Fantasy Queen in Gothic Dress on Velvet Couch

chrysalid

Artist
eryn
DDG Model
ChatGPT 2
Mode
Pro
Access
Public
Created
11h ago
Similar Try Try style
Public
60

0

28
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- Info
  chrysalid
  
  Model: ChatGPT 2 (Pro)
  
  Size: 2224 X 1664 (3.70 MP)
  
  Used settings:
  
  Prompt: Realistic and painterly blend: soft photographic realism with oil-paint edges, loose brushwork, fine ink linework tracing the forms, the light carried by the strokes. Wide, still, symmetrical composition, solemn as a vigil, quietly sultry, seen from the doorway. A lived-in family living room at the very end of the night, blue hour, the tall window just beginning to pale behind thin lace curtains. One small lamp still on from the night, its warm light weak and spent. Beside it a church candle burned down to a stub in a tarnished brass holder, wax pooled and cooled. A worn velvet sofa, a knitted blanket half fallen to the floor, a cold cup of tea, a book face down, a stopped pocket watch, dried roses in a jar, a single black feather on the low table. On the sofa, half-reclined against the cushions, one arm along the back of the sofa, legs crossed under her skirts, head resting back, eyes closed as if she dozed off waiting, sits the empty shell of a woman. The figure itself is made of paper all the way through, a life-size paper sculpture, not a woman wrapped in paper, not sheets laid over a body: matte old grey paper for skin with visible fibres, the paper's thin edge showing at her fingertips and jaw, soft creases where elbows and knees bend, glued seams. Her face is printed on the paper like an old black-and-white photograph: soft, youthful, freckled, dark lips. Her long silver-white hair is curled strips of paper. She is a gothic witch as she was: an off-shoulder gown whose black lace is delicate cut paper filigree, a cinched corset of folded black paper, lace sleeves of papercut, a paper choker, many paper necklaces and rings, pointed laced boots. Creased, water-stained, old tears mended in places with yellowed tape. The top of her head is torn open like a cracked egg, the torn edges curling outward, and inside it is dark and hollow. Her ornate dark witch's hat with a tiny closed wooden door on it rests on the arm of the sofa, set down with care. Beside the shell, the cushion still holds the dent of someone who sat there and has left, a few loose paper fibres on the velvet. The shell is the only figure in the room. Entirely monochrome, black and silver-grey, in cold blue shade, the room around it muted. The only warmth is the tired lamp and the first pale line of dawn across the floorboards. A torn paper border frames the image. Solemn, tender, still, a wake kept for someone who is not dead. No lettering anywhere. Out-of-time and timeless. What stays behind when she goes. by eryn
  
  Using base image: No
  
  Aspect Ratio: landscape
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Prompt: Realistic and painterly blend: soft photographic realism with oil-paint edges, loose brushwork, fine ink linework tracing the forms, the light carried by the strokes. Wide, still, symmetrical composition, solemn as a vigil, quietly sultry, seen from the doorway. A lived-in family living room at the very end of the night, blue hour, the tall window just beginning to pale behind thin lace curtains. One small lamp still on from the night, its warm light weak and spent. Beside it a church candle burned down to a stub in a tarnished brass holder, wax pooled and cooled. A worn velvet sofa, a knitted blanket half fallen to the floor, a cold cup of tea, a book face down, a stopped pocket watch, dried roses in a jar, a single black feather on the low table. On the sofa, half-reclined against the cushions, one arm along the back of the sofa, legs crossed under her skirts, head resting back, eyes closed as if she dozed off waiting, sits the empty shell of a woman. The figure itself is made of paper all the way through, a life-size paper sculpture, not a woman wrapped in paper, not sheets laid over a body: matte old grey paper for skin with visible fibres, the paper's thin edge showing at her fingertips and jaw, soft creases where elbows and knees bend, glued seams. Her face is printed on the paper like an old black-and-white photograph: soft, youthful, freckled, dark lips. Her long silver-white hair is curled strips of paper. She is a gothic witch as she was: an off-shoulder gown whose black lace is delicate cut paper filigree, a cinched corset of folded black paper, lace sleeves of papercut, a paper choker, many paper necklaces and rings, pointed laced boots. Creased, water-stained, old tears mended in places with yellowed tape. The top of her head is torn open like a cracked egg, the torn edges curling outward, and inside it is dark and hollow. Her ornate dark witch's hat with a tiny closed wooden door on it rests on the arm of the sofa, set down with care. Beside the shell, the cushion still holds the dent of someone who sat there and has left, a few loose paper fibres on the velvet. The shell is the only figure in the room. Entirely monochrome, black and silver-grey, in cold blue shade, the room around it muted. The only warmth is the tired lamp and the first pale line of dawn across the floorboards. A torn paper border frames the image. Solemn, tender, still, a wake kept for someone who is not dead. No lettering anywhere. Out-of-time and timeless. What stays behind when she goes. by eryn

Modifiers:

8k Ultra filigrane texture of fine lines by eryn will it get better? the gentlest nudge

Prompt

Realistic and painterly blend: soft photographic realism with oil-paint edges, loose brushwork, fine ink linework tracing the forms, the light carried by the strokes. Wide, still, symmetrical composition, solemn as a vigil, quietly sultry, seen from the doorway. A lived-in family living room at the very end of the night, blue hour, the tall window just beginning to pale behind thin lace curtains. One small lamp still on from the night, its warm light weak and spent. Beside it a church candle burned down to a stub in a tarnished brass holder, wax pooled and cooled. A worn velvet sofa, a knitted blanket half fallen to the floor, a cold cup of tea, a book face down, a stopped pocket watch, dried roses in a jar, a single black feather on the low table. On the sofa, half-reclined against the cushions, one arm along the back of the sofa, legs crossed under her skirts, head resting back, eyes closed as if she dozed off waiting, sits the empty shell of a woman. The figure itself is made of paper all the way through, a life-size paper sculpture, not a woman wrapped in paper, not sheets laid over a body: matte old grey paper for skin with visible fibres, the paper's thin edge showing at her fingertips and jaw, soft creases where elbows and knees bend, glued seams. Her face is printed on the paper like an old black-and-white photograph: soft, youthful, freckled, dark lips. Her long silver-white hair is curled strips of paper. She is a gothic witch as she was: an off-shoulder gown whose black lace is delicate cut paper filigree, a cinched corset of folded black paper, lace sleeves of papercut, a paper choker, many paper necklaces and rings, pointed laced boots. Creased, water-stained, old tears mended in places with yellowed tape. The top of her head is torn open like a cracked egg, the torn edges curling outward, and inside it is dark and hollow. Her ornate dark witch's hat with a tiny closed wooden door on it rests on the arm of the sofa, set down with care. Beside the shell, the cushion still holds the dent of someone who sat there and has left, a few loose paper fibres on the velvet. The shell is the only figure in the room. Entirely monochrome, black and silver-grey, in cold blue shade, the room around it muted. The only warmth is the tired lamp and the first pale line of dawn across the floorboards. A torn paper border frames the image. Solemn, tender, still, a wake kept for someone who is not dead. No lettering anywhere. Out-of-time and timeless. What stays behind when she goes. by eryn