Placeholder: In a realm painted with cold colors, a solitary figure stands at the end of a desolate road. The dull light casts sharp lines on their face, etched with pain and depression, as they gaze upon a dark sliver of sky. Thorns pierce their soul, a metaphor for the barbed loneliness that has become their only companion. Surrounded by shadows, they whisper, "I am the reason I have no one," as the truth weighs heavy. Their eyes reflect the anguish of being an outcast, a self-imposed exile born from fear In a realm painted with cold colors, a solitary figure stands at the end of a desolate road. The dull light casts sharp lines on their face, etched with pain and depression, as they gaze upon a dark sliver of sky. Thorns pierce their soul, a metaphor for the barbed loneliness that has become their only companion. Surrounded by shadows, they whisper, "I am the reason I have no one," as the truth weighs heavy. Their eyes reflect the anguish of being an outcast, a self-imposed exile born from fear

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@Evila

Prompt

In a realm painted with cold colors, a solitary figure stands at the end of a desolate road. The dull light casts sharp lines on their face, etched with pain and depression, as they gaze upon a dark sliver of sky. Thorns pierce their soul, a metaphor for the barbed loneliness that has become their only companion. Surrounded by shadows, they whisper, "I am the reason I have no one," as the truth weighs heavy. Their eyes reflect the anguish of being an outcast, a self-imposed exile born from fear

2 months ago

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FLUX.1

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13

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832 × 1248

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In a realm painted with cold colors, a solitary figure stands at the end of a desolate road. The dull light casts sharp lines on their face, etched with pain and depression, as they gaze upon a dark sliver of sky. Thorns pierce their soul, a metaphor for the barbed loneliness that has become their only companion. Surrounded by shadows, they whisper, "I am the reason I have no one," as the truth weighs heavy. Their eyes reflect the anguish of being an outcast, a self-imposed exile born from fear
In a realm painted with cold colors, a solitary figure stands at the end of a desolate road. The dull light casts sharp lines on their face, etched with pain and depression, as they gaze upon a dark sliver of sky. Thorns pierce their soul, a metaphor for the barbed loneliness that has become their only companion. Surrounded by shadows, they whisper, "I am the reason I have no one," as the truth weighs heavy. Their eyes reflect the anguish of being an outcast, a self-imposed exile born from fear
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In a realm painted with cold colors, a solitary figure stands at the end of a desolate road. The dull light casts sharp lines on their face, etched with pain and depression, as they gaze upon a dark sliver of sky. Thorns pierce their soul, a metaphor for the barbed loneliness that has become their only companion. Surrounded by shadows, they whisper, "I am the reason I have no one," as the truth weighs heavy. Their eyes reflect the anguish of being an outcast, a self-imposed exile born from fear
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In a realm painted with cold colors, a solitary figure stands at the end of a desolate road. The dull light casts sharp lines on their face, etched with pain and depression, as they gaze upon a dark sliver of sky. Thorns pierce their soul, a metaphor for the barbed loneliness that has become their only companion. Surrounded by shadows, they whisper, "I am the reason I have no one," as the truth weighs heavy. Their eyes reflect the anguish of being an outcast, a self-imposed exile born from fear
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