The alley breathes with midnight shadows, streetlights bleeding pale gold into deep indigo darkness. She emerges—a silhouette of calculated menace—her deep blue leather armor catching fractured light like a predator's scaled skin. The pirate-style coat sweeps behind her, a maritime ghost caught in the urban stillness, speaking of journeys beyond ordinary understanding. Her cowboy hat sits low, casting a razor-sharp shadow across eyes that have seen things lurking between the margins of reality. A minimalist face mask covers her mouth and nose, black fabric suggesting more secrets than it conceals. The cathedral looms behind her, a stone sentinel watching her movements—ancient and knowing. Multiple leather satchels hang from her belt, each one potential containment for arcane evidence, tools of a trade that walks the razor's edge between hunter and hunted. Her knee-high boots—impossibly high-heeled, impossibly sharp—click against weathered cobblestones, a metronome of controlled violence. No visible weapons. But everyone knows true hunters don't need to display their arsenal. The night holds its breath. She moves forward. The witch hunt continues. DB4RZ, g0thicPXL, mythp0rt <lora:FLUX-daubrez-DB4RZ-v2:0.8>, <lora:gopFLUX:0.15>, <lora:artisketchyfs-v02:0.2>, <lora:FluxMythP0rtr4itStyle:0.15>