someone were calling them by a name they have forgotten since childhood. Some climbed onto the horse, believing a ride could bring back lost days, but they never returned, and in the morning, only their shoes were found in the damp moss, neatly placed side by side, as if they had decided to continue on without bodies. A priest once tried to burn the eerie thing, but the wood wouldn't catch fire, and the flames crept up it like lost animals until they died of exhaustion. Since then, it has been left in peace, and the clearings where it appears are marked with white stones so that children don't stumble upon them by chance. Nevertheless, there are always curious onlookers, lovers especially, who believe the carousel can unite two hearts if they only board at the same hour. But the horse knows no love, only movement, and it carries everyone to where their heaviest thoughts reside. They say that beneath the platform lies a lake, black as a closed eye, and in its waters are reflected all the faces that have ever ridden a round. In some winters, the lake freezes over, and then a thumping can be heard beneath the ice, as if hooves were trying to get out into the world.
