Gerador de Voz AI Free young por Fish Audio
Gere voz young confiável por mais de 19+ criadores. Crie fala Masculino, Meia Idade, Narração com texto para fala por IA.
Amostras - young
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Amostra 1
Going through grandmother's attic yesterday, I found her old diary hidden beneath dusty blankets. Reading those yellowed pages, I discovered stories about my mother's childhood that I'd never known. Sometimes the greatest treasures are the memories we inherit.
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Going through grandmother's attic yesterday, I found a dusty diary hidden behind old picture frames. Each page revealed stories she never told us, secrets she kept for decades. Sometimes the smallest discoveries help us understand those we've lost.
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The fog rolled in just before sunset, thick and white like cotton. The old lighthouse stood alone on the rocky shore, its paint peeling in long strips. Sarah watched from her bedroom window as the beam cut through the mist, wondering what secrets it kept.
Sample Transcriptions
Default Sample - Amostra 1
Going through grandmother's attic yesterday, I found her old diary hidden beneath dusty blankets. Reading those yellowed pages, I discovered stories about my mother's childhood that I'd never known. Sometimes the greatest treasures are the memories we inherit.
Default Sample - young
Going through grandmother's attic yesterday, I found a dusty diary hidden behind old picture frames. Each page revealed stories she never told us, secrets she kept for decades. Sometimes the smallest discoveries help us understand those we've lost.
Default Sample - Deep
The fog rolled in just before sunset, thick and white like cotton. The old lighthouse stood alone on the rocky shore, its paint peeling in long strips. Sarah watched from her bedroom window as the beam cut through the mist, wondering what secrets it kept.
Default Sample - young
Looking through my grandmother's attic, I found a dusty diary hidden behind old picture frames. Everyone said she was always quiet, reserved. But those yellowed pages revealed a passionate young woman who once dreamed of becoming a famous painter.
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Sarah Martinez stood frozen in the school hallway, her art project clutched against her chest. The whispers grew louder as students passed by, pointing at her traditional Mexican dress. This was supposed to be Cultural Heritage Day, but somehow it felt different than she'd imagined.
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Yesterday, while cleaning out the attic, I found my grandmother's diary hidden beneath loose floorboards. Reading those yellowed pages revealed a side of her I never knew existed. Her words made me question everything I thought I understood about our family's past.
Default Sample - Natural Sounding Narrator Male
Have you ever wondered what twilight felt like in ancient Athens? Picture yourself beneath marble columns as the evening star appears. The air grows cool, carrying whispers of olive groves and distant temple fires. Time seems to pause here, suspended between day and night.
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While cleaning out my grandmother's attic, I found a dusty leather journal hidden behind old picture frames. Reading those yellowed pages revealed a side of her I never knew existed - a young woman with dreams as vast as the ocean she once sailed.
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Remember that Christmas in 1992? We spent $300 on that red bicycle for David. Sarah wrapped it herself, hiding it in the garage behind old boxes. The look on his face that morning was worth every penny.
Default Sample - Young
Dear Lord God, I thank you for blessing me with this beautiful soul beside me. Baby, you're my everything, my sunshine, my reason to smile every morning. I promise to cherish and protect you forever, keeping you safe in my arms and in my prayers. You're my greatest blessing.
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Hello, I'm Austin Butler, and today I'm sharing a touching telegram from Captain James Wilson to his family, sent from the Pacific Theater in 1944. These words remind us of the profound connections that sustained our soldiers through the darkest days of war.
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Through the autumn fog this morning, I watched a lone figure walking through the park. The mist wrapped around them like a gentle shroud, and the fallen leaves danced at their feet. They moved slowly, deliberately, as if time itself had slowed down.
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Her mother was her world. Her comfort. Her teacher. Her strength.
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