Thomas Ligotti - The strange designs of Master Rignolo 2

Using OpenAI to illustrate my favorite Thomas Ligotti story, and to make my inner pictures visible for you. And for myself. First I fed the story text directly into the AI. Now I make my own description of what happens in the story. This works better.

You can read, and see, the whole story here:

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

It was well into evening and for some time Nolon had been been seated at a small table in a kind of park.

This was a long, thin stretch of land - vaguely triangular in shape, like a piece of broken glass - 

bordered by three streets of varying breadth, varying evenness of surface, and of varying stages of disintegration

as each thoroughfare succumbed in its own way and in its own time to the subtle but continuous movements of the slumbering earth below.

From the far end of the park a figure in a dark overcoat was approaching Nolon's table, 

and it appeared there was going to be a meeting of some sort.

There were other tables here and there, all of them unoccupied, 

but most of the park was unused ground covered with a plush, fuzzy kind of turf. 

In the moonlight this densely woven pile of vegetation turned a soft shade of aquamarine, almost radiant. Beyond the thinning trees, stars were bright but without luster, as if they were made of luminous paper. 

Around the park, a jagged line of high roofs, black and featureless, crossed the sky like the uneven teeth of an old saw.

Nolon was resting his hands at the edge of the small, nearly circular table. In the middle of the table a piece of candle flickered inside a misshapen bubble of green glass, and Nolon's face was bathed in a restless green glare. He too was wearing a dark overcoat, unbuttoned at the top to reveal a scarf of lighter shade stuffed inside it. The scarf was wrapped about Nolon's neck right to the base of his chin.

Every so often Nolon glanced up, not to look at Grissul as he proceeded across the park, but to try and catch sight of something in that lighted window across the street:

a silhouette which at irregular intervals slipped in and out of view.

Above the window was a long, low roof surmounted by a board which appeared to be a sign or marquee.

The lettering on this board was entirely unreadable, perhaps corroded by the elements or even deliberately effaced. 

But the image of two tall, thin bottles could still be seen, their slender necks angled festively this way and that.