Maglik
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    The depiction of the unimaginable inevitable endless cosmic horror coming from the deadly void of space in the form of the giant irritating ethereal undescribable ancient monolith, high quality, detailed, intricate details, masterpiece, by rafael zabaleta

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    (octane render, render, drawing, anime, bad photo, bad photography:1.3), (worst quality, low quality, blurry:1.2), (bad teeth, deformed teeth, deformed lips), (bad anatomy, bad proportions:1.1), (deformed iris, deformed pupils), (deformed eyes, bad eyes), (deformed face, ugly face, bad face), (deformed hands, bad hands, fused fingers,text), morbid, mutilated, mutation, disfigured

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    More prompts from Maglik

    The house I was born in is but a stone on a stone And all round the garden the weeds they have grown And all the fine neighbours that ever I knew Like the red rose have perished in the May morning dew, ukiyo-e
    I am gone Away from my own bosom I have left My strong identity my real self Somewhere between the throne and where I sit Here on this spot of earth Search Thea search Open thine eyes eterne and sphere them round Upon all space space starr'd and lorn of light Space region'd with life-air and barren void Spaces of fire and all the yawn of hell Search Thea search and tell me if thou seest A certain shape or shadow making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess A heaven he lost erewhile it must it must Be of ripe progress aturn must be King, best quality, masterpiece, detailed, hdr, 8k, intense, dramatic
    in the dublin fair city where the girls are so pretty I first set my eyes on sweet molly malone how she wheel down wheelbarrow on the streets broad an narrow crying cockles and mussels alive o lie o, (best quality, masterpiece), saint patrick's day, cheerful, award winning, linguivera, soft lines, oil painting
    The house I was born in is but a stone on a stone And all round the garden the weeds they have grown And all the fine neighbours that ever I knew Like the red rose have perished in the May morning dew, by xavier valls, by charles tunnicliffe, by bernard cathelin, by george dawe
    All strangers there no friends to me till a dark girl towards me came And I fell in love with my Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain, detailed, intricate details, realistic, cinematic, award winning, (masterpiece, best quality:1.4), <lora:add-detail-xl:1>, <lora:xl_more_art-full_v1:1>
    The house I was born in is but a stone on a stone And all round the garden the weeds they have grown And all the fine neighbours that ever I knew Like the red rose have perished in the May morning dew, by xavier valls, by charles tunnicliffe, by bernard cathelin, by george dawe
    Summer is coming Oh Summer is near With the leaves on the trees and the sky blue and clear And the small birds are singing their fond notes so true And the wild flowers are springing in the May morning dew
    I am gone Away from my own bosom: I have left My strong identity, my real self, Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search! Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light; Space region'd with life-air; and barren void; Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell. - Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest A certain shape or shadow, making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess A heaven he lost erewhile: it must - it must Be of ripe progress aturn must be King, best quality, masterpiece, detailed, hdr, 8k, intense, dramatic
    Completely black screen, absolutely nothing, pure black, detailed
    How pleasant in winter to sit by the hob Listening to the sounds and the bark of a dog Or in summer to wander the wide valleys through And to pick the wild flowers in the May morning dew
    The house I was born in is but a stone on a stone And all round the garden the weeds they have grown And all the fine neighbours that ever I knew Like the red rose have perished in the May morning dew, by xavier valls, by charles tunnicliffe, by bernard cathelin, by george dawe
    I am gone Away from my own bosom: I have left My strong identity, my real self, Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search! Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light; Space region'd with life-air; and barren void; Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell. - Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest A certain shape or shadow, making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess A heaven he lost erewhile: it must - it must Be of ripe progress aturn must be King, best quality, masterpiece, detailed, hdr, 8k, intense, dramatic
    Summer is coming Oh Summer is near With the leaves on the trees and the sky blue and clear And the small birds are singing their fond notes so true And the wild flowers are springing in the May morning dew, ukiyo-e
    Summer is coming Oh Summer is near With the leaves on the trees and the sky blue and clear And the small birds are singing their fond notes so true And the wild flowers are springing in the May morning dew
    How pleasant in winter to sit by the hob Listening to the sounds and the bark of a dog Or in summer to wander the wide valleys through And to pick the wild flowers in the May morning dew
    Sad cute axolotl as an antique Roman soldier in a futuristic spaceship, high quality, detailed, by george dawe, by robert henri, painting, axolotl, portrait
    How pleasant in winter to sit by the hob Listening to the sounds and the bark of a dog Or in summer to wander the wide valleys through And to pick the wild flowers in the May morning dew
    old man near the lighthouse, sentimental, 1boy, by richard lindner, painting, pop art
    fallen angel, lost paradise, grief, somber, monochrome, looking at viewer, 1girl, art by xavier valls, still life
    How pleasant in winter to sit by the hob Listening to the sounds and the bark of a dog Or in summer to wander the wide valleys through And to pick the wild flowers in the May morning dew, by xavier valls, by charles tunnicliffe, by bernard cathelin, by george dawe
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