Placeholder: Before the mirror she stands in faded cotton underthings, old but comfortable. This is intimacy's barrier, where innocence disguises give way to shadowed truth.Slowly, the last vestiges of perceived maturity shed away. First go stockings in crisp white, sliding up shapely calves and securing above the knee. Her reflection watches, expression unchanging, as if through someone else's eyes.Next, a simple short-sleeved blouse, buttons slipping closed almost by their own accord. The starchy collar fe

Before the mirror she stands in faded cotton underthings, old but comfortable. This is intimacy's barrier, where innocence disguises give way to shadowed truth.Slowly, the last vestiges of perceived maturity shed away. First go stockings in crisp white, sliding up shapely calves and securing above the knee. Her reflection watches, expression unchanging, as if through someone else's eyes.Next, a simple short-sleeved blouse, buttons slipping closed almost by their own accord. The starchy collar fe

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@generalpha

Prompt

Before the mirror she stands in faded cotton underthings, old but comfortable. This is intimacy's barrier, where innocence disguises give way to shadowed truth.Slowly, the last vestiges of perceived maturity shed away. First go stockings in crisp white, sliding up shapely calves and securing above the knee. Her reflection watches, expression unchanging, as if through someone else's eyes.Next, a simple short-sleeved blouse, buttons slipping closed almost by their own accord. The starchy collar fe

doubles, twins, entangled fingers, Worst Quality, ugly, ugly face, watermarks, undetailed, unrealistic, double limbs, worst hands, worst body, Disfigured, double, twin, dialog, book, multiple fingers, deformed, deformity, ugliness, poorly drawn face, extra_limb, extra limbs, bad hands, wrong hands, poorly drawn hands, messy drawing, cropped head, bad anatomy, lowres, extra digit, fewer digit, worst quality, low quality, jpeg artifacts, watermark, missing fingers, cropped, poorly drawn

1 year ago

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Model

Kandinsky 2.2

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

Similar

Before the mirror she stands in faded cotton underthings, old but comfortable. This is intimacy's barrier, where innocence disguises give way to shadowed truth.Slowly, the last vestiges of perceived maturity shed away. First go stockings in crisp white, sliding up shapely calves and securing above the knee. Her reflection watches, expression unchanging, as if through someone else's eyes.Next, a simple short-sleeved blouse, buttons slipping closed almost by their own accord. The starchy collar fe

And who's to blame you for wanting rest, after leading this body and soul such merry dances through steam and shadow? My hands have scarce stopped fluttering over shutter and film in fevered efforts to lock your magic onto light. But the equipment lays idle now as I watch your steady breaths, heaving bosom stilled at last beneath clinging sleeves. One hand trails idle upon the padded planks, tracing shapes and sigils that stir memories of moonlit revels beneath the trees. And though wild joys ma

So through steam-hung billows I watch your flowing form's lithe journey unto sanctum more secluded yet - the locker room, where ladies do disrobe in private bower. My eyes peer reverent through mist veil as your dance carries lithe self past padded benches, peeling off each clinging layer 'neath which sacred valleys and flowering knolls emerge nude and glistening for air's soft tongue. Soon your gym garb joins the sweat-damp heap upon the floor, leaving pale curves and secret clefts painted sole

Sister Magda: Enters the room with an air of serenity, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mystery. She observes Dahlia and Beverly, a faint smile playing on her lips. Ah, Dahlia Death and Beverly Grove, two intriguing souls brought together by the machinations of fate. What brings you both into the depths of this clandestine meeting? Beverly Grove: Tenses slightly, eyeing Sister Magda warily. Sister Magda, forgive me if I approach this meeting with caution. The Order's secrets have caused immense

And who's to blame you for wanting rest, after leading this body and soul such merry dances through steam and shadow? My hands have scarce stopped fluttering over shutter and film in fevered efforts to lock your magic onto light. But the equipment lays idle now as I watch your steady breaths, heaving bosom stilled at last beneath clinging sleeves. One hand trails idle upon the padded planks, tracing shapes and sigils that stir memories of moonlit revels beneath the trees. And though wild joys ma

So through steam-hung billows I watch your flowing form's lithe journey unto sanctum more secluded yet - the locker room, where ladies do disrobe in private bower. My eyes peer reverent through mist veil as your dance carries lithe self past padded benches, peeling off each clinging layer 'neath which sacred valleys and flowering knolls emerge nude and glistening for air's soft tongue. Soon your gym garb joins the sweat-damp heap upon the floor, leaving pale curves and secret clefts painted sole

all is dark, blood and smoke and battle: the princess, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows that danced across the stone walls, a sense of unease hung heavy in the air. The princess, dressed in a delicate white cotton undergarment agent provocateur set, stood by the open window, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and anticipation. As she gazed out into the moonlit courtyard filled with nobles, soldiers, and citizens, a shiver ran down her spine. The weight of her royal duties pres

[scifi, a woman] Who was I? Where was I?… The landscape was totally unknown to me, even my body was unfamiliar. What forces brought me here? I searched my mind for memories… There was something there, but it was too clouded… A name… I scanned the horizon. A distant structure rose out of the mists. As evening approached I came upon an enigmatic oasis with a fountain.

In the dimly lit room, she stood in nothing but Agent Provocateur, the air heavy and suffocating. Panic gripped her as she struggled for breath, the tantalizing thought of escape teasing her mind. Unseen monsters clawed at her, the room blazing with infernal heat against her exposed skin. With wide eyes filled with fear and defiance, she challenged the encroaching darkness. The delicate lace barely concealing her dangerous beauty, she faced a treacherous dance between desire and danger in a worl

And who's to blame you for wanting rest, after leading this body and soul such merry dances through steam and shadow? My hands have scarce stopped fluttering over shutter and film in fevered efforts to lock your magic onto light. But the equipment lays idle now as I watch your steady breaths, heaving bosom stilled at last beneath clinging sleeves. One hand trails idle upon the padded planks, tracing shapes and sigils that stir memories of moonlit revels beneath the trees. And though wild joys ma

Kira Neyris lay in her bed, her body bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Her mind drifted between the realms of consciousness and dreams, a state where fantasies danced on the edges of reality. In this semi-sleep, she found herself exploring the depths of her desires, her body a canvas for her most intimate thoughts. As Kira's fingertips grazed her own skin, a shiver of anticipation coursed through her. Her thoughts wandered to the forbidden, to the secret desire

Standing at the corner of the room, a wistful figure emerges from the shadows. Dressed in a vintage attire, their eyes reflect a mix of longing and fond memories. With a tender smile, they hold a love letter close to their heart, lost in the bittersweet reverie of past romance.

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