A young woman stands at the edge of a black river that splits into two
A young woman stands at the edge of a black river that splits into two—one stream glowing gold, the other shimmering like blue ice. She wears a long robe of twilight hues, stitched with thread that fades from white to midnight. Her hair is long, braided with feathers and tiny crystal vials. In her hands, she holds two ornate chalices, slowly pouring liquid between them—one vessel gleaming with fire, the other misting with frost. The stream of energy forms an arc that never spills. Behind her, two withered trees lean inward, their roots glowing faintly, intertwined beneath her feet. Her expression is calm, her eyes closed—not asleep, but listening. A distant storm brews far away, but here all is still. She is the blending of what should never meet. No text. No symbols. Just her.
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A young woman stands at the edge of a black river that splits into two—one stream glowing gold, the other shimmering like blue ice. She wears a long robe of twilight hues, stitched with thread that fades from white to midnight. Her hair is long, braided with feathers and tiny crystal vials. In her hands, she holds two ornate chalices, slowly pouring liquid between them—one vessel gleaming with fire, the other misting with frost. The stream of energy forms an arc that never spills. Behind her, two withered trees lean inward, their roots glowing faintly, intertwined beneath her feet. Her expression is calm, her eyes closed—not asleep, but listening. A distant storm brews far away, but here all is still. She is the blending of what should never meet. No text. No symbols. Just her.
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