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En PixAI los prompts son públicos por defecto, pero cada creador puede ocultarlos en las obras que publica. Quien creó esta obra decidió hacerlo, así que las palabras con las que se generó la imagen permanecen privadas: solo esa persona puede verlas. Ocultar el prompt no cambia nada más: la obra sigue siendo pública y puedes darle me gusta, comentarla y compartirla como siempre.
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Tsubaki.3 - AI Model cover image

PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3
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1girl, solo, standing, long hair, grey hair, brown hair, two-tone hair, multicolored hair, hair flower, red rose hair ornament, hair ornament, jewelry, red brooch, single glove, black gloves, black dress, strapless dress, strapless, frilled dress, multicolored dress, gothic lolita, lolita fashion, cross-laced clothes, puffy sleeves, juliet sleeves, frilled sleeves, long sleeves, lace, lace trim, frills, cleavage, breasts, parted lips, looking ahead, feet out of frame, letterboxed, indoors, church, gothic architecture, architecture, stairs, window, night, night sky, full moon, red moon, sky, tree, plant, thorns, red rose, rose petals, petals, red flower, flower, candle, from below, dutch angle, cowboy shot, foreshortening, half-closed eyes, tareme The camera sits low at the foot of a stone stair and tilts a few degrees off level, looking up: the girl stands four steps above the lens on a broad flight of worn church stairs, so the treads rise into the bottom of the frame and her boots and the hem of her skirt are cut off by the lower edge; the letterbox bars crop the composition to a wide band, top and bottom. She is turned three-quarters toward the tall window behind the lens's shoulder and her head is lifted, chin raised, gaze traveling past the camera and over the viewer's head to something far down the nave -- she is not meeting the lens. Her mouth hangs softly parted, lips dark red, and her lids rest half-lowered over calm, distant eyes. Her weight settles on her back foot, the forward hip dropped, one shoulder pulled slightly lower than the other; her gloved right arm bends so the black-gloved fingers curl in against the lace at her waist, and her bare left hand hangs loose, knuckles brushing the flounce of her skirt. Only one glove: the right hand sheathed in black kid to the elbow, the left arm and hand entirely bare from shoulder down. The dress is a strapless black bodice cut low and square across the chest, its neckline edged in dense pleated lace, the fit tight through the waist and lifting her breasts so the lace rests against the skin of the décolletage. Below it the skirt is built in overlapping frilled tiers whose black ground carries a multicolored thread -- wine red, moss green, dim violet -- in narrow woven bands between the ruffles. From each side of the bodice, sheer juliet sleeves balloon out voluminous and puffy over the upper arm, then narrow down the forearm into long frilled cuffs of lace at the wrist, the fabric translucent enough that the bare left arm shows through it as a paler shape. Cross-laced silk cords zigzag up each side of the bodice and again at the back of the waist, tied off in slack bows. At her throat, a red brooch -- a cabochon ruby in a blackened metal setting -- sits above a thin chain of jewelry that disappears into the neckline; the same red flashes from small stones at her ears and at one wrist. Her long hair falls in heavy loose waves to below her waist, and the colour divides down it: dark espresso brown along the top and the crown, sliding into cold silver-grey from mid-length to the tips, so that where the light catches the ends they read almost white against the black fabric. Pinned above her left temple is the red rose hair flower, full-blown and open, its petals slightly curled at the edges. Rose petals have come loose from it and from the air of the church, and they hang and drift and settle -- a scatter of them suspended against the window's glow, several caught in the folds of her skirt, one resting flat on the stone tread beside her heel. The space behind her is a gothic nave: clustered stone columns rising out of the frame into a vaulted dark, pointed arches stepping away in receding ranks, the whole interior in cold blue-black shadow. Directly behind and above her, the great window stands open to the night sky, and through it the full moon -- enormous and stained red, its whole disc the colour of clotted wine -- hangs low in a sky scattered with stars; the window's stone tracery cuts black lines across the moon's face. Through the same window the silhouette of a bare tree works its branches against the red disc, dark and thin, and a thorned rose vine has climbed inside, its whip-like canes with long curved thorns laid across the sill and reaching down the column shaft. A single candle in an iron stand on the step two treads above her shoulder is the only warm light in the scene: it is the one flame in the image, and beyond its small pool of amber the church remains in blue darkness. The candle's light strikes the right side of her jaw, the edge of the ruby brooch, the curve of one juliet sleeve, and leaves her left cheek and the far side of the dress in cool shadow; it casts a long soft shadow of her figure down the stairs toward the lens. The palette stays inside black, cold stone blue, and the wine red of the petals, the moon and the brooch, with the grey-to-brown split of her hair as the only neutral note; nothing else is admitted. The red moon is the light behind everything, so the window's glow rims her hair and the tops of her shoulders, and the candle is the small counter-light in front -- the two sources meet on her face and nowhere else. In the bare tree outside, the branches show black and flat against the moon while the trunk, lit only by that same moon, is almost invisible: backlit silhouette, no interior detail. Gothic, serene, theatrical.
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3#Ataque a los titanes#Mikasa Ackerman
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