the crack in time

71
2
  • eryn's avatar Artist
    eryn
  • DDG Model
    ChatGPT 2
  • Mode
    Pro
  • Access
    Public
  • Created
    23h ago
  • Try Try style

Prompt

Hyper-detailed digital illustration on a photorealistic base, fine ink linework tracing every strand of hair, every fibre of torn paper, the lace and every fraying thread, intricate micro-detail, crisp edges with soft painted shadows. The scene fills the sheet edge to edge, only its outer border ripped into jagged torn edges with loose white fibres, laid on black. Side view, the camera level with her. The tall attic window is flung wide open, its frayed lace curtain lifting inward on the draught. Outside the window frame the night itself is a sheet of printed paper: a deep blue starry sky with a full moon over a city of steep gothic rooftops and spires with small lit windows. Down the middle it has split in one narrow vertical crack of pure white light, its torn edges just beginning to curl back with loose white fibres, a few tiny flakes of printed night peeling off and drifting in the air. Inside, the attic at four in the morning: peeling floral wallpaper, bare floorboards, a few ash-grey lengths of cut hair, a lamp knocked over glowing rose. The white light from the crack falls in a hard bright blade across the sill and across her face. She is halfway out, caught in the moment of hesitation: kneeling up on the low windowsill, one knee bent, a bare foot just resting on the outer edge of the sill in the warm light, the other knee still on the inside ledge, her weight not yet decided. One hand grips the window frame; from the other, her long midnight blue overcoat with its faint fleck of tiny stars hangs loose, half slid to the floor, trailing behind her into the dark room. Her face in profile toward the crack, not at us, lips parted on a held breath, wary and drawn at once, the white light catching her cheek, her lashes and the bright blue of one eye. The few short new rainbow hairs above her left ear lift and stream toward the crack like threads of smoke, pulled into the light, while the rest of her hair hangs still. A grown woman of about thirty with a soft womanly figure, softly rounded arms, shoulders and thighs, soft oval face, gentle rounded features, soft jawline, very bright pale sapphire blue eyes with a darker ring around the iris, glowing like lit glass, pale porcelain skin with real texture, freckles across nose, cheeks and bare shoulders, mascara dried in faint grey streaks. Copper hair hacked to a ragged jaw-length crop, every strand lit gold at the edges, a few short new hairs above her left ear in fresh vivid rainbow. Washed-out black velvet off-the-shoulder top worn bald in patches, raw edges unravelling into loose threads, velvet ribbon choker with a small antique cameo, short layered black lace skirt with frayed hem, sheer black tights worn through in small round holes at the knees. Lonely, beautiful and leaving, by eryn

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