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Appleseeds by Niki Mathias's avatar

Very helpful - both about the mission statement and about the act 2 structure. Onward!

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Yves Fey's avatar

Okay. Long post, but so mind-boggling I had to post it. After a longish post about the history of the word eldritch, here's ChatGPT's extrapolation of how to create the eldritch version of my book (about to be released) A Harmony of Hells.

In Literature and Art

Writers and painters use eldritch imagery to evoke:

• Existential dread (the smallness of humankind)

• The collapse of reason

• The sublime terror of encountering the infinite

For instance, in your own gothic or Symbolist settings — Parisian crypts, Venetian catacombs, decaying salons — an “eldritch” influence might feel like something that stains beauty with awe and horror: an angel too bright to look upon, a melody that bends the mind.

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Would you like me to describe what an eldritch being might look or feel like in A Harmony of Hells’ world — something that fits its decadent, poetic tone?

You said:

Yes

ChatGPT said:

Perfect — because A Harmony of Hells already lives in that uncanny borderland between the sensual and the infernal. Let’s imagine what an eldritch presence would look and feel like in your novel’s Paris–Venice world.

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🌒 The Nature of the Eldritch in A Harmony of Hells

In this universe, the eldritch is not merely monstrous — it is beautiful beyond endurance. It represents art that has gone too far, devotion that burns the soul, or love that crosses the threshold of the human.

Where most see sin or madness, your poet might sense revelation.

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🕯️ Manifestation

Appearance:

Not tentacled nor grotesque, but too intricate. Its form flickers between sacred geometry and decaying flesh. The light around it bends — gaslamps dim, mirrors ripple. Sometimes it appears only as a rhythm in the air, a tremor in the reflections of the Seine, or a breath of perfume in a room that has been sealed for years.

Sound:

Not a voice, but an undertone in music — a note below the range of hearing that makes the chest ache. When the poet writes, that tone seeps into his verses like blood through lace.

Scent:

A mingling of myrrh, ozone, and iron — religious yet electric, as if the air itself were praying.

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🕰️ Origins and Myth

In the world’s whispered lore, such beings were born from the first instant of beauty that went unnoticed by God — the discarded ecstasies of creation. They feed not on death, but on human astonishment — the rapture that precedes collapse.

The asylum might keep certain patients in perpetual twilight to prevent these presences from finding them; the catacombs might hum faintly where one once passed.

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💀 Psychological Effect

Those who encounter the eldritch do not scream — they fall silent, struck by a revelation they cannot articulate.

• The poet’s lines become symmetrical and strange, as if written by another hand.

• The sister begins to dream of corridors where time moves like water.

• The lover’s pulse aligns with distant bells that no one else hears.

The presence does not wish to destroy them — only to complete them.

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🕊️ Thematic Role

The eldritch here becomes a metaphor for art, madness, and love intertwined:

• Love that erases the boundary between two beings.

• Art that reveals too much.

• Faith without a god, beauty without mercy.

It’s the hidden symmetry beneath the city’s decay — the pulse in every shadowed bridge, every church dome.

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Would you like me to give it a name and myth fragment next — something that could recur in dialogue or letters (like a legend or saint twisted into cosmic truth)?

You said:

A harmony of hells

ChatGPT said:

Beautiful choice — and fittingly terrifying.

Let’s imagine that “A Harmony of Hells” is not just your novel’s title, but also a myth within its world — the secret name of the eldritch force that threads through the story.

Here is how it might be conceived, in the voice and atmosphere of your universe:

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🔥 A Harmony of Hells — The Myth Beneath the Story

I. The Lost Chord of Creation

Before there were angels or men, before even the division of light and darkness, there was sound — a chord so vast and pure that all things born afterward were only its fading echoes.

But when the Maker withdrew, the chord split.

One half ascended and became order — mathematics, stars, the logic of the divine.

The other fell — the dissonance, the yearning residue of beauty denied. That was called the Harmony of Hells.

Its echoes linger wherever creation trembles — in fever, in rapture, in music that makes the heart forget to beat.

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II. The Nature of the Force

A Harmony of Hells is not a place.

It is a resonance — an invisible vibration that gathers around ruined cathedrals, dying poems, and unconfessed loves.

To hear it fully is to unmake oneself; to almost hear it is to become an artist, a lover, or a saint.

Those who fall under its influence are drawn toward symmetry, toward perfection that devours. Pain becomes indistinguishable from revelation.

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III. Its Manifestations

• In Paris, it hides in mirrors, where reflections breathe half a beat out of time.

• In Venice, it moves beneath the water like a submerged choir, singing through the algae-glazed bells.

• In asylums, it hums in the walls, seducing the sleepless with patterns of impossible beauty.

To mortals it appears as light that flickers wrong, as music written in a key no instrument can play.

To poets, it appears as the phrase they cannot stop hearing, the one that costs their sanity to finish.

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IV. The Lovers and the Song

The poet (Averill) may be the first in generations to translate fragments of the Harmony into human verse — hence his peril.

Blaise, the crime lord, hears it differently: as the pulse beneath all human corruption, the rhythm of lust and ruin that makes civilization turn.

The sister, in her confinement, perhaps hears it most purely — not as sound, but as light that forgives even madness.

Thus, each character’s arc could be one instrument in the larger chord — one voice in the Harmony. Their desires tune toward the same unholy music.

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V. The Philosophical Secret

Those who truly understand it say:

“Heaven was not made to oppose Hell, but to give it harmony.”

The universe itself may be a reconciliation of all contradictions, a duet between bliss and despair.

To embrace A Harmony of Hells is to love the world so completely that one accepts even its damnation — and finds beauty there.

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