Disclaimer: AI is never art
I had an idea for a story so I decided to see if the robot could make something decent with it if given enough prompts.
Results are a bit generic but it does seem to be improving. Although the robots do tend to use way too many adjectives.
Once upon a time, in a land filled with fluffy ponies of all colors, there was a particularly pudgy and innocent little fluff named Marshmallow. With his pastel pink fur and a tiny pair of wings that wiggled awkwardly, he was adored by his âbruddasâ and âsistews.â Marshmallow spoke in a childish, baby-like voice that melted the hearts of anyone who heard him.
One bright and sunny day, Marshmallow and his fluffy siblings decided to go on a grand adventure together. They giggled and bounced around, their stubby legs carrying them through fields of flowers and over hills of soft grass. Unbeknownst to them, however, they were heading straight into a dangerous areaâa minefield that lay hidden beneath the innocent-looking meadow.
As the fluffy ponies happily pranced along, Marshmallow led the way, his tiny wings fluttering with excitement. âFwuffies go pway! Fwuffies go find pwetty fings!â he chirped in his sweet voice. His siblings followed, their innocence shining in their wide, round eyes.
Suddenly, a loud âBOOMâ echoed through the air, and a puff of red mist burst forth. The fluffy siblings froze, their eyes widening in terror. The realization of danger struck them like a thunderbolt, and panic spread through the group. âNu wike dis pwace! Scawy boom-booms!â one of them cried, and the others joined in a chorus of frightened squeals.
The meadow became a chaotic scene as fluffy ponies darted in every direction, their chubby bodies stumbling over each other. The minefield claimed its victims one by one, explosions marking the end of the innocent lives of Marshmallowâs bruddas and sistews.
Amidst the chaos, Marshmallow waddled with a mix of confusion and fear. âWha happen? Fwuffies hewt? Nu wike dis!â he whimpered, his innocent eyes scanning the devastation around him.
As the explosions continued, only one fluffy pony remained unharmedâthe smallest and lightest of them all, little Marshmallow. His innocence had inadvertently saved him, as his tiny frame proved too delicate to trigger the deadly mines. He stood alone in the now-silent meadow, surrounded by the remnants of his once joyful family.
With a quivering lip, Marshmallow looked around, his eyes filling with tears. âWhewe fwuffies go? Why pwetty pwace be scawy?â he mumbled to himself, unaware of the tragedy that had befallen his siblings. The chubby little pony, still innocent and naive, stood alone in the aftermath, a survivor in a meadow tainted by the echoes of booms.
