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Prompt by c85be507e08

Beneath the cloak prompts

very few results

8 months ago

Summon a hauntingly cinematic vision of Baba Yaga, the ancient witch of the dark forests, feared and revered across the ages. The scene unfolds deep within a mist-covered, cursed woodland, where twisted, skeletal trees loom overhead, their branches forming eerie claw-like shapes. A flickering, spectral light moves through the fog, revealing a crumbling wooden hut standing on massive, grotesque bird-like legs, shifting and creaking as if alive. 🔹 The Witch Appears. From the shadows, Baba Yaga emerges, cloaked in tattered robes infused with black magic, woven with the threads of time itself. Her face is gaunt, yet powerful, her glowing, hollowed eyes pierce the darkness, ancient knowledge burning within them. Long, wiry white hair floats around her like strands of spectral mist, and her gnarled hands, adorned with enchanted rings, clutch a twisted staff, pulsing with eerie, greenish energy. 🔹 The Atmosphere Darkens. The ground cracks beneath her bare feet, roots twisting unnaturally in her wake. A cauldron bubbles nearby, filled with a swirling, glowing elixir that emits a ghostly green vapor. Whispers of trapped souls echo through the trees, their faint outlines flickering in and out of existence. Ravens caw from the treetops, their eyes glowing like embers in the abyss. 🔹 A Sinister Presence. Her long, bony fingers trace symbols in the air, weaving spells that send tendrils of black smoke spiraling through the trees, coiling around unseen forces lurking in the shadows. The very air trembles as she mutters an incantation in an ancient, forgotten tongue, her voice both terrifying and mesmerizing. 🔹 The Final Omen. Suddenly, the forest is silent, an unnatural stillness taking hold. Baba Yaga turns her head slowly, her piercing gaze locking onto the viewer, as if sensing their presence. The wind howls, the mist swirls, and the hut shifts once more—a sign that she is always watching, always waiting. The screen fades to black, leaving only the inscription, written in glowing, cryptic runes: 🔥 Beware the Witch of the Woods. Beware… Baba Yaga. 🔥

5 months ago

In the heart of an ancient, dark fantasy forest, where the trees loom tall and their gnarled branches twist like skeletal fingers against the twilight sky, stands a figure both fierce and enchanting. This is Little Red Riding Hood, reimagined as a warrior poised for battle. Her most striking feature is her vibrant, flowing hair, a cascade of fiery red curls that tumble down her back, catching the faintest glimmers of light that pierce through the dense canopy above. This hair, wild and untamed, frames her determined face, making her instantly recognizable even in the shadowy depths of the woods. She is clad in a striking red cloak that billows slightly, as if caught in an unseen breeze, adding a sense of motion to the scene. Beneath the cloak, she wears a form-fitting bodysuit that leaves her arms and legs bare, designed to allow for maximum mobility and agility. The bodysuit is sleek and dark, almost blending with the shadows, but adorned with intricate, barely-there patterns that shimmer like stars in the night sky. The outfit is both practical for battle and undeniably alluring, hinting at her confidence and strength. In her hands, she grips a sword, its blade gleaming with an otherworldly light, reflecting her readiness to confront the dangers that lurk within the forest. Her stance is one of preparedness, her muscles taut, eyes scanning the darkness with a warrior's focus. The forest around her is alive with eerie whispers and the distant howls of creatures unknown, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. The background is a tapestry of deep, dark greens and blacks, with occasional splashes of color from wildflowers that have adapted to the lack of sunlight, their petals glowing faintly in the dim light. This is a place where magic and danger intertwine, and Little Red Riding Hood stands as a beacon of defiance and courage amidst the gloom.

18 days ago

“Hyperrealistic miniature mushroom thief, knee-high, crouched in the shadows of a moonlit medieval alley, one hand gripping a stolen silver locket, the other pressed against a mossy stone wall. His body is a single, mature portobello mushroom — deep brown cap with cracked, leathery skin, gills exposed like tattered cloak folds, stem slightly bent from years of stealth. His face emerges from the cap’s underside: large, hypnotic human eyes — golden-amber irises with vertical slit pupils like a cat’s, glowing faintly in the dark, framed by thick, shadowed brows formed by the mushroom’s natural ridges. His mouth is a subtle, sly curve, barely visible beneath a dusting of spores. He wears a hooded cloak of moth-eaten velvet and dried lichen, patched with stolen silk scraps, cinched with a rope of braided root. On his head: a dented, tarnished iron coif — salvaged from a dead guard — pulled low over his brow, blending into the shadows. Rain mist clings to his cap; his breath fogs the cold air. Background: narrow alley between crumbling stone buildings, hanging laundry, distant torchlight flickering on wet cobblestones. Shot on ARRI Alexa 65, 75mm anamorphic lens, shallow depth of field, chiaroscuro moonlight with cool shadows and warm torch highlights, ultra-detailed textures (mushroom gills, velvet fraying, rust flakes, spore dust, water droplets), live-action fantasy film aesthetic, by Guillermo del Toro and Roger Deakins, 8K cinematic masterpiece.”

18 days ago

“Hyperrealistic miniature mushroom thief, knee-high, crouched in the shadows of a moonlit medieval alley, one hand gripping a stolen silver locket, the other pressed against a mossy stone wall. His body is a single, mature portobello mushroom — deep brown cap with cracked, leathery skin, gills exposed like tattered cloak folds, stem slightly bent from years of stealth. His face emerges from the cap’s underside: large, hypnotic human eyes — golden-amber irises with vertical slit pupils like a cat’s, glowing faintly in the dark, framed by thick, shadowed brows formed by the mushroom’s natural ridges. His mouth is a subtle, sly curve, barely visible beneath a dusting of spores. He wears a hooded cloak of moth-eaten velvet and dried lichen, patched with stolen silk scraps, cinched with a rope of braided root. On his head: a dented, tarnished iron coif — salvaged from a dead guard — pulled low over his brow, blending into the shadows. Rain mist clings to his cap; his breath fogs the cold air. Background: narrow alley between crumbling stone buildings, hanging laundry, distant torchlight flickering on wet cobblestones. Shot on ARRI Alexa 65, 75mm anamorphic lens, shallow depth of field, chiaroscuro moonlight with cool shadows and warm torch highlights, ultra-detailed textures (mushroom gills, velvet fraying, rust flakes, spore dust, water droplets), live-action fantasy film aesthetic, by Guillermo del Toro and Roger Deakins, 8K cinematic masterpiece.”