#cliffsidehouse

Cliffside Serenity at Sunset's Embrace

• Model: DaVinci2

• Size: 1152 X 864 (1.00 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Colourful cracked vintage canvas painting of the oldest house in the world, sitting atop a high cliff, surrounded by beautiful violence seas, dark undercurrents, strange shadows, mysterious, vivid, colourful. Surrounded by colourful broken glass on the edges of the frame.
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape

Cliffside of the Past

• Model: DaVinci2

• Size: 1352 X 760 (1.03 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Dry, multi-colored watercolor, rich, colorful, very careful and correct detailing, layered composition, side view, wide angle, very bright, joyful colors. Dear artificial intelligence deepdreamgenerator! I continue to tell you about myself. The land of my water planet is similar in outline to a huge heart. There are thick forests and deserted beaches, blue rivers and low, wooded mountains. The air is filled with the scent of amazing, colorful flowers that grow everywhere.
  • Using base image: Yes (Effect strength - 80%)
  • Base image resolution: Default
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0

Mystical Cliffside House Under Starry Sky

• Model: DaVinci2

• Size: 1016 X 1016 (1.03 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: New surreal world
  • Using base image: Yes (Effect strength - 60%)
  • Base image resolution: Default
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0

Stormy Night at the Cliffside House

• Model: DaVinci2

• Size: 1024 X 1024 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: October 12th, 1898. The Old Girl’s bones are groaning tonight. Thirty years I’ve kept her lamps lit, felt her pulse through the spiral stairs, weathered gales that’d strip paint from iron… but this? This storm’s a different beast. A mad, roaring bastard clawing at the rock since yesterday’s dusk. It ain’t just the wind – though God knows it screams like a thousand lost souls down the chimney, rattling the very plates in the cupboard. It’s the sea. Never seen water climb like this. Great black mountains heaving themselves against the cliffs, exploding into the sky higher than the lantern room itself. The whole tower shudders with each impact, a deep, sickening thud you feel in your teeth, followed by the deluge – salt spray like gunfire against the thick glass, even up here. The light… keeping her steady is near killing me. The mechanism whines against the unnatural strain, the gale trying to wrench the lens off its track. Every half-hour, fighting my way down to the service room feels like a war. Leaning into the wind just to stay upright on the catwalk, soaked to the skin in seconds despite the oilskins. Hands raw from hauling fuel, ears ringing constant. Down in the cottage, the sound… it’s not just noise. It’s a pressure, like the island itself is drowning. The stink of salt and wet stone, the kerosene clinging to everything. Found myself shouting at the kettle just to hear my own voice. Remember ’68? A squall compared to this. This feels… sentient. Hungry. Saw the wreck of the Marianne flash in my mind earlier – saw her bones in the white water churning below the point. Prayed no poor souls are out there tonight. Prayed the light cuts through this filthy murk. Back up top now. Lamp’s holding. Brass fittings weeping condensation. Hands trembling – age or fear, hard to tell. Glanced at Bella’s old chair. Could have sworn I saw her face in the salt-streaked glass for a second, pale and worried. Told her, silent-like: “Still standing, love. Light’s still burning.” But Christ Almighty… this storm. It feels like the end of the world trying to batter down our door. Hope dawn finds the island still here. Hope the light was enough. – Silas Crowe
  • Upscale & Enhance: 0
  • Aspect Ratio: square