Бесплатный генератор AI голосов Frede от Fish Audio

Создайте голос Frede, использованный 1 раз с 0 лайками. Создайте речь high-quality с помощью AI text to speech.

Frede

Hey there, the drowsy history here. Tonight you are not dying in a trench or coughing blood in a factory alley. No, your decline is much quieter, much more civilized. You live in Georgian London, where illness is fashionable. Treatment comes in a cut glass vial, and suffering is considered tasteful so long as it doesn't interrupt the dinner party. You are pale, well-dressed, and politely unwell. The doctors say it's just your nerves or your bile or your nature. Fortunately, there's something for that. A tincture. Just a few drops taken regularly indefinitely. Before we begin this slow descent into sweetened poison, polite dismissal, and the faint chemical warmth of forgetting, do me one small favor. Tell me where you're listening from and what time it is there. If you'd prefer these stories without ads, you can join the Patreon. It's linked in the description. And if you're listening in bed tonight, consider using a pair of sleep mask headphones to achieve the ultimate immersive experience. I've linked my favorite pair in the description. Now, lie back, get comfortable. Let's begin. You're 27, the wife of a solicitor, and recently recovered from what the doctor called a difficult confinement. The child did not live. You did, although you're not entirely certain why. You've been bleeding off and on ever since. Not dangerously, just inconveniently. You sleep in the day and lie awake at night. You cry sometimes for no clear reason. You feel cold when it's warm and too warm when it's cold. There is nothing visibly wrong with you, which in George and London means no one is quite sure how to help. You live in a neat little terrace house just off Bedford Row. The street is quiet, the neighbors dull, and the shutter's always rattling with wind that doesn't appear on anyone else's street. There is a maid, barely 16, who carries hot bricks to your bed when you shiver. She doesn't make eye contact. Your husband does occasionally over the top of the paper at dinner when he remembers. He is not unkind. He simply has things to attend to. Court filings, retainers, the burden of being publicly competent. You used to be presentable, sharp even. You played the harps accord with enough skill to warrant applause in polite company. You attended dinner parties. You remembered names. Now your fingers tremble when you button your cuffs. Your letters go half finished. You stare at window glass and forget what you meant to do. People say things like, "It's the grief." Or, "She's delicate." They mean, "Well, you wish they wouldn't." The physician has been visiting twice a week since the birth. A private man with a mild limp and a breath that smells faintly of clothes. He taps your wrist, glances in your eyes, and asks the same three questions in the same patient tone. "Do you sleep through the night? Have you taken nourishment? Any thoughts of an unnatural kind? You answer, "Not quite some." No. He nods, scribbles a few lines in his ledger, and tells you to take more broth. Then he closes the book as if that's the end of it. Last week, he suggested leeches. You said yes. You said yes to everything he's ever recommended. And still, you feel thin, like the air moves through you instead of around you. The pain is not sharp, but it lingers low in the back, behind the ribs, or sometimes just behind the eyes. You've tried putting words to it. Ache, pressure, emptiness, but none of them seem quite right. It is not a pain that wounds. It is a pain that hovers, familiar as your own breath. You know it will follow you into the next room. Today, the doctor doesn't ask questions. He walks in, nods toward the window, and makes a small comment about the wind. You murmur agreement. He sits, looks you over, and says, "You're not improving." His tone is kind, but his expression is not particularly moved. "You ought to sleep more," he says. "It's the nerves or the strain or a failure of tone in the blood." He doesn't sound confident, but you've stopped expecting confidence. He opens his satchel. You watch him uncap a small ink bottle, dip his pen, and write out a label with your name and the number 25. Then he tears the page, folds it, and seals it with a flick of his fingers. Lorden, he says, handing it to you. Take it sparingly. The apothecary sends it. The next morning, a pale boy in a soot streaked apron knocks on the tradesman's door behind the house, mutters your surname, and places a small wrapped parcel in the maid's hand. You watch from the stairs. The boy does not look up. He vanishes without waiting for acknowledgement. You carry the parcel up to your room like it might bleed if jostled. You sit on the edge of your bed to unwrap it. The glass is dark brown and cool to the touch. The label is written in your doctor's careful hand. Mrs. L, 25 drops. Beneath that, a smaller note. As needed, you turn it over. No ingredients, no further explanation. You know Lordinham by reputation, the way one knows of absence or arsenic.

Общее использование•

Всего лайков•

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6 месяцев назад

260/500

Работает на Fish Audio S1

Образцы - Frede

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Образец 1

Here, wrap this scarf twice around your neck, tucking the ends inside your coat. The double-layer technique traps warm air better than single wrapping. I've found this method keeps your core temperature stable even in bitter winds. Take these hand warmers too.

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Fredy

Y pues mira, llevo como media hora intentando hacer el cambio de dirección en la app, y nada. Le doy click al botón y que se traba. Ya contacté al soporte y me dicen que espere, pero es que siempre es lo mismo con estas aplicaciones.

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Fredo

Nosotros vemos cómo la gente sufre, cómo no pueden pagar sus cuentas. No puede ser que los trabajadores estén pasando estas necesidades. Que los políticos rindan cuentas al pueblo, que respondan por sus obligaciones. Nosotros vamos a seguir luchando por ustedes, por la gente.

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Fredi

Hey there, friends! Freddie Confetti here with another amazing adventure. Today, we're going to explore the fascinating world of colorful butterflies! Are you excited to discover how these beautiful insects transform from tiny eggs to flying wonders?

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Fredo

Listen, spending time with someone doesn't mean you should spend your life with them, check that. Sometimes the best love you can give yourself is walking away from what feels comfortable but isn't right.

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Fredo

Listen, beautiful people, check this out - are you feeling your divine energy today? You know what I'm talking about! Your aura, your presence, it's magnetic, baby! Pour that love into yourself because, listen, when you shine from within, you become unstoppable. God made no mistakes with you!

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Fred2

Now let's be clear about our delivery service okay and this is what we do we deliver fast and efficient if you want special treatment then go somewhere else but if you want reliable service then stay with us that's just how it works.

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Fredy

E agora querem dizer que o problema é falta de paciência do povo? Quer dizer, as pessoas não têm comida na mesa, não têm emprego, não têm condições básicas, e ainda dizem que a culpa é do povo? É uma vergonha como tratam os cidadãos neste país.

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Fredy

Mirá, flaco, ¿vos te pensás que es fácil mantener un negocio? No me vengas con teorías, boludo. Tenés que estar ahí todos los días, romperte el lomo, aguantar los quilombos con los proveedores, con los empleados, con la AFIP. No es joda esto.

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FREDY

Mire, fíjese que Juan me estaba diciendo que el mecánico no va a poder revisar la camioneta hasta mañana, yo creo que mejor buscamos otro taller porque necesitamos el vehículo para el fin de semana.

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Fredy

Mira, mira, mi hijita, ya es hora de recoger tus cositas. La noche está muy oscura y mañana hay que madrugar. No me hagas ponerme seria, que sabes que siempre pienso en tu bien.

Mira, mira, mi hijita, ya es hora de recoger tus cositas. La noche está muy oscura y mañana hay que madrugar. No me hagas ponerme seria, que sabes que siempre pienso en tu bien.

Sample Transcriptions

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Mira, mira, mi hijita, ya es hora de recoger tus cositas. La noche está muy oscura y mañana hay que madrugar. No me hagas ponerme seria, que sabes que siempre pienso en tu bien.

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Angel beltran se lo metio por el culo asta el fondo

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Mario Vargas Llosa representa la excelencia literaria peruana del siglo XX. Nacido en Arequipa, estudió en la Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos. Sus obras reflejan la realidad social latinoamericana y han sido traducidas a numerosos idiomas.

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Используйте Frede для видео на YouTube, контента TikTok, аудиокниг, подкастов, видеоигр, анимации и любых проектов, требующих профессиональной озвучки.

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Frede генерирует ультрареалистичную речь с естественными эмоциями и тоном. Послушайте примеры выше, чтобы оценить качество. Более 1 создателей доверяют этому голосу.

Бесплатный генератор AI голосов Frede от Fish Audio

Frede

Образцы - Frede

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Образец 1

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Как использовать генератор голоса Frede

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Frede