I will dive deeper into my dreams, channeling the strange and the surreal onto the page. The story will unfold, layer by layer, revealing a psychological thriller unlike any other. It will be a rollercoaster ride through the corridors of the mind, where reality and illusion collide. With every stroke of my pen, I bring the visions to life. The monsters, the mysteries, the mind-bending landscapes—they all take shape on the paper. The words flow, fueled by the pressure and the passion. The deadlin

doubles, twins, entangled fingers, Worst Quality, ugly, ugly face, watermarks, undetailed, unrealistic, double limbs, worst hands, worst body, Disfigured, double, twin, dialog, book, multiple fingers, deformed, deformity, ugliness, poorly drawn face, extra_limb, extra limbs, bad hands, wrong hands, poorly drawn hands, messy drawing, cropped head, bad anatomy, lowres, extra digit, fewer digit, worst quality, low quality, jpeg artifacts, watermark, missing fingers, cropped, poorly drawn

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Lost in the labyrinth of politics, Alice walks with weary steps. Her futile campaign echoes in the hollow void. A tapping, a haunting presence, disrupts her futile musings. The absurd walrus emerges, foreboding and mocking her aspirations. "Nevermore," it utters, a hollow refrain of desolation. Alice, trapped in the cycle of questioning and despair, finds no solace. The walrus, perched upon Pallas' bust, symbolizes her torment. In the end, she is left alone, condemned to the relentless grip of f

[Melody Gardot] Time seemed to distort as she floated alone in the unending void. She carefully rationed her meager supplies, spending long hours sleeping to conserve oxygen. But even in dreams, panic crept in. She found herself gasping for breath in a sudden waking, the pod walls crushing inward as the air grew thin. Checking readings only heightened her fear - reserves dropping faster than expected. Sophie scrabbled through storage for anything that could boost the failing life support,

To traverse enough in time that body recognizes the too-late fits and still the moment turned for the end. The act: coming of absence and no space to change shape. Your will split, fragments freezing black static of frost of skin you. The echo began to spread across the lattice, terror of sanity then self-cycle torn. The irrational circular of face shape for cold gestating power chosen. If either existed, and without recognition whether dead as you, once fragmented a blueprint from who existed.

Beverly Grove: Eyes widened with determination I won't be swayed by their tricks. I've seen the harm they inflict, the lives shattered in their wake. They must be held accountable. Innocent people have suffered, their souls trapped in the clutches of their malevolent rituals. Dahlia Death: A hint of sadness in her voice Indeed, the Order's actions have consequences that ripple through the realms of the living and the dead. But know this, Beverly, they are cunning and well-guarded. Unmasking them

Elegant: Time seemed to distort as Sophie floated alone in the unending void. She carefully rationed her meager supplies, spending long hours sleeping to conserve oxygen. But even in dreams, panic crept in. She found herself gasping for breath in a sudden waking, the pod walls crushing inward as the air grew thin. Checking readings only heightened her fear - reserves dropping faster than expected. Sophie scrabbled through storage for anything that could boost the failing life support, coming up

Careless nature gentle stare You fell like rain in the dark abysses Kissed the lips of bloody twinsis Sung to you a slew of sirens Tricky mermaids and evil pirates You watched the sky With kaleidoscopic eyes Howling out right

SNIFFIN’ GLUE magazine high res photo cover for special issue #666 (May 2035) on traditional calligraphy brush, expressive line, ink washed on a woman figure. a ray of light in a world plagued by chaos due to geopolitical tensions and global warming., [a lot of writing and table of content issues like indie magazines]

$The in-between that space desertion caught; she breathed in as the important cold bit through her heated skin. It meant flesh shiver slow that pale, internal agony in silent waves that crawled multi-layered echoes. You did not move, bare and all-but-ended instincts still left that time filled with the need; you understood the fundamentals, purged of breath until red wet vision and heightened to equal thought. There: the well solid. Then beneath the moonlight blackened fractures, trauma just from$

Dahlia shakes her head, unfazed, and states— "Your hubris I cannot allow to spread. Though demons vie for power, I guard the just." A look then passes, knowing, between two— One seeks chaos, the other harmony. An eternal clash of light and dark ensues.

Lost in the labyrinth of politics, Alice treads with weary steps. Her small, futile campaign a mere echo in the void. A tapping, a haunting specter, disrupts her futile contemplations. The walrus appears, absurd and foreboding, mocking her aspirations. "Nevermore," it utters, a hollow refrain of desolation. Alice, trapped in an endless cycle of questioning and despair, finds no respite. The walrus, perched upon the bust of Pallas, a symbol of her torment. She pleads for solace, but the walrus, a