In the center of a ruined laboratory flooded with late afternoon light
in the center of a ruined laboratory flooded with late afternoon light, a woman with very long gray hair and glasses kneels beside a broken humanoid robot, she wears a torn white lab coat over a navy shirt and a blue diamond-patterned tie, her hands trembling as they hover over the robot's fractured chest, its visor is shattered, one arm missing, delicate wires spilling like veins, its expressionless face tilted toward her as if frozen in time, the woman’s eyes are filled with quiet sorrow, reflecting both recognition and loss, scattered around them lie lifeless limbs, glass shards, twisted panels, and faded research notes drifting in the dust-laden air, sunlight pours through the broken ceiling like a memory trying to reach them, casting golden beams over the forgotten scene, a worn, dusty notebook rests nearby, its cover marked with her initials — a trace of the past, of purpose, of connection, illustrated in a hand-drawn picture book style with thick lineart and delicate watercolor washes, soft color bleeding and a textured paper feel, the atmosphere is still and heavy, filled with unspoken questions and a longing that lingers like the last echo of a dream
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in the center of a ruined laboratory flooded with late afternoon light,
a woman with very long gray hair and glasses kneels beside a broken humanoid robot,
she wears a torn white lab coat over a navy shirt and a blue diamond-patterned tie, her hands trembling as they hover over the robot's fractured chest,
its visor is shattered, one arm missing, delicate wires spilling like veins, its expressionless face tilted toward her as if frozen in time,
the woman’s eyes are filled with quiet sorrow, reflecting both recognition and loss,
scattered around them lie lifeless limbs, glass shards, twisted panels, and faded research notes drifting in the dust-laden air,
sunlight pours through the broken ceiling like a memory trying to reach them, casting golden beams over the forgotten scene,
a worn, dusty notebook rests nearby, its cover marked with her initials — a trace of the past, of purpose, of connection,
illustrated in a hand-drawn picture book style with thick lineart and delicate watercolor washes, soft color bleeding and a textured paper feel,
the atmosphere is still and heavy, filled with unspoken questions and a longing that lingers like the last echo of a dream
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