There are two people sitting on a bench in the mountains

A desolate medieval hillside at twilight, shrouded in a dense, creeping mist. At the center of the scene stands a solitary hurdy-gurdy player, dressed in tattered, hooded robes that blend with the muted tones of the landscape. The figure’s face is obscured, but the bony, claw-like fingers that work the crank and keys reveal something unnatural. Their posture is unnervingly still apart from the rhythmic motion of their hands, as though they are merely a puppet of the cursed melody.

The hurdy-gurdy itself appears ancient and otherworldly. Its wood is gnarled and cracked, as if grown rather than carved, with small, glowing runes etched along its surface that pulse faintly with each note. The crank resembles the gnarled branch of a long-dead tree, and faint whispers seem to drift from the instrument along with its haunting, dissonant tune. A spectral mist pours from the soundholes, coiling into the air like translucent serpents.

The setting is an open meadow bordered by a dense, ancient forest of blackened, skeletal trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. In the distance, jagged mountains loom, their peaks obscured by storm clouds swirling in unnatural, geometric patterns. A river snakes through the valley below, its surface reflecting the eerie light of a blood-red moon hanging low on the horizon.

In the foreground, the ground is scattered with ominous details: shattered skulls half-buried in the soil, wilted flowers, and strange, glowing mushrooms that emit an otherworldly green light. Near the musician’s feet, a ring of blackened, burnt grass marks the ground, as if something unholy has recently taken root there.

The air is alive with tension—wild animals in the forest stand frozen, their eyes glowing faintly in the shadows as they watch the figure in terror. In the distance, faint shapes can be seen emerging from the mist, humanoid but distorted, their bodies half-formed, flickering like mirages. They seem to be drawn to the music, moving slowly but relentlessly toward the musician.

The sky above shifts unnaturally, with stars appearing and disappearing in strange patterns. A faint, keening wind carries the sound of the hurdy-gurdy far and wide, blending with the whispers of the mist, creating an atmosphere of dread and inescapable fate.

Il y a des choses que je ne peux vous dire qu'à voix basse, ça vous intéresse ?

A desolate medieval hillside at twilight, shrouded in a dense, creeping mist. At the center of the scene stands a solitary hurdy-gurdy player, dressed in tattered, hooded robes that blend with the muted tones of the landscape. The figure’s face is obscured, but the bony, claw-like fingers that work the crank and keys reveal something unnatural. Their posture is unnervingly still apart from the rhythmic motion of their hands, as though they are merely a puppet of the cursed melody. The hurdy-gurdy itself appears ancient and otherworldly. Its wood is gnarled and cracked, as if grown rather than carved, with small, glowing runes etched along its surface that pulse faintly with each note. The crank resembles the gnarled branch of a long-dead tree, and faint whispers seem to drift from the instrument along with its haunting, dissonant tune. A spectral mist pours from the soundholes, coiling into the air like translucent serpents. The setting is an open meadow bordered by a dense, ancient forest of blackened, skeletal trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. In the distance, jagged mountains loom, their peaks obscured by storm clouds swirling in unnatural, geometric patterns. A river snakes through the valley below, its surface reflecting the eerie light of a blood-red moon hanging low on the horizon. In the foreground, the ground is scattered with ominous details: shattered skulls half-buried in the soil, wilted flowers, and strange, glowing mushrooms that emit an otherworldly green light. Near the musician’s feet, a ring of blackened, burnt grass marks the ground, as if something unholy has recently taken root there. The air is alive with tension—wild animals in the forest stand frozen, their eyes glowing faintly in the shadows as they watch the figure in terror. In the distance, faint shapes can be seen emerging from the mist, humanoid but distorted, their bodies half-formed, flickering like mirages. They seem to be drawn to the music, moving slowly but relentlessly toward the musician. The sky above shifts unnaturally, with stars appearing and disappearing in strange patterns. A faint, keening wind carries the sound of the hurdy-gurdy far and wide, blending with the whispers of the mist, creating an atmosphere of dread and inescapable fate.

A desolate medieval hillside at twilight, shrouded in a dense, creeping mist. At the center of the scene stands a solitary hurdy-gurdy player, dressed in tattered, hooded robes that blend with the muted tones of the landscape. The figure’s face is obscured, but the bony, claw-like fingers that work the crank and keys reveal something unnatural. Their posture is unnervingly still apart from the rhythmic motion of their hands, as though they are merely a puppet of the cursed melody. The hurdy-gurdy itself appears ancient and otherworldly. Its wood is gnarled and cracked, as if grown rather than carved, with small, glowing runes etched along its surface that pulse faintly with each note. The crank resembles the gnarled branch of a long-dead tree, and faint whispers seem to drift from the instrument along with its haunting, dissonant tune. A spectral mist pours from the soundholes, coiling into the air like translucent serpents. The setting is an open meadow bordered by a dense, ancient forest of blackened, skeletal trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. In the distance, jagged mountains loom, their peaks obscured by storm clouds swirling in unnatural, geometric patterns. A river snakes through the valley below, its surface reflecting the eerie light of a blood-red moon hanging low on the horizon. In the foreground, the ground is scattered with ominous details: shattered skulls half-buried in the soil, wilted flowers, and strange, glowing mushrooms that emit an otherworldly green light. Near the musician’s feet, a ring of blackened, burnt grass marks the ground, as if something unholy has recently taken root there. The air is alive with tension—wild animals in the forest stand frozen, their eyes glowing faintly in the shadows as they watch the figure in terror. In the distance, faint shapes can be seen emerging from the mist, humanoid but distorted, their bodies half-formed, flickering like mirages. They seem to be drawn to the music, moving slowly but relentlessly toward the musician. The sky above shifts unnaturally, with stars appearing and disappearing in strange patterns. A faint, keening wind carries the sound of the hurdy-gurdy far and wide, blending with the whispers of the mist, creating an atmosphere of dread and inescapable fate.

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