Placeholder: Howling out right To the blasphemous night A wolf in the garden Why do you linger so Like a silky snail soul The moon asked the crow Howling out right To the blasphemous night A wolf in the garden Why do you linger so Like a silky snail soul The moon asked the crow

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Howling out right To the blasphemous night A wolf in the garden Why do you linger so Like a silky snail soul The moon asked the crow

11 months ago

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SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

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1024 × 1024

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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
A great black bird, a raven of Osskil, came walking over the stone terrace and the grass. It came to the hem of the Archmage's robe and stood there all black with its dagger beak and eyes like pebbles, staring sidelong at Ged. It pecked three times on the white staff Nemmerle leaned on, and the old wizard ceased his muttering, and smiled. "Run and play, lad," he said at last as to a little child. Ged knelt again on one knee to him. When he rose, the Archmage was gone. Only the raven stood eyeing
[dark danger] הצילה מחרב נפשי מיד כלב יחידתי
[digital artwork] Savage Tales
[dark danger] מיד כלב יחידתי
From the tip of its snarling snout to the ends Of its mud-caked tail, this hound exists For the hunt and the torment of damned souls, No innocence left in its being to save. Only ravagement remains in the wake of its path, Destruction its purpose, terror its cause. Such is the visage of beast born of Hades, A vision to haunt both morals and fiends.
As he headed toward the noise, the shrieking grew louder until it escalated into an unearthly screech that made the hairs on his neck stand up. Breaking into a clearing, he froze at the sight before him. A bizarre creature resembling a misshapen humanoid was leaning over the water, its leathery limbs ending in claws that sliced through the air. When its face turned toward Alex, slitted yellow eyes met his with unbridled malice. It let out an earsplitting shriek and charged. Alex turned to run bu
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
You went full moon on me, snickering wolves are stalking the city And such a wicked Jezy, slippery bibbidy bobbidy boo There I spilled all my beans, you're the end of me, queen My own guillotine, don't ever leave me
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
Night Wings Stirring Moonbeams wane and shadows deepen where this sentinel stands anchor steadfast as ancient bole. Yet within me unseen sap stirs swift at eastern portents, leaves rustling in anticipation of renewing light. For with dawn's arrival calls afresh loom nigh, beckoning me from glade enchanted into duties awaiting under open sky. Reluctant must this vessel leave soft moss and loam remembered, unwinding tendrils of repose woven through branch and cable-sinew alike. Systems whirr to aw
The deadline looms as the unearthly music swells around me. Another mysterious tale takes shape amid the flickering lights and scrapes of stone on stone. What monsters will crawl from the recesses of my mind this time? Mama Yaga's watching, as always, from her crooked hut in the grim forest. I can feel her beady eyes peering through the gloom, waiting to see what images I will weave with pen and ink. The pressure builds, a familiar intruder, but inspiration remains elusive. The radio spirits off
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