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View details玉座に座す銀髪の剣士
玉座に静かに佇む銀髪の彼女の姿に、思わず息を呑んでしまいました。冷たくも美しいその眼差しと、長く流れる髪が放つ神秘的な雰囲気が本当に魅力的です。気に入っていただけたら、ぜひいいねとフォローをお願いします!コメントでの感想もお待ちしていますね。
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- 19歳ほど 169cm Cカップ 白髪の地面まで届く長髪と金の瞳 マントを羽織っている 体のラインに沿った黒いコルセットミニドレスと黒いタイツ 絶世の美少女 スレンダーな体つき 第9代冥王 【霊剣モルス】を持っている 紫色の意匠が施された西洋剣 玉座に座っている 冷たい表情
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- Water-Infused Oil
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- ﹝Prompts﹞
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- 1104 x 1824
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- lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit, (nsfw:1.2),(nude:1.6),(nipple:1.2),naked
Style: Water-Infused Oil
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玉座に佇む白銀の王女
eitaeita.1007@icloud.com
e1
白髪の女王・玉座の剣
eitaeita.1007@icloud.com
e1
1girl, solo, 19 years old, tall, 169cm, slender, C-cup, peerless beauty, waist-length white hair, long straight white hair, gold eyes, crown, cape, cape over shoulders, black corset minidress, form-fitting dress, corset, black tights, crossed legs, sitting, throne, holding sword, western sword, purple ornamentation on blade, cold expression, expressionless, jitome, half-closed eyes, seated, full body, from below, dutch angle, throne room, dim, purple and gold lighting, painterly, brush texture, sketch-like linework, cool teal shadows, warm gold highlights
From a low, tilted angle near the foot of the dais, the throne towers in the frame's upper half while she fills the lower center, seen from below and slightly to her right so the crossed legs are pushed toward the lens in strong foreshortening. She is a slender young woman of about nineteen, 169 cm tall, with a C-cup bust held in a black corset minidress that follows the line of her waist and hips without a crease — the boning channels pull taut and the laces sit flat against her spine. Waist-length white hair falls straight past the small of her back and pools where it meets the seat, one strand caught under her hip. Her legs are crossed right over left, black tights stretched sheer over the knee of the top leg, the suspended foot hanging with the toe pointed and the ankle relaxed; her weight sits back into the left side of the seat, right hip lifted slightly by the cross. A cape is draped over her shoulders, its hem spilling down the throne's arm and over the step, the folds catching the cold light along their ridges. A crown rests level on her head, its points catching one bright spark. In her right hand, angled across her lap and resting its flat along her thigh, she holds the spirit sword Mors: a western-style blade with a purple design worked into the guard and the fuller, the metal gleaming dull violet where the light rakes it. Her left hand lies slack over the armrest, fingertips curled just over the edge. Her chin is level, her eyes half-lidded in a cold, flat stare directed straight down the aisle at the viewer, mouth set without a curve. The only light is a single shaft from a high window behind and above her left shoulder, rimming her hair and crown and the top edge of the cape in cold teal while warm gold grazes the sword's purple ornamentation and the tops of her knees; everything below the dais steps falls into absolute darkness. The palette holds to white, black, cold teal and the one warm gold accent on the blade, with purple confined to the sword's design and the throne's shadowed velvet. Her hair's ends and the cape's hem drift a few centimeters as though the hall's air is moving, the only motion in the still frame. Cold, regal.
eitaeita.1007@icloud.com
1girl, solo, sitting on throne, seated, leaning back, crossed legs, hands on armrests, long violet hair, straight hair, hair past waist, violet eyes, glowing eyes, eye glow, luminous violet irises, pale skin, light smile, closed mouth smile, faint smile, looking at viewer, half-closed eyes, deep purple velvet gown, gold embroidery, high collar, long sleeves, gold cuffs, bare earlobes, no hair ornaments, unadorned hair, from below, low angle, foreshortening, throne room, dark hall, stone columns, tall arched windows, night, moonlight, cool palette, deep purple, gold, black, cold blue moonlight, dramatic lighting, rim light, cinematic, no text, no speech bubble
The camera sits low at the foot of the dais and tilts up, so the throne's tall back rises behind her and the armrests sweep in toward the lens in foreshortening. She is dropped back against the throne's upholstered back rather than perched upright: her spine against the padded panel, one shoulder lower than the other where she has let it slide, legs crossed with the upper knee over the lower and the lower foot hanging free with the toe of one velvet slipper just off the dais step. Her right palm rests flat on the right armrest and her fingers curl over its carved end, the gold ring of the armrest pressing a pale groove into her fingers; her left forearm lies along the left armrest with the wrist slack. The gown pools around her hips and spills over the seat's edge, its deep purple velvet catching a napped sheen where the cloth breaks over her thigh, and gold embroidery traces the high collar and the wide turned-back cuffs, the thread flaring where light hits the raised stitches.
Her chin is tipped down toward the low camera while her eyes come up under half-lowered lids to meet the lens — a faint closed-lip smile, one corner a fraction higher than the other, the lower lip pressed and released once as if she were holding back a word. Her hair falls straight past her waist, some of it forward over the gown's shoulder and some of it caught behind her shoulder against the throne back.
Her eyes are the light of the picture, and their glow is the revealer: the violet irises carry their own luminous core, and that light runs down onto the tops of her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, and lays a cool violet sheen along the inner edges of the armrests where nothing else reaches. The only other source is moonlight through the tall arched windows behind and to her left — a hard cold blue edge on her shoulder, the collar's gold, and the armrest's crest, while her face's lower half and the hollow of the throne stay in a clean shadow that the eye glow pushes gently back. Beyond the dais the hall falls away into black stone columns and floor, unlit and absolute.
Palette held to deep violet, tarnished gold, black and cold blue moonlight, with the eye glow as the single warm-cool anomaly inside it. Crisp cel linework with flat shadow shapes and a velvet nap rendered in soft gradation, quiet and regal.
Lady Lilith
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