Prompt: a hauntingly beautiful young woman seated on a worn marble bench in a cavernous baroque hall, her posture poised yet weary, as if she's been waiting for centuries. Her wild white hair cascades over one shoulder in a loosely braided rope, strands escaping like wisps of smoke, while her modern gothic attire—layered black chiffon, crushed velvet, and corset lacing—glows faintly with antique gold embroidery and hidden crimson seams that catch the candlelight like old wounds. Beside her, a spectral macaw perches on the bench’s arm, its feathers transformed into a living shadowscape: jet-black plumage edged with flickering gold and garnet, as if dipped in molten metal and dried in ash. The hall itself is a cathedral of decay, its soaring arches swallowed by fog, the only light slicing through high stained glass to paint her face in chiaroscuro—one half illuminated in pale reverence, the other vanishing into the void. The air thrums with silence, thick enough to taste, the macaw’s eye a mirrored abyss reflecting not the room but something far older. Every detail—the fraying threads of her glove, the way her fingertips barely graze the bird’s talons, the dust motes swirling like dying stars—hums with the tension of a paused ritual, a breath held before the knife drops.
Prompt: In a moonlit, crooked forest sketched in the style of Edward Gorey and Vania Zouravliov, a delicate black cockatoo stands at the edge of a moss-covered stage carved into the roots of a hollow tree. Feathers are is a smooth, deep glint bronze with golden undertones, the sheen of polished wood layered with faint cracks and carved symbols. There is yellow under the tail feathers The wings move with quiet grace, connected by fine silver strings of a puppet, that trail up into the mist. The plumage is made of frayed velvet and torn brocade, plum, indigo, and ash, cinched at body with strands of tarnished wire. The beak is coiled into elaborate natural ridges, partially tied to strings, and the eye has a knowing, wise look. The head is bowed, cocked at an angle looking directly at viewer from one eye. Around the cockatoo, other abandoned puppets lie collapsed in shadow, faceless and forgotten. The forest breathes with her, trees bowed inward, branches forming twisted cathedral arches. The atmosphere hums with sorrow and strength, part funeral, part ritual. The whole scene evokes the haunting beauty of a forgotten fairytale where the survivor does not break, she flys, and controls the strings now.
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.
