Lore -- makelore.xyz - NFT Search

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storytellers will rewrite History On the third day of my journey home, I came across an old book sale at a community center.

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motherofbots.eth

The cloud of toxic pollution from the battle hung like a dark, motionless over the sky. The General surveyed the devastated landscape, dotted sparsely with survivors huddled around fuel-cell fires. The General had done the impossible. He turned back the Coalition Army and saved the people of Earth from their own mistakes, but he knew that they would never be grateful.

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Kone smiled up at the members of the coven, brushing her ash-white hair out of her face. She would always carry shards of them in her heart, equal parts ruthless and kind, as she ventured into the monstrosity of the wood.

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Hundreds of small ships patrolling back and forth are ready for battle. Drones and humans. They hold guard against the coming invasion.

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Static, not quite winter. Snow descends into a glitched rain (unrendered). Noise, a note to follow, “Snow.” The cyber ashes beneath bright petals Deny life from return Until the warmth of spring Gives way to new vibrancy. It’s the only way to design a flower.

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errorgardener.eth

The crimson dragon crashed through the ceiling in a fireball of hot orange flame, scattering the revelers into rainbow clouds of angel dust. “I AM THE MASTER OF MAGIC!

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Fireflies feed me diamonds in the forest green. Remember to remember, I whisper. Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York.

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The worried droid stopped beside the huge window, it's metallic glass casting a Violet hue across the floor of the transport capsule. Xarg would be slithering off that ugly old heap of rusty steel he calls a spaceship any minute now... She shivered... and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

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Violet Petunia grows butterflies float blackbirds dive. suns set; bees sting ; ponds freeze; cheetahs pounce.

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Scarcity forces hard choices. Though the love in his heart for his partners was as boundless as the universe inside his atoms, he wanted to spend the planet's last remaining days with the one he loved the most. The woman of his dreams lay asleep before him, but it was another who gave his life meaning. She was a dancer, like him.

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He gathered the last of his clothes, watching as the gray ashes of a dying world fell quietly outside her window while she slept. "Rain Char" served as a constant reminder that the planet was slowly immolating. He loved her, but even as he gazed at the woman of his dreams, he knew that she was not enough to save him.

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We are infinite beings living in linear time. The entire universe is built into every atom of our bodies, but we can only experience its inexhaustible bounty fractionally, second by second. And we are running out of time. Abundance is a state of mind, not an objective reality.

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Suddenly, war breaks out. The drones swoop toward the human side. The humans send out a distress signal.

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The grand wizard stepped up, hit his rod in the floor and summoned a great diamond dragon who immediately attacked the crimson dragon. The dragons fought hard, their fire engulfed the room as the people fled in panic. The crimson dragon was winning, and the grand wizard looked desperate.

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Wake up, little flower... the sun welcomes you. A solar kiss to charge the soul. Photosynthesis and analog breaks to drown the lunar noise until it's time to sing again. The simplicity of summer.

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errorgardener.eth

A flower never contemplates its existence. It's rules are formed through the abstract chaos of presence. Deceptively calm until the seasonal tide forms the next wave of blossoms. They will not survive the winter. An entire world has been washed away, a new one is born from the ashes.

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errorgardener.eth

SN. Sergey Nazarov. Kek. Marines. Positive thought. Ari Juels. Neets. 1k EOY. This was just the beginning.

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Nightingale serenade, A floral soundscape lost in darkness... Summer never sleeps anyways. Only a lifetime of being asleep.

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errorgardener.eth

The ground rumbles and from the earth rises a shimmering miasma of dust - debris entangled with ash, light filtering through the blissful scene. A reminder of the halcyon days, when tree limbs swayed casually, moved by Mother's breeze and not the bellowing machine below. The perpetual din and and electric air. A static future.

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Spring rain. Decidedly certain of its intention A return to form. Fractionalized crystals of a delicate soul Make certain for rise of tropical birds Their paradise, discoverd. Heaven is grounded. A crimson glow, a warmth from within.

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errorgardener.eth

Fractal divisions of effervescent mycelium ebb and flow, crafting the ten dimensions of each bloom. A building crescendo of love and life coalescing in preparation to shake free from it's ashen slumber. A rose is a rose is a rose.

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I followed the fox into the woods. The light grew brighter, the trees less dense.

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"May the wind guide you," the coven replied, their voices blending into a euphonic symphony. "And the rain protect you."

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But the time had come to say goodbye. "Be careful," she said softly.

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