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README.md
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- enhanced
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- neo class
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- 32 bit upscale
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---
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<font color=red><h3> ED2: Ultra Quality High Remaster of the incredible: Psyonic-Cetacean-20b + Mythomax 13B MERGED to 29.5 Billion parameters. </h3></font>
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The most apparent part of this silence was a hollow void, an empty husk left behind after something once vibrant and alive had been methodically stripped away until there was nothing left but the echoes of what once was. If there had been even the slightest of breezes, it would have brushed past the ancient oak doors like a spectral hand, creaking them ever so slightly on their rusted hinges before drifting through the dimly lit common room, stirring up dust motes that danced listlessly in the flickering light cast by the dying hearth. If there had been even a single voice to break the oppressive stillness, any voice at all, it would have reverberated off the rough-hewn timbers like an ethereal lament, echoing and bouncing off every unseen corner of the ancient inn until it became impossible to discern where the sound had truly begun or if indeed, it had ever truly ended. If there had been even the softest of strings plucked on a long-forgotten instrument, just the merest hint of a melody carried on the breath of a breeze that no longer blew...but no, of course there was none of these things. And so, the silence remained.
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But if one were to listen very closely, so very intently that even their own heartbeat and each shallow, ragged breath seemed to grow as loud as a thunderstorm outside the thickness of stone walls, then perhaps, just perhaps, they might have thought they could discern...
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- neo class
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pipeline_tag: text-generation
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---
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<font color=red><h3> ED2: Ultra Quality High Remaster of the incredible: Psyonic-Cetacean-20b + Mythomax 13B MERGED to 29.5 Billion parameters. </h3></font>
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The most apparent part of this silence was a hollow void, an empty husk left behind after something once vibrant and alive had been methodically stripped away until there was nothing left but the echoes of what once was. If there had been even the slightest of breezes, it would have brushed past the ancient oak doors like a spectral hand, creaking them ever so slightly on their rusted hinges before drifting through the dimly lit common room, stirring up dust motes that danced listlessly in the flickering light cast by the dying hearth. If there had been even a single voice to break the oppressive stillness, any voice at all, it would have reverberated off the rough-hewn timbers like an ethereal lament, echoing and bouncing off every unseen corner of the ancient inn until it became impossible to discern where the sound had truly begun or if indeed, it had ever truly ended. If there had been even the softest of strings plucked on a long-forgotten instrument, just the merest hint of a melody carried on the breath of a breeze that no longer blew...but no, of course there was none of these things. And so, the silence remained.
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But if one were to listen very closely, so very intently that even their own heartbeat and each shallow, ragged breath seemed to grow as loud as a thunderstorm outside the thickness of stone walls, then perhaps, just perhaps, they might have thought they could discern...
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