st
astra_yao (zenless_zone_zero), A young woman with long, straight black hair—now severely disheveled—sits collapsed in the dim corner of a modern office, her face half-hidden behind tangled strands clinging to tear-streaked skin. Her deep-set red eyes are unfocused, staring blankly at the floor as silent tears mix with smudged eyeliner. She wears a once-neat dark dress shirt, now wrinkled and twisted with visible fingermarks, its collar askew to reveal reddened skin on her neck. The shirt is partially untucked from her black pencil skirt, which is hiked up on one side, exposing thigh-high stockings riddled with runs and dirt. One high heel lies discarded beside her, the other barely clinging to her foot. Her glasses hang precariously from one ear.
The scene is lit only by the faint glow of an emergency light, casting long shadows across the scattered debris—a broken coffee cup, loose buttons, and crumpled papers. Her posture is defensive: knees drawn tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them, shoulders trembling slightly. The atmosphere is heavy with isolation, emphasized by the cold blue-gray tones and the distant hum of the city outside the half-open office door.
sfung-tx
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