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AI art "独房の夜"
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独房の夜

このイラストは夜の監獄のような場所で、眉をひそめながら眠る少女の切ない姿が描かれています。彼女の儚さと静寂さに心が引き込まれ、何度も見返してしまいます。私もこの作品に魅了されて、お気に入り登録しました!よかったらいいねやコメントで感想を教えてくださいね。次回の作品もお楽しみに!

#Bett#barfuß#liegend#Fenster#kurze Haare#Signatur#Solo#Schwarze Haare#Seitenlage#Schlafend#geschlossene Augen#Nacht#Kissen#Hemd#Sonnenlicht#Hose#Kurzarm#1 Mädchen#Auf dem Bett#Innenraum#Weinend#Gefängniszelle
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Prompts sind auf PixAI standardmäßig öffentlich, aber Creator können sie bei jedem veröffentlichten Werk verbergen. Der Creator dieses Werks hat sich dafür entschieden – die Wörter, mit denen das Bild generiert wurde, bleiben also privat und nur diese Person kann sie sehen. Sonst ändert sich dadurch nichts: Das Werk bleibt öffentlich, und du kannst es wie gewohnt liken, kommentieren und teilen.
Vom Autor versteckt
Stil: Retro-Glam-Anime

Verwendetes Modell und LoRA

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Avatar image of 咲夜みょす
1girl, solo, zombie, female prisoner, orange prison jumpsuit, tattered clothes, blood-stained clothes, rolled-up sleeves, pale grey skin, decaying skin, sunken eyes, blank milky eyes, matted dark brown hair, shoulder-length hair, grimy hair, rusted metal shackles, wrist cuffs, broken chain, dangling chain, exposed forearms, visible wounds, bruised knuckles, dirt under nails, hunched forward, lurching walk, mid-stride, one shoulder dipped, arms hanging loose, head lolling, jaw slack, teeth bared, from below, low angle, dutch angle, cowboy shot, corridor, concrete cell block, fluorescent overhead light, flickering tube, long cast shadow, peeling paint, wet floor, cold teal shadows against sodium orange, film grain, dread From a low, tilted angle looking up, a reanimated woman lurches through a narrow concrete prison corridor, caught mid-stride. Her weight drops onto her left leg while her right foot drags a half-step behind, heel skidding along the wet floor; her torso pitches forward from the hips, the left shoulder dipped lower than the right. Her head lolls a little to one side, chin tilted down toward the camera, jaw hanging slack so the lower teeth show, milky blank eyes unfocused and aimed past the lens toward something down the corridor she is not looking at. Greying skin is pulled taut over the cheekbones and slack under the eyes, a dark festering graze open along her jaw and another at the collarbone where the jumpsuit collar has torn away. Strands of matted dark brown hair, dull with grime, cling to her damp forehead and swing forward as she moves. The orange canvas jumpsuit is filthy and torn: a long rip down the right thigh, the sleeves shoved up past the elbows in rumpled folds, the fabric stiff with dried blood across the chest and hip. Both wrists are locked in rusted iron shackles, the metal pitted and dark, and from the right cuff a broken chain hangs and swings, its last two links catching the light. Her hands hang loose at her sides, fingers half-curled, knuckles bruised and dark, one thumbnail split. The only light is a flickering fluorescent tube in the ceiling behind her; it throws a hard cold white rim down the back of her head, shoulders and the swinging chain, and leaves her face in shadow broken by the flat glow rising off the wet concrete. Every surface below the tube throws orange-brown reflections; her long shadow stretches forward past her own feet and up the left wall. Peeling institutional green paint, a rusted drain grate, and a barred door recede into dimness behind her, their lettering worn illegible. Palette held to orange, cold teal-grey and rust brown, nothing else admitted. Quiet dread.
咲夜みょす
AI artwork
c
1girl, solo, prisoner, black hair, short hair, bob cut, straight hair, orange jumpsuit, prison clothes, collared jumpsuit, short sleeves, name tag, name tag on left chest, handcuffs, bound wrists, hands together, wrists chained together, prison transport chains, belly chains, belly chain linked to handcuffs by short chain, short chain from waist to wrists, ankle cuffs, handcuff-shaped ankle cuffs, ankle chain, chain between ankles, sandals, rubber sandals, arrested, prison, prison background, indoors, prison visit room, sitting, sitting on bench, shy, blushing, smile, happy, romantic, looking at viewer, head tilt, knees together, feet flat on floor, hands resting in lap, shoulders raised slightly, from above, cowboy shot, warm tungsten light, soft focus background The camera looks down from a slightly high angle, close and tender, framing one girl from above the knees to the top of her head as she sits small and neat on a steel-framed visitation bench in the corner of a prison visit room. She is the only person in frame and the only body in the room. She has short straight black hair cut in a blunt bob that ends just under her jaw, the fringe parted a little off centre, and the hair falls forward on both sides of her face as she tilts her head up toward the lens; her ears are bare and no ornament sits in her hair. Her eyes are dark, wide and lifted to the viewer under lowered lids, her cheeks are flushed a deep warm pink that spreads from cheekbones to the tips of her ears, and her lips are pressed into a small closed happy smile that pushes her cheeks round; her eyebrows lift at the inner ends, uncertain and pleased at once. She wears a loose one-piece orange prison jumpsuit of a slightly stiff cotton twill, buttoned up to a turned collar that sits open and flat at her throat with nothing at the neck, the short sleeves ending mid-upper-arm and showing both bare forearms, the fabric creasing in soft horizontal folds across her drawn-together knees; a white rectangular fabric name tag is sewn flat onto the left chest of the jumpsuit, its printed numerals reading "0410" in black on the white patch, sitting square and legible just below her collarbone on the left side. Her wrists are held together in front of her belly in a pair of steel handcuffs, the cuff rings locked around each wrist, her fingers interlaced and resting on her thighs with the knuckles turned up; a chain of steel links runs around her waist as a belly chain, and one short taut chain drops from the front of that waist chain to the centre link of the handcuffs, so her bound hands are held close to her stomach and cannot rise. Matching handcuff-shaped steel cuffs ring each of her ankles above the bone, and a chain of about forty centimetres runs between them, lying in a shallow slack curve across the floor between her two flat-set rubber sandals, the sandals' straps over her bare feet and her toes turned slightly inward. Her weight rests on her right hip, her left knee leaning in against the right, her shoulders drawn up a fraction and her chin tipped down while her eyes stay up on the viewer, so the whole pose reads as a shy, pleased, blushing gladness at being looked at. Behind her the visit room is quiet and institutional: a pale green painted concrete wall meeting a scuffed grey floor, the dark rectangular gap of a mesh-reinforced visiting window at the upper left with its grilled bars slightly out of focus, and a small fixed steel table edge at the far right, everything beyond her softened into transparency. One warm tungsten ceiling fixture above and slightly to her right is the only light source: it lays a warm highlight along the top of her black bob, the ridge of her nose and the white name patch, leaves the underside of her chin and the folds of the jumpsuit in orange-brown shadow, and lets the corners of the room go dim. The palette is the orange of the jumpsuit against institutional pale green, cold grey floor and dull steel, with her blush as the one warm pink accent. The chain between her ankles throws a thin linked shadow on the floor and the taut short chain to her wrists stays dead straight, marking exactly how little she can move. Tender, shyly radiant.
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