this place feels like the edge of the world, everything feel suspended in time, where the fog swallows sound and the cold and distant sun barely remembers to rise. she stands there, quiet but commanding, like she’s part of the fog itself. her hair hangs in damp, dark strands, framing a face that’s pale, almost otherworldly, with eyes that burn red, like they’ve seen too much but refuse to look away. her dress, once white, clings to her like a ghost of something pure. she’s not just standing there; she’s waiting, but for what? down to the left, just beneath the reeds. is that a body, half-submerged, lifeless in the murky water? is this a swamp? a forgotten field? it doesn’t matter—it’s hers now, a liminal space where something ended, or is about to. the scarecrows saw it all coming, but they’ll never tell, in the distance they seem less like guardians and more like silent judges, watching her, watching you. her torn dress, her unflinching stare, the eerie calm in her posture—it all feels like a warning. she’s not just part of this place; she is this place, and whatever happened here, it’s not over.
dottiff
this place feels like the edge of the world, everything feel suspended in time, where the fog swallows sound and the cold and distant sun barely remembers to rise. she stands there, quiet but commanding, like she’s part of the fog itself. her hair hangs in damp, dark strands, framing a face that’s pale, almost otherworldly, with eyes that burn red, like they’ve seen too much but refuse to look away. her dress, once white, clings to her like a ghost of something pure. she’s not just standing there; she’s waiting, but for what? down to the left, just beneath the reeds. is that a body, half-submerged, lifeless in the murky water? is this a swamp? a forgotten field? it doesn’t matter—it’s hers now, a liminal space where something ended, or is about to. the scarecrows saw it all coming, but they’ll never tell, in the distance they seem less like guardians and more like silent judges, watching her, watching you. her torn dress, her unflinching stare, the eerie calm in her posture—it all feels like a warning. she’s not just part of this place; she is this place, and whatever happened here, it’s not over.