A white void. No sky. No ground. Just an endless, sterile expanse—like the world has been cast in powdered bone.
At the center: a woman, too close. Her face does not exist. Where features should be, there’s only smooth, blinding whiteness—flawless, unnerving.
A tattered hood, sun-bleached and heavy, drapes over her head. Its edges shimmer faintly, stitched with fading silver that flickers like dying neon.
Just before the void where her face should be, a black porcelain mask hovers. A smile—stretched, frozen, disturbingly cheerful.
The eyeholes are deep and unlit.
Fine cracks run like veins acr
