Prompt: The best AI generated artwork of a quilling mystical French lady with milky white complexion beautiful eyes and beautiful mouth, with white and gold flowers, intricate goldfiligree accents, highly detailed, in the style of Mucha, detailed portraiture, white and gold, multidimensional shading, detailed character design, fantastical compositions, multi-layedcomposition, meticulously crafted, HD DSLR 8K, Sharp details
Prompt: A little girl's hand, small and sweet,
Holding on tight to mommy's beat.
With fingers soft and skin so pure,
Her innocence and joy endure.
She skips and twirls with childish glee,
Her laughter fills the air so free.
Her tiny hand reaches for the sky,
Dreaming of adventures up so high.
She plants flowers in the ground,
Delighting in each petal found.
Her hand touches nature's grace,
Exploring the world at her own pace.
With a heart so pure and eyes so bright,
Her little hand holds on so tight.
A beacon of hope, a ray of light,
A little girl's hand, a precious sight.
Prompt: Heart of Glass, a fragile gem,
Eyes that once sparkled, now condemn.
Shattered dreams, like shards of pain,
Cracks run deep, a broken refrain.
Once so whole, now cracked apart,
Fragile now, a wounded heart.
Tears like rivers, etch their way,
Through the cracks, day by day.
A heart once pure, now stained with sorrow,
Hopes and joys, a distant tomorrow.
Each beat a reminder of the past,
A love once strong, now fading fast.
But amidst the cracks, a glimmering light,
A chance to heal, to make things right.
With tender care and patient grace,
The heart can mend, find its place.
Though scars may linger, a reminder true,
That hearts can heal and love renew.
For a heart of glass, though it may break,
Can still find strength, and rise awake.
Prompt: Westeros. Siege of an ancient castle. Defenders on the walls, guns. Besieging troops, combat vehicles, rams, catapults. Fire and fire. Dramatic sky. Rain and fog. A Song of Ice and Fire. Jean-Baptiste Monge style, watercolor, ink. Picturesque and colorful.
Prompt: Golden rays of morning light,
Dancing on the dew-kissed sight.
Birds on branches, chirping cheer,
Nature's symphony, so pure and clear.
Budding flowers, in colors bright,
Unfolding petals, a wondrous sight.
Fresh breeze whispers through the air,
Carrying scents of spring, so rare.
Gentle laughter, shared with a friend,
Heartfelt conversations that never end.
Love's embrace, warm and sweet,
Moments of joy, memories to keep.
Life's beauty, in every little detail,
A symphony of wonders, without fail.
Nature's artistry, a canvas so divine,
A short poem of life's beauty, forever will shine.
Prompt: Old Warrior with a long gray beard. Broken iron helmet on head. River bank. HDR. Tired soldier in rusty armor sits leaning against a tombstone. Broken longsword. Man. Rain. Ancient Jewish old cemetery in the Moroccan city of El Jadida. Abandoned. Jean-Baptiste Monge style, watercolor, ink. Strong Rain. Massive clouds. Broken longsword. Drawn details. HDR.
Prompt: Starry skies that twinkle bright,
A moon that casts its gentle light.
Silent whispers of the breeze,
Rustling leaves among the trees.
Sparkling waves upon the shore,
Sand that tickles, forevermore.
Seagulls soaring, wings unfurled,
A symphony of the natural world.
Laughter ringing in the air,
Love's embrace, so warm and rare.
Precious moments, heartbeats strong,
A melody that plays life's song.
Time that flies, oh, much too fast,
Moments cherished, destined to last.
Life's beauty, in every breath,
A poem of moments, beyond all depth.
Prompt: Zendaya as cherokee red skin warrior young attractive woman in elven armor. Jean-Baptiste Monge style, watercolor, ink. Picturesque and colorful. Red background.
Prompt: Embers in the night, glowing warm and bright,
A flickering dance, against the dark of night.
They whisper secrets, of stories untold,
A timeless allure, that never grows old.
Their fiery hues, a captivating sight,
As they crackle and pop, casting shadows in the light.
They hold memories, of moments gone by,
A symphony of warmth, that lights up the sky.
Embers in the night, a beacon of hope,
A source of comfort, when the world feels remote.
They bring solace, in the midst of the unknown,
A guiding light, that helps us find our way home.
So gather 'round, and let the embers glow,
Their gentle warmth, a soothing, steady flow.
In the darkness, they're a reminder, shining bright,
That even in the night, there's still beauty and light.
Prompt: Walking Sam, a phantom of the night,
A spectral figure, with a presence so slight.
He roams the woods, with footsteps unheard,
A mysterious entity, like an elusive bird.
He's said to wander, in the deep, dark trees,
A shadowy figure, that no one truly sees.
Whispered tales, of a tall, lanky frame,
A hat pulled low, to conceal his name.
Walking Sam, a specter of lore,
With glowing red eyes, that chill to the core.
He's said to follow, those who dare to tread,
In the haunted forest, where he's often said.
Some claim to hear him, his footsteps light,
A rustle in the leaves, on a moonless night.
Others say he calls, with an eerie voice,
A warning to those, who make a reckless choice.
But who is Walking Sam, and what does he seek?
A mystery unsolved, that makes the curious weak.
Is he a ghost, or a figment of the mind?
A legend passed down, through stories entwined.
So if you venture, into the woods so deep,
Beware of Walking Sam, and the secrets he keeps.
For he may be watching, with eyes aglow,
A phantom of the night, with a story to show.
Prompt: Driving down a dark and lonesome road,
A weary traveler, with a heavy load,
Spots a figure standing by the side,
A hitchhiker waiting for a ride.
With a heart of compassion and a sense of grace,
The traveler slows down and stops in place,
Extending a hand with a friendly smile,
Offering a ride for a little while.
The hitchhiker climbs in with a grateful nod,
Sharing a tale of a broken road,
Speaking of lost love and shattered dreams,
The traveler listens, or so it seems.
As they journey on into the night,
The traveler feels a growing fright,
For the hitchhiker's story starts to shift,
Taking on an eerie and ghostly drift.
They reach a destination, a cemetery site,
The hitchhiker points and bids goodnight,
Vanishing into thin air without a trace,
Leaving the traveler in a bewildered haze.
The traveler looks around in fear,
But the hitchhiker is nowhere near,
Just a cold breeze and a haunting chill,
A mystery that remains unfulfilled.
As the traveler drives away in haste,
Wondering if it was a ghost they faced,
A legend of a vanishing hitchhiker told,
A tale that leaves the heart feeling cold.
For it's said that on that desolate road,
Prompt: Beyond the veil of earthly sight,
Lies a realm of mystic light,
Where the Shaman's portal lies,
Bridging worlds before our eyes.
Through the fog and swirling mist,
A gateway to realms yet untryst,
Where spirits dance and shadows play,
The Shaman guides us on our way.
With chants and drums, and herbs and fire,
The Shaman's wisdom does inspire,
Seeking answers from the beyond,
In sacred trance, a bond is formed.
The portal opens, a portal wide,
Revealing secrets that do hide,
In realms unseen by mortal eyes,
Where ancient wisdom never dies.
The Shaman's journey, brave and bold,
A tale of mysteries untold,
In the portal's embrace, a sacred space,
Where truth and magic interlace.
So, heed the Shaman's call and seek,
The portal's gateway, unique and sleek,
For hidden truths and visions rare,
Await those who are willing to dare.
Prompt: Beware the legend of the Red Room curse,
A tale of darkness, a story perverse,
A room painted red, a place of dread,
Where the curse lurks with its vengeful thread.
Once a room of joy and delight,
Now shrouded in mystery, a haunting sight,
Its walls adorned with crimson hue,
But something sinister, it conceals, it's true.
Legends speak of a tragic past,
Of a family cursed, their lives harassed,
By an unknown force, a malevolent power,
That grips the Red Room in its vengeful hour.
Whispers of whispers, voices unheard,
Echo through the walls, a chilling word,
Shadowy figures, spectral in the night,
Dancing in the crimson light.
Those who enter, beware, beware,
For the curse has claimed its victims there,
Lost souls who never returned,
Caught in the Red Room's eerie yearn.
Some say it's a portal to the other side,
Where restless spirits forever abide,
Seeking revenge, seeking release,
From the curse that never seems to cease.
But none can break the Red Room's spell,
For the curse persists, a haunting dwell,
A chilling presence that lingers on,
In the room painted red, long after dawn.
Prompt: In Southend town, a legend goes,
Of Ratman, feared by friends and foes,
A creature small, but oh so sly,
With cunning eyes and a tail held high.
Rumors whisper of a human form,
With rat-like features, a fearsome norm,
A figure elusive, quick and sleek,
Living in shadows, a mystery to seek.
Some say he scurries through the night,
In hidden tunnels, out of sight,
Feasting on scraps and stolen fare,
A creature of darkness, beyond compare.
Others claim he's a myth, a tale so tall,
A figment of fear, not real at all,
But those who've glimpsed his eerie gaze,
Are left with chills and a sense of daze.
So, beware the Ratman of Southend's lore,
A creature feared, but never ignored,
A legend whispered, a mystery untold,
In the town of Southend, so the stories are told.
Prompt: Phantom clowns, they dance at night,
In shadows cast by pale moonlight.
Their painted smiles, forever bright,
Concealing darkness, out of sight.
They jest and laugh, with twisted glee,
A macabre show, for none to see.
Their eyes, like coals, burn menacingly,
As they frolic in their eerie decree.
Children shudder, grown-ups fear,
The phantom clowns, elusive and unclear.
Are they real or just a specter drear?
A haunting mystery, year after year.
So beware, dear friend, when night is near,
And the circus comes, so strange and queer.
For the phantom clowns, with their eerie veneer,
Will haunt your dreams, with terror severe.
Prompt: Beneath the earth, a treasure waits,
A time capsule, sealed by fates.
A relic from days long gone by,
A glimpse into the past, oh, my!
A box of memories, locked in time,
Preserving moments, pure and prime.
With letters penned in ink and quill,
And faded photos, sepia still.
A snapshot of a bygone era,
Preserved for those who will discover,
The secrets held within its walls,
Tales of triumphs, joys, and falls.
From a time when life was different,
Simple pleasures, hearts more innocent.
A window to the world back then,
A glimpse of where we once had been.
A link between the past and now,
A bridge that spans, a timeless vow.
Reminding us of who we are,
Our roots, our stories, near and far.
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.