Nov 3, 2026

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AI art "I probably won't survive." featuring #Kuchisake-onna, #Hachishaku-sama and #Japanese Urban Legends

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I probably won't survive.

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#Kuchisake-onna #Hachishaku-sama #Japanese Urban Legends

Published on Nov 3, 2026

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character: hasshaku-sama, kuchisake-onna kuchisake-onna, hasshaku-sama, 2girls, two figures, medium distance between them, both looking at viewer, glowing eyes, glowing red eyes, slit mouth, glasgow smile, scarred mouth, wide scar across cheeks, no mask, bare face, holding scissors, black hair, long hair, very long hair, hair between eyes, yellow eyes, black jacket, black dress, bandages, 240cm tall, giantess, large breasts, black hair, very long hair, hair over face, blue eyes, long dress, sleeveless dress, bare arms, sun hat, pink shoes, shoulder bag, leaning forward, bending over, talking to another, creepy smile, wide grin, open mouth, house interior, wooden floor, sliding door, paper screen, shoji, red moonlight, moonlight streaming through window, red light, horror, dark, from below, wide shot, dutch angle, low angle, depth of field The camera is low and slightly tilted, looking up from the wooden floor of a dim traditional Japanese house interior, so both women loom against the shoji screens behind them. On the left stands kuchisake-onna at human scale: black hair falling past her shoulders, a strand between her eyes, yellow eyes glowing with their own hot light, and her face fully exposed and unobstructed -- no mask anywhere -- the enormous scarred slit running from ear to ear across both cheeks, the wound edges dark and parted, teeth and gum visible through it when she smiles. Her right hand grips a pair of steel scissors at her hip, blades half open and catching the moonlight in one thin silver line, thumb through the handle loop, knuckles pale. She is turned three-quarters toward the viewer, weight on her back foot, chin lowered but eyes lifted straight at the lens. On the right, a full head and shoulders taller than the room's doorframe at two hundred forty centimetres, hasshaku-sama folds herself down: her long black hair curtains her face to the mouth, blue eyes burning through the strands with the same unnatural glow, a wide creepy grin splitting the hair. Her sleeveless long dress hangs loose and her large chest shifts the fabric forward as she bends, spine curved, one bare arm braced on her own knee, head tilted down and angled toward kuchisake-onna while both glowing gazes still reach the viewer. The two stand a few paces apart on the tatami and planks, moderate space between them, their silhouettes framing a dark gap in the middle of the frame. Behind them a window and a half-open shoji show the night, and red moonlight pours in from that single source, laying a red wash across the tatami, striking the left side of kuchisake-onna's slit mouth and the right shoulder of hasshaku-sama's dress, casting two long distorted shadows that stretch toward the camera; the room's corners stay in absolute blackness and the red glow is the only real light. Palette locked to red, black and the cold steel of the scissors, with the eyes the brightest notes. Deep horror atmosphere, quietly menacing.

I probably won't survive.

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