Hyperrealistic old windmill standing in a fog-enshrouded field at the edge of an autumn forest, its blades slowly turning with a creaking sound that echoes through the still air. The windmill’s wooden structure is worn and decayed, with patches of moss and fungi clinging to its sides. The walls of the windmill bear faint imprints of ghostly faces, their expressions of despair and longing subtly emerging from the grain of the wood. The windmill’s windows are dark, but hints of movement inside suggest something unnatural resides within. The surrounding field is dotted with tall, withered grass, and the trees beyond are leafless, their twisted branches reaching towards the sky like skeletal hands. The fog is thick, diffusing the pale, cold light of the early morning, adding to the sense of isolation and unease.