character: koyuki_(blue_archive), copyright: blue_archive
1girl, solo, petite, long pink hair, twintails, very long hair, hair between eyes, pink eyes, small fang, witch, witch hat, black and orange cape, naked, pink striped panties, pink striped bra, bandaged up, bandages on torso and arms, scratches, bruises, blood on body, (((pain))), ((pained)), ((in pain)), ((wounded))), one eye closed, tears, trembling, gritted teeth, clutching stomach, hands on own belly, (((disemboweled))), (((open stomach))), (((torn open stomach))), organs out, holding own intestines, intestines, internal organs, blood dripping, sweat, hunched over, knees bent, looking down at own hands, from side, cowboy shot, close-up on torso, dark stone chamber, single candle light, spoken_heart
Seen from a low three-quarter side view at hip height, the small witch is caught mid-collapse: her knees have buckled inward, her right hip juts out to carry her failing weight while her left heel drags back on the flagstones. A wide-brimmed witch hat with a bent, crumpled point sits crooked on her head, its tip drooping toward her left shoulder, and her long pink twintails spill forward over her arms, several strands stuck to her damp cheek. Her black and orange cape hangs open from her shoulders, its orange lining flipped outward, the hem pooling on the floor behind her; beneath it she wears only a pink striped bra and pink striped panties, the stripes stretched where the bandages wrap her ribs and her thin upper arms, gauze darkened at the edges. Her small fang shows between gritted teeth as she winces. Both hands press hard to the lower edge of her own torn-open stomach, fingers spread and slick, cupping a loop of pale intestine that has slipped loose between them, one strand of it looping over her knuckles and dragging down toward her thigh. Scratches cross her hip and her forearm, bruises sit purple on her ribs and one shoulder, and blood runs in thin beaded lines over her belly and down her legs. Her right eye is squeezed shut and her left eye is wide, wet, brimming over with a tear track cutting through the grime down her cheek; her gaze is fixed downward on her own hands and the wound, not on the viewer. Her shoulders hitch and tremble, and the cape quivers with the small convulsions. The only light is a single candle below and to her right, low and orange: it finds the undersides of her chin, her fingers and the wet coils of intestine, throws a long wrong shadow up the stone wall behind her, and leaves the corners of the chamber in absolute darkness. Palette of orange candlelight, bruised purple, and the candy pink of her hair and underwear against cold grey stone. A tiny hand-drawn heart sits alone in a small speech bubble beside her face. Quiet, shuddering dread.
Nov 11, 2026 3:35 AM