Dying trees Prompts

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite Faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Ahhhahhhahhahh Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars That shine after 3:30 in the morning WELL SHE ISN'T

horror church, dying trees, cloud, grave, red sky

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite Faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Ahhhahhhahhahh Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars That shine after 3:30 in the morning WELL SHE ISN'T

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

She came from Planet, Claire I knew she came from there, She drove a Plymouth Satellite, Faster than the speed of light, Planet Claire has pink air, All the trees are red, No one ever dies there, No one has a head

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite Faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Ahhhahhhahhahh Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars That shine after 3:30 in the morning WELL SHE ISN'T

"A monstrous, plant-infested demon covered in thick, rotting vines and glowing bioluminescent fungi rises from the depths of the Amazon. Its jagged, skeletal mouth is filled with mismatched, dripping fangs, while its hollow eye sockets glow an eerie green. Its elongated limbs end in twisted claws made of petrified wood, pulsating with an ancient, primal energy. The ground beneath it is decayed, as if life itself withers in its presence. Around it, dying trees bend and crack, their twisted roots clawing at the air in desperation. The sky above is unnaturally dark, flashes of sickly yellow lightning illuminating the apocalyptic rainforest behind it."

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

horrible tree

A hyper-detailed dark fantasy portrait shows a powerful ash witch standing amid drifting embers. She has a tall, athletic hourglass frame and long obsidian hair whipped into a wild, smoke-tangled mane, braided at the temples to frame a feral, confident gaze. Her scorched leather bodice clings low and tight, etched with glowing runes that echo brands along her ribs and singed skin. Tattered robes and a vine-and-thorn belt flutter to reveal strong legs and rune-laced boots. Behind her, a dying forest of blackened trees dissolves in heat shimmer and firelit haze. Painterly cinematic realism, influenced by dark romantic fantasy, baroque chiaroscuro, and modern concept art in the vein of epic game cinematics and dramatic fantasy illustration.

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite Faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Ahhhahhhahhahh Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars That shine after 3:30 in the morning WELL SHE ISN'T

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

an image of an ancient tree, its gnarled branches reaching out to embrace the sky, while beneath it lies a bed of roots, decaying and returning to the earth, inside an a dim lit cathedral, highly detailed, 8k

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

She came from Planet Claire I knew she came from there She drove a Plymouth Satellite A-faster than the speed of light Planet Claire has pink air All the trees are red No one ever dies there No one has a head Some say she's from Mars Or one of the seven stars that shine after three-thirty in the morning Well, she isn't! She came from Planet Claire

Dead to all

Does a tree weep when it must shed its leaves each autumn, though it knows it must be? My heart tells me that it does. We die, we cast off our husk, though we've come to identify deeply with it. And in the same way a tree must shed its leaves to grow anew next season, so too must our soul shed of this world, and all that we love in it; our nature is of that world and cannot carry this fallen one into paradise.

tree

tree

death

tree