A sample prompt of what you can find in this page
Prompt by 6bd1b33f6f9

surrounded by silence prompts

very few results

6 months ago

The Bell family's farmhouse exudes a rustic charm, with its simple yet functional furnishings typical of early 19th-century Tennessee. The wooden floorboards creak softly underfoot, their surface worn smooth by years of use. A large hearth dominates one wall, its embers casting a faint orange glow that dances across the room. A sturdy oak table, scarred with knife marks and stains from countless meals, sits at the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs. A woven rug lies askew near the rocking chair, which now stands eerily still. Pewter dishes and earthenware line the shelves of a tall cupboard, their muted shine catching the flicker of candlelight. The faint scent of beeswax mingles with the earthy aroma of the surrounding farmland, creating an atmosphere both homely and unsettling. In the dim light, the Bell Witch emerges, her form both ethereal and unnervingly vivid. Her face is a haunting visage of pale, almost translucent skin stretched tightly over sharp cheekbones. Hollow eyes, glowing faintly with an unnatural light, seem to pierce through the very fabric of reality, locking onto her observer with an intensity that chills the soul. Her lips are thin and cracked, twisted into a faint, mocking smile that hints at her malevolent intent. Wisps of dark, unkempt hair frame her face, moving as if stirred by an invisible breeze. Her tattered garments, a patchwork of shadow and spectral light, shimmer faintly, as though caught between the physical and the otherworldly. As she steps closer, the air grows colder, and the oppressive silence is broken only by the faint sound of her whispered laughter—a sound that seems to echo from every corner of the room. Her presence transforms the farmhouse, turning its rustic charm into a stage for fear and despair, as the Bell Witch stands as a chilling embodiment of the unknown."

2 months ago

A dark, decayed factory steeped in dampness and neglect. Rows of broken, lifeless androids hang from chains and diagnostic cables, their battered forms suspended like relics of a forgotten era. Each android faces forward, their heads slumped and limbs dangling limply, as if gravity alone holds them in place. The androids are diverse—some humanoid with slender frames and fragmented synthetic skin, others industrial with exposed hydraulics, rusted plating, and shattered components. Many are missing limbs, their wires and cables hanging loosely, sparking faintly in the oppressive gloom. Among the rows, two androids stand out—their hands intertwined in a final act of connection before their power cells died. One is humanoid, its delicate features cracked and weathered, its synthetic skin peeling to reveal intricate, rusting frameworks. The other is industrial, bulkier, with heavier plating and exposed joints, its arm barely holding on by a tangle of wires. Their clasped hands emit a faint glow, flickering like dying embers, the last remnant of their shared existence. The factory is drenched in atmosphere. Thick haze and mist cling to every surface, illuminated by the weak, flickering glow of malfunctioning CRT screens and sparking cables. Dim red light spills from a cracked overhead lamp, casting diffuse shadows across the room. A faint, rhythmic drip echoes through the cavernous space, the sound amplified by the oppressive silence. A flickering sign above the rows reads: “ANDROID MULTI-PURPOSE FOUNDRY.” The foundry walls are lined with rusted, obsolete machinery and control panels. Pools of stagnant water collect on the floor, reflecting the faint, scattered light in jagged, broken patterns. Dust and smoke swirl in the air, cutting through the faint godrays that streak through shattered skylights, further obscured by the thick haze. The shadows of dangling chains and lifeless androids create eerie silhouettes on the mist-covered walls. The atmosphere is suffocatingly gritty, a testament to the decay of innovation. The androids stand as silent witnesses to a bygone era, their shattered forms a chilling reflection of the hubris and failure of their creators. The two holding hands, surrounded by rows of decaying machines, remain a quiet, haunting symbol of connection amidst the ruin.