A sample prompt of what you can find in this page
Prompt by ElectricL

Twisted Forms prompts

hundreds of results

8 months ago

Abstract Full-Body Portrait of a Prostitute – Salvador Dalí (Late-Life Style, Singular Focus & Pure Surrealism) (Surrealism:1.7, Salvador Dalí late-life style:2.0, Dreamlike distortion:1.6, Hyperreal textures:1.5, Chiaroscuro contrast:1.4, Oil-painting brushstrokes:1.5, Organic fluidity:1.6, Metaphysical realism:1.4) A full-body surrealist portrait of a prostitute, painted in the unmistakable late-life style of Salvador Dalí, where dream logic dictates form and reality bends into its own subconscious reflection. She stands alone in the void, a lone figure frozen in motion yet melting into time itself. Her body is elongated but coherent, her limbs refined into one singular, fluid, organic motion, as if she is a sculpture made of half-formed candle wax, melting at the edges but never fully dissolving. Her face remains untouched by distortion, hyperreal and melancholic, eyes darkened with kohl, staring directly outward, unblinking, as if confronting time, fate, and the fabric of reality itself. A single strand of jet-black hair escapes from her carefully pinned curls, swaying in an invisible breeze. Her lips—painted a deep, blood-red—drip slightly at the edges, as if smeared by unseen hands, caught between seduction and sorrow. Her dress, a relic of the past, is a contradiction of luxury and decay, the hem transforming into thin wisps of smoke, curling and dispersing into the canvas. The fabric is stretched unnaturally, its folds elongating like the melted forms of Dalí’s classic clocks, one shoulder slipping in an eternal descent, never quite falling. The setting is an infinite, surreal landscape—a lonely street with no visible end, where shadows stretch longer than their owners, and the cobblestones appear to melt into liquid mercury. In the background, a large, antique pocket watch, twisted and partially submerged in the air, hangs frozen at an uncertain hour, its hands warped into elongated spirals. A single red rose, impossibly large and impossibly alive, hovers just behind her, its petals peeling away like fragments of forgotten love letters. The air feels thick, painted with visible brushstrokes, where light and shadow do not obey the laws of physics—instead, they bleed into one another, wrapping around her body in soft, liquid chiaroscuro, mimicking the curvature of a dream. She is not merely a woman but a symbol—of desire, of loss, of something slipping through time like sand through Dalí’s own fingers.

9 months ago

In a barren, volcanic landscape, a fierce woman stands amidst jagged black rocks, her presence both mesmerizing and terrifying, as if channeling the very force of the earth. Her pose is dynamic and full of intensity, her torso twisted, arms spread outward in a stance that suggests power and defiance. Her eyes are fixed directly ahead, with an unyielding gaze, and an expression that blends wrath and resilience. She’s dressed in scorched, tattered clothing, barely clinging to her figure in burnt strips that ripple with heat and expose much of her form, including one bare breast. barefoot. The charred remnants of fabric smolder along the edges, with faint embers glowing in the seams, as if she’s emerged from a firestorm. Ash and soot streak her skin, mingling with the dark patches of burns, giving her an appearance of gritty resilience. From her eyes and mouth, molten lava pours out in a slow, thick flow—a relentless torrent of glowing, molten rock spilling from her eyes like fiery tears and streaming down her chin from her open mouth. The lava is thick and vivid, with deep, pulsing reds and oranges, illuminating her face with a harsh, otherworldly light. The heat rising from her body distorts the air, casting smoky trails and faint wisps around her as if she’s engulfed in her own fiery aura. Around her, the rocky ground is covered with low-lying mist and smoke, hovering just above the surface, while subtle veins of lava pulse beneath the ground, casting a faint red glow through the mist like the earth's own blood. The volcanic terrain is punctuated by deep craters and rocky outcroppings, with hints of molten light seeping from below, giving the land a dangerous, primordial energy. Above her head, a brilliantly glowing atomic symbol floats, radiating a haunting atomic-green light. This symbol is surrounded by equations, scientific formulas, and symbols of physics that orbit like a crown of knowledge, each one glowing faintly and pulsing in sync with her energy. The symbols are both beautiful and ominous, casting an ethereal glow around her face and adding to her mystical, almost godlike aura. Embers and glowing particles swirl through the air around her, drifting in the rising heat like fiery snowflakes, glowing faintly and leaving trails of light as they move. These sparks catch the light from the veins of lava below, creating a dynamic, layered effect that makes the scene feel alive and chaotic. The landscape and the embers are rendered in hyperrealistic detail, capturing every texture from the scorched ground to the molten flow pouring from her eyes and mouth. Rendering Style: Hyperrealistic and cinematic, with a strong emphasis on dynamic lighting and fine detail. The scene combines gritty textures and vibrant glows, achieving a powerful balance between earthly elements and mystical symbolism. A masterpiece worthy of ArtStation, capturing the raw, untamed energy and ethereal might of this formidable figure.

8 months ago

(Surrealism:1.7, Salvador Dalí late-life style:2.0, Dreamlike distortion:1.6, Hyperreal textures:1.5, Chiaroscuro contrast:1.4, Oil-painting brushstrokes:1.5, Organic fluidity:1.6, Metaphysical realism:1.4) A full-body surrealist portrait of a prostitute, painted in the unmistakable late-life style of Salvador Dalí, where dream logic dictates form and reality bends into its own subconscious reflection. She stands alone in the void, a lone figure frozen in motion yet melting into time itself. Her body is elongated but coherent, her limbs refined into one singular, fluid, organic motion, as if she is a sculpture made of half-formed candle wax, melting at the edges but never fully dissolving. Her face remains untouched by distortion, hyperreal and melancholic, eyes darkened with kohl, staring directly outward, unblinking, as if confronting time, fate, and the fabric of reality itself. A single strand of jet-black hair escapes from her carefully pinned curls, swaying in an invisible breeze. Her lips—painted a deep, blood-red—drip slightly at the edges, as if smeared by unseen hands, caught between seduction and sorrow. Her dress, a relic of the past, is a contradiction of luxury and decay, the hem transforming into thin wisps of smoke, curling and dispersing into the canvas. The fabric is stretched unnaturally, its folds elongating like the melted forms of Dalí’s classic clocks, one shoulder slipping in an eternal descent, never quite falling. The setting is an infinite, surreal landscape—a lonely street with no visible end, where shadows stretch longer than their owners, and the cobblestones appear to melt into liquid mercury. In the background, a large, antique pocket watch, twisted and partially submerged in the air, hangs frozen at an uncertain hour, its hands warped into elongated spirals. A single red rose, impossibly large and impossibly alive, hovers just behind her, its petals peeling away like fragments of forgotten love letters. The air feels thick, painted with visible brushstrokes, where light and shadow do not obey the laws of physics—instead, they bleed into one another, wrapping around her body in soft, liquid chiaroscuro, mimicking the curvature of a dream. She is not merely a woman but a symbol—of desire, of loss, of something slipping through time like sand through Dalí’s own fingers.

7 months ago

Dark Fantasy, Cinematic, High Contrast, Ethereal Divine Light, Horror Atmosphere, Gothic Aesthetic) A monstrous shadow demon, its form ever-shifting like living smoke, lurks within the abyss. Its large, crooked grin glows faintly, stretched wide with eerie amusement, reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat, but far more sinister. Twin orange eyes burn like molten embers, piercing through the darkness, radiating pure malice. It moves within the shadows, slithering unseen through the night, feeding on fear, greed, and the darkest desires of those who dwell in the void. Tonight, however, it does not feast—it fights. Before it, the divine light pierces through the darkness, burning away its form like flame licking through parchment. The forces of light—radiant celestial beings, armored warriors of divine energy—stand firm, their glowing weapons carving through the swirling black mist that shapes the demon’s body. Golden rays of holy power clash against tendrils of shadow, forming a battlefield suspended between dimensions, where the war of purity and corruption wages endlessly. The demon recoils, its form distorting violently, its grin twisting into a snarl as the light sears through its essence. It is a creature that exists only in darkness—where the light touches, it begins to unravel. Yet, even as it retreats, it whispers in the air, its laughter a low, resonant echo that chills the bones of those who fight it. The light may burn it, but fear fuels it, and as long as darkness exists within the hearts of men, the demon will always return. The background is a surreal battlefield, an apocalyptic ruin where jagged spires and crumbling structures fade between shadow and reality. Above, the sky is torn in two—one half a swirling vortex of darkness, the other bathed in celestial radiance. The war between light and shadow rages on, an eternal clash of forces that neither side will ever truly win.

7 months ago

Dark Fantasy, Cinematic, High Contrast, Ethereal Divine Light, Horror Atmosphere, Gothic Aesthetic) A monstrous shadow demon, its form ever-shifting like living smoke, lurks within the abyss. Its large, crooked grin glows faintly, stretched wide with eerie amusement, reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat, but far more sinister. Twin orange eyes burn like molten embers, piercing through the darkness, radiating pure malice. It moves within the shadows, slithering unseen through the night, feeding on fear, greed, and the darkest desires of those who dwell in the void. Tonight, however, it does not feast—it fights. Before it, the divine light pierces through the darkness, burning away its form like flame licking through parchment. The forces of light—radiant celestial beings, armored warriors of divine energy—stand firm, their glowing weapons carving through the swirling black mist that shapes the demon’s body. Golden rays of holy power clash against tendrils of shadow, forming a battlefield suspended between dimensions, where the war of purity and corruption wages endlessly. The demon recoils, its form distorting violently, its grin twisting into a snarl as the light sears through its essence. It is a creature that exists only in darkness—where the light touches, it begins to unravel. Yet, even as it retreats, it whispers in the air, its laughter a low, resonant echo that chills the bones of those who fight it. The light may burn it, but fear fuels it, and as long as darkness exists within the hearts of men, the demon will always return. The background is a surreal battlefield, an apocalyptic ruin where jagged spires and crumbling structures fade between shadow and reality. Above, the sky is torn in two—one half a swirling vortex of darkness, the other bathed in celestial radiance. The war between light and shadow rages on, an eternal clash of forces that neither side will ever truly win.

7 months ago

a surreal and psychedelic scene, reminiscent of a Salvador Dali painting, where time and reality are distorted: In an expansive, dreamlike landscape, a clock melts over the edge of a table, defying the laws of physics. The sky above swirls with vibrant, otherworldly colors, blending into an infinite horizon. A figure stands at the center of this scene, their form shifting and changing. Parts of their body transform into various elements – one arm becomes a flowing river, the other a winding vine. Their face is a canvas of shifting expressions, each one reflecting a different aspect of human emotion. Around them, objects float in mid-air, defying gravity. Books open with pages turning into birds, a vintage telephone twists into a spiral, and a chessboard's pieces move on their own. In the background, a cityscape bends and curves like a wave, buildings morphing into surreal shapes. The border between sky and earth blurs, creating a sense of endlessness. In this scene, reality is malleable, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary. It's a visual representation of a mind-bending journey through a world where the impossible becomes possible, and the boundaries of imagination are limitless., moody, unsettling, surreal imagery, macabe, (award winning cinematic shot:1.21), (Kati Horna:1.32) From below, deep in the submerged grotto, a solitary figure stands at the water’s edge, gazing up toward the ascending steps, their expression contemplative and enigmatic. From above, another figure walks up the steps, seemingly unaware of the one below, their face obscured as if caught in a moment between reality and illusion. The water shimmers with an impossible clarity, revealing intricate, otherworldly details beneath the surface—perhaps submerged relics, mysterious symbols, or faint glimpses of an unseen world. The sky above is vast and surreal, with clouds that seem to defy gravity, casting an uncanny glow over the entire composition. The atmosphere is both hyper-detailed, in the style of van Eyck, and eerily mysterious, as if Magritte’s enigmatic vision has bent reality itself.

8 months ago

A **dark and twisted Wonderland** unfurls, transformed into a **haunting nightmare** where every corner pulses with malevolent energy. The once whimsical landscape is now warped, twisted, and drenched in an unsettling, nightmarish atmosphere. The ground beneath your feet is cracked, like the skin of some ancient beast, with dark roots curling through the earth like sinister veins, pulsating with an eerie life force. The air is thick with a palpable tension, a heavy weight that presses against your chest. Above, the sky churns in a swirling maelstrom of deep **purple** and **blood-red** hues, the colors constantly shifting, as though the heavens themselves are in torment. These ominous clouds swirl with an unnatural force, casting shifting shadows and strange, ghostly lights that dance across the land below. The air crackles with the whispers of long-forgotten creatures, their voices an unsettling mix of laughter and cries of anguish. The trees, once delicate and enchanting, now writhe in grotesque forms, their gnarled branches twisted into horrific shapes, reaching like skeletal fingers towards the sky. Their leaves are dark, almost black, with sharp edges, resembling jagged claws. Strange, glowing eyes peer out from the darkness between the trees, watching, waiting. The familiar figures of Wonderland are no longer innocent and playful. The **Mad Hatter's** hat is tattered, his grin more menacing than ever, his eyes glowing with madness. The **White Rabbit** scurries past with a twisted, skeletal form, its fur matted and stained, leaving a trail of blood behind it as it vanishes into the shadows. The **Cheshire Cat** grins wider, its smile stretching unnaturally across its face, revealing sharp, jagged teeth, its body flickering in and out of existence like a ghost in the fog. A crooked, decaying mansion looms in the distance, its windows shattered, leaking an eerie greenish light that pulses with each beat of the land's dark heart. The walls of the mansion seem to breathe, expanding and contracting, as if it is alive with some ancient malevolent force. The sound of dripping water echoes through the air, but it’s not water—it's blood, flowing in a slow, rhythmic stream that stains the cracked ground red. In the distance, the sound of distant bells tolls—deep, mournful chimes that reverberate through the land, signifying the passage of time in this nightmarish realm. The landscape seems to pulse and shift, an ever-changing labyrinth of fear, madness, and decay, drawing you deeper into its twisted heart. The entire scene is bathed in an unnatural light, as if the moon itself has been swallowed by the madness of Wonderland, leaving only an unsettling, shifting glow that amplifies the nightmarish nature of this once-innocent world. This is no longer Wonderland. It is a place of horror, a **haunting nightmare** under the oppressive weight of a **swirling purple and blood-red sky**, where the laws of reality have been bent and broken, and only darkness and fear reign.; 8k, intricate detail, photorealistic, realistic light, wide angle

6 months ago

A powerful fully topless with, her breasts painted with blood, (witch:1.5) with (jet-black hair:1.4), her hair whipping violently in the chaotic winds, stands at the center of a (vertical spiraling vortex of fire:1.5), rising from the ground like a colossal (upright Twister ice cream:1.4). The unholy flames are (blue:1.3) and (purple:1.3), twisting and crackling as they encircle her in dense, spiraling coils, their glow casting intense, flickering shadows across her form and the scorched ground beneath her feet. Her eyes glow faintly white, rolled subtly back in her head, adding a terrifying and otherworldly aura to her appearance. The glow is faint, almost as if the light emanates from deep within her, intensifying her connection to the destructive forces she wields. Her expression is one of intense focus, her furrowed brows and parted lips showing the strain of channeling such immense power. She wears a (sheer black dress:1.6) with (oversized, flowing sleeves:1.5) that billow dramatically in the vortex’s winds. One side of her dress has come undone, sliding down her shoulder in the frenzy, revealing a subtle hint of one breast, as though the raw energy of her power has caused her appearance to become as chaotic as the firestorm she commands. The fabric clings lightly to her body in places, accentuating her curves while maintaining a sense of mystery and elegance. The dress flows dynamically in the swirling wind, twisting and fluttering as if alive, amplifying the sense of motion and intensity. She grips a (wand carved from a human femur:1.6), the handle adorned with (skeleton fingers:1.4) gripping the bone tightly, as though channeling her unholy power. Around her waist, a (rope belt:1.4) hangs loosely, adorned with (shrunken heads:1.7), their leathery faces twisted in agony, their grotesque forms reminiscent of the ceremonial work of Jivaroan tribes. The heads sway slightly in the vortex, their eerie stillness contrasting with the wild motion of the flames. The ground beneath her feet is scorched and cracked, glowing faintly with embers. Scattered (withered skulls and incomplete bones:1.3) lie among the charred earth, blending seamlessly into the apocalyptic scene. The (vertical vortex of fire:1.5) rises around her, twisting upward in a dense, hypnotic spiral. The flames pulse with chaotic energy, their intertwined hues of purple and blue casting (volumetric light:1.4) through the smoky, ash-filled air. The atmosphere is alive with glowing embers, drifting ash, and the faint echoes of crackling flames, creating a scene of raw, unrelenting power and destruction.

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. 🔥