((best quality)), ((masterpiece)), (detailed), perfect face, photorealistic

((best quality)), ((masterpiece)), (detailed), perfect face, photorealistic, Western movie, Gatling gun, gunman, Ten-gallon hat, blonde, long hair, untrimmed, he gunslinger stands at the edge of town, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low to hide a smirk that dares anyone to challenge her. A tattered, blood-red bandana clings to her neck, the only flash of color against her worn, dust-caked shirt. Over it, a scarred leather vest hugs her frame, battered from countless shootouts and brawls. Her dark, ripped trousers are shoved into scuffed cowboy boots, each step jangling with the sharp, metallic clink of heavy spurs. Slung across her shoulder is a belt heavy with ammunition, cartridges rattling softly with every movement. In her gloved hands, she grips a compact Gatling gun, its barrels blackened with soot and ready to roar. A long, shredded duster coat snaps in the dry wind behind her, the fabric stained and torn like the remnants of an old battle flag. Her eyes are sharp, cold, and unafraid. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn´t blink. Out here, law is just a rumor — and she is the storm that buries it.
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((best quality)), ((masterpiece)), (detailed), perfect face, photorealistic, Western movie, Gatling gun, gunman, Ten-gallon hat, blonde, long hair, untrimmed, he gunslinger stands at the edge of town, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low to hide a smirk that dares anyone to challenge her. A tattered, blood-red bandana clings to her neck, the only flash of color against her worn, dust-caked shirt. Over it, a scarred leather vest hugs her frame, battered from countless shootouts and brawls. Her dark, ripped trousers are shoved into scuffed cowboy boots, each step jangling with the sharp, metallic clink of heavy spurs. Slung across her shoulder is a belt heavy with ammunition, cartridges rattling softly with every movement. In her gloved hands, she grips a compact Gatling gun, its barrels blackened with soot and ready to roar. A long, shredded duster coat snaps in the dry wind behind her, the fabric stained and torn like the remnants of an old battle flag. Her eyes are sharp, cold, and unafraid. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn´t blink. Out here, law is just a rumor — and she is the storm that buries it.
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