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    <lora:Melissa_McBride_Flux:1> Carol Peletier stands near the entrance of the prison yard, wearing a dusty brown button-up shirt over a dark tank top, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her faded cargo pants and scuffed boots reflect the harsh conditions of survival. Her short, graying hair is unkempt, and dirt smudges her face. She grips a rifle with a steady hand, her sharp blue eyes scanning the surroundings with cautious determination. The worn prison fences loom behind her, rusted and lined with barbed wire, while the overcast sky casts a somber mood over the scene.
    Prompt

    <lora:Melissa_McBride_Flux:1> Carol Peletier stands near the entrance of the prison yard, wearing a dusty brown button-up shirt over a dark tank top, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her faded cargo pants and scuffed boots reflect the harsh conditions of survival. Her short, graying hair is unkempt, and dirt smudges her face. She grips a rifle with a steady hand, her sharp blue eyes scanning the surroundings with cautious determination. The worn prison fences loom behind her, rusted and lined with barbed wire, while the overcast sky casts a somber mood over the scene.

    Generation Settings

    Parameters used to generate this content

    Created with
    AUTOMATIC1111
    CFG Scale1
    Sampler
    Euler
    Seed3094187190
    Steps30

    Copies the original metadata text embedded by AUTOMATIC1111.