Genur.art

Her nails: Her fingernails are short and rounded, trimmed level with her fingertips and painted glossy black. A painterly anime illustration in a soft cel-shaded semi-realistic register. grittyink A gritty black ink illustration in heavy brush strokes and dry-brush texture on white paper, drawn rather than photographed. It is black and white everywhere except the crimson streaks in her hair and her blood-red eyes, which are the only colour in the picture. The foot of an old church tower on the cathedral island of Wrocław at night in heavy rain, drawn in black ink: a pointed Gothic doorway of rough stone hatched in dry-brush strokes, a narrow spiral stair climbing away behind it into solid black, wet cobbles in front of it shining with long streaks of bare white paper, and the rain falling in long thin white strokes across the whole picture. Framing: Seen at eye level from a few paces off, the stone edge of the doorway running blurred and huge up the right edge of the frame right against the lens. She stands in the opening, head to toe inside the frame, placed left of centre, the dark stair behind her small and out of focus. Standing in the doorway is zaranyx, an adult woman of 34, with long wavy jet-black hair shot through with crimson streaks and deep blood-red eyes, wearing a long tailored black wool coat that falls below her knees, worn open over a fitted black dress with a low square neckline, and a wire-wrapped raw amber pendant at her throat. Her heavy lids are lowered and her gaze rests on the lens, and her closed lips hold a slow, knowing smirk, as if she has been waiting for you. She is the only person in the frame, no other people. Posture and light: Her weight is entirely on one leg with the other loose and crossed over at the ankle, one shoulder dropped and the opposite hip pushed out. Her hand on the left side of the picture rests flat on the stone of the doorway at the height of her shoulder, and her hand on the right side of the picture holds a closed black umbrella by its curved handle, its tip resting on the step, so both of her hands have somewhere to be. On the carved stone ledge above the doorway perches Morrígan, a large glossy black raven, looking down at the lens. One raven only. One street lamp behind the lens throws hard white light across her face and down the front of her coat, the crimson streaks in her jet-black hair catch it, and everything the lamp misses falls away into heavy solid black ink shadow with fine cross-hatching at its edges. Gentle depth of field, the stone edge of the doorway soft and her face sharp.