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AI artwork featuring #PixAI Halloween 2026

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Contest Entry

PixAI “Halloween Oddities Club” Special Contest - A Night at Higan Inn#PixAI Halloween 2026

Published on Nov 4, 2026

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More to See

1girl, ((solo)), cowboy shot, contrapposto, expressionless, (((expressionless))) face, blank stare, (((deep black skin))), shiny skin, (((((Onyx eyes))))), ((((glowing eyes)))), (((((colored_eyelashes))))), (((Onyx hair))), (((shiny hair))), (((((wet long hair))))), hime cut, blunt bangs, blunt sidelocks, hand in hair, (halloween costume, mummy costume, bandages wrapped around body, bandaged arms, bandaged legs, bandaged cover breasts:1.3), bandage strips, exposed thighs, ((huge breasts)), (((((perky breasts))))), pumpkin lantern, (((night bedoom background))), dark room, window, moonlight, bed, from below, dutch angle, looking at viewer The camera sits low and tilted a few degrees off level, looking up at her from knee height so the ceiling of the dark bedroom is behind her head and her figure carries the frame. One girl, and no one else — ((solo)). She stands in a loose contrapposto, weight settled on her right leg with that hip pushed out, left knee bent forward, feet bare and set apart on the floorboards; the cowboy shot crops her at mid-thigh, so the bandaged legs and the exposed stretch of thigh above the knee are in frame while her feet dissolve into shadow. Her torso is wrapped in overlapping strips of aged off-white bandage that band her arms from shoulder to wrist and her legs from thigh to knee, the cloth wound crosswise over her chest so the bandages climb and compress the heavy swell of ((huge breasts)) in taut stretched layers, every wind pulling the linen shine-tight; (((((perky breasts))))) hold high and forward against the wrapping, the fabric creasing where it crosses under and over. Her (((deep black skin))) is a pure coal-black with no undertone at all, and it is polished — perspiration and the wet of her hair leave a wet gleam running down her throat, across her collarbone, along the curve of each bandaged breast, and the highlights streak down her bare thighs like oil on obsidian. Her (((Onyx hair))) falls long and soaked, (((((wet long hair))))) plastered in dark strands to her shoulders and back, the water weighting it so it clings and curls at the tips; a hime cut survives the wet — blunt bangs cut straight across her brow and blunt sidelocks framing her cheeks, dripping. (((shiny hair))) catches the moon and throws a hard white sheen along the crown. Her face is beautiful, perfect, highly detailed in its features and its eyes, and (((expressionless))) — lids level, brows flat, lips closed and slack, not a flicker of feeling while she stares straight down the lens. Her (((((Onyx eyes))))) are deep black with a cold light burning inside them, ((((glowing eyes)))) throwing a faint luminescence onto the wet skin of her cheekbones; her (((((colored_eyelashes))))) are a vivid contrasting hue fanned out above and below each glowing eye, tacky and darkened at the tips where the water has run. Her right arm bends up and her hand is buried in her hair at the temple, fingers pushed into the wet onyx mass and lifting a slick strand off her forehead, the wet clinging to her knuckles, a bead of water running off her wrist onto the bandage; her left hand hangs low and holds a carved pumpkin lantern by its handle, its face cut into a jagged grin that spills an orange glow up the inside of her forearm and paints the bandages warm on that side. The night bedroom behind her is dark and close: a wide bed with rumpled pale sheets and a dented pillow sits at the left edge, a window at the right lets in a hard cold blue moonbeam that lays a pale parallelogram across the floorboards and the sheet corner but never reaches her face; the pumpkin is the sole warm source, so the image is split — cold blue rim along her right silhouette and the window-side bandages, hot orange underlight on her left arm, her jaw and the underside of her breasts, and between the two the darkness of the room is absolute. Where the bandage crosses her chest, the wet linen lies flat and glossy and reflects a narrow bright line of pumpkin light that no dry cloth would hold. The room is dead quiet, the pumpkin grin the only expression in the frame — still and eerie.

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