Placeholder: It was the blackest night There was no moon in sight You know the stars ain't shinin' Cause the sky's too tight I heard the scarey wind I seen some ugly trees There was a werewolf honkin' 'Long the side of me It was the blackest night There was no moon in sight You know the stars ain't shinin' Cause the sky's too tight I heard the scarey wind I seen some ugly trees There was a werewolf honkin' 'Long the side of me

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@generalpha

Prompt

It was the blackest night There was no moon in sight You know the stars ain't shinin' Cause the sky's too tight I heard the scarey wind I seen some ugly trees There was a werewolf honkin' 'Long the side of me

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

2 months ago

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SSD-1B

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7

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1024 × 1024

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It was the blackest night There was no moon in sight You know the stars ain't shinin' Cause the sky's too tight I heard the scarey wind I seen some ugly trees There was a werewolf honkin' 'Long the side of me
The wind carried the melodic voices of his people to him, weaving tales of valor and unity through the air. In the soft moonlight, he contemplated the beauty of the Celtic lands, both in its landscapes and in the dreams of peace that illuminated the eyes of his tribe.
[illustration by Junji] In the darkness of the night, a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the forest, moving with impossible speed, leaving no trace behind but a lingering putrid, metallic stench that filled the air. The settlers, terrified and confused, immediately pointed fingers at a nearby group of Native Americans, sparking a brief but bloody conflict fueled by fear and misunderstanding. However, the truth was far more sinister than anyone could have imagined.
The moon asked the crow For a little show In the hazy milk of twilight No one had to know The moon asked the crow For a little show In the hazy milk of twilight No one had to know
Let no moon Creep up the heaven to-night. I in darksome noon Walking hopefully, Seek my shrouded light— Grope for thee! Darker grow The borders of the dark! Through the branches glow! From the roof above, Star and diamond-spark, Light for love.
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous, and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?
[The Demon Project 048: from Pan's Labyrinth (2006)] a scene where sinister demons roam a dark, otherworldly landscape, their twisted forms blending seamlessly with the eerie environment. The demons, born from the depths of imagination and brought to life through digital artistry, exude a malevolent energy that sends shivers down your spine. The intricate details and haunting atmosphere evoke a sense of dread and fascination, drawing you into a realm where the boundary between reality and nightm
The Demon Project 048: a scene where sinister demons roam a dark, otherworldly landscape, their twisted forms blending seamlessly with the eerie environment. The demons, born from the depths of imagination and brought to life through digital artistry, exude a malevolent energy that sends shivers down your spine. The intricate details and haunting atmosphere evoke a sense of dread and fascination, drawing you into a realm where the boundary between reality and nightmare blurs.
[illustration by Bernie Wrightson] In the darkness of the night, a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the forest, moving with impossible speed, leaving no trace behind but a lingering putrid, metallic stench that filled the air. The settlers, terrified and confused, immediately pointed fingers at a nearby group of Native Americans, sparking a brief but bloody conflict fueled by fear and misunderstanding. However, the truth was far more sinister than anyone could have imagined.
The unceasing night spoke. She grew something as your lungs cold enough to make every breath an assault, grim veins of bare oblivion threading your every thought. Clarity to her: purest cold cut, black silence unwilling to slow your air. Your symphonic descent flourished. Being ancient, she stiffened spirit, own will still pulsing underneath of howling skin and towers thrust upward through the murk. Your belongingness froze; for a moment balanced silence. The gods struggled. There sat shattering
captured in a poor quality close-up photo, a mere fragment of the grand tapestry of this enigmatic realm. Despite the blurred edges and obscured details, the essence of this scene on Terraléa 816 tantalizes the imagination, hinting at hidden wonders just beyond the frame. In the faint shadows and pixelated hues of the photo, one can discern a faint glimmer of a world unlike any other, where the echoes of history and the whispers of the unknown intertwine in a delicate dance.
[horror monster series collector cards (1961)] collection "Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale," [Finland 2010] the cold winds howl through the snow-covered landscape. The skeleton Santa Claus stands tall and eerie, a figure of dread rather than joy, as he navigates the crypt filled with haunted gifts, and a ghostly Christmas tree.
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