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Reclamo diario

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icono de reclamo diario: un cubo lleno de oro

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AI art '💀 Grim Reaper Girl' with user description '@warmicestudios @zuzul @cef_ultra @bad77 @parda @octavian @zesoul, what are your impressions?

Certainly not exactly the playful catgirls, right? 😼

Skulls were not supposed to be everywhere, just on the scythe, but, well, AI decided otherwise 😁'

$AI art 'Angel of Death' with user description 'Here's a dark fantasy story with a seductive, gothic atmosphere that stays non-explicit: The first sign of her arrival was the silence. The wind stopped. The candles dimmed. Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath. You stood alone in the ancient chapel as moonlight poured through fractured stained glass. Moments earlier, you had been praying—not for salvation, but for the one thing you desired more than anything else. Power. Love. Revenge. Everyone's prayer was different. The answer was always the same. A figure emerged from the darkness beyond the altar. An angel. Or at least something that had once been one. Towering black wings unfolded behind her, each feather shimmering like obsidian beneath the moonlight. Her beauty was impossible to ignore—ethereal, elegant, and terrifying all at once. Silver eyes glowed softly beneath a crown of dark thorns. She walked toward you with measured grace. Every step echoed through the chapel. "You called for me." Her voice was soft. Velvet over steel. You should have run. Instead, you stared. Countless stories spoke of the Angel of Death. Some claimed she collected souls. Others believed she granted wishes. The truth was far more dangerous. She offered both. The angel circled you slowly, her gaze studying every hidden corner of your heart. "You seek something," she whispered. Images flickered around her. Visions drawn from your deepest desires. Dreams you had never spoken aloud. Ambitions. Longings. Regrets. She knew them all. A knowing smile touched her lips. The sight sent a shiver through you. Not from fear. From recognition. She understood you completely. Perhaps better than you understood yourself. "Everyone desires something," she said. "A crown. A lover. A second chance. The world is built upon wanting." The chapel darkened further as black feathers drifted from her wings. Each one dissolved into sparkling starlight before touching the floor. "And what do you want in return?" you asked. The angel stopped directly before you. For the first time, sadness appeared in her eyes. Ancient sadness. The kind gathered across countless centuries. "My payment is always the same." Your soul. Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually. One day, when your story ended, she would return to claim what was promised. The choice was yours. The desire. Or the soul. Power. Or peace. The angel extended her hand. Moonlight gathered around her fingers like liquid silver. "You already know your answer," she whispered. And somehow, that was the most frightening part. Because deep within your heart... You did. As the Angel of Death smiled, the darkness behind her spread its wings. And the bargain began.'$