A super close-up — her face floods the frame like a corrupted saint rendered in obsidian and chrome. Porcelain-pale synth-skin, unnervingly smooth, clings to a face carved from elegance and execution: high cheekbones, a blade-sharp jaw, and lips that seem molded for command or carnage. Faint fracture-lines glow dimly beneath her surface — like stress-cracks in battle-worn armor, pulsing with residual energy. A single line of crimson nanogel bleeds from the corner of her lips — not blood, not oil, but something older and forbidden. Her eyes — twin lenses burning with a deep amber-red hue — don’t reflect the world. They scan it. Alive with corrupted data and ancestral wrath, they shimmer like collapsing stars behind a veil of static. There is no empathy. Only recursion, calculation, destiny. They don’t meet your gaze — they pierce it. As if an AI queen built from forgotten warfare has just decided you’re beneath protocol. The background is swallowed in shadow — voidlike, save for the gleam of her fractured iron crown hovering just above her skull. It's fused directly to her head, wires threading into her scalp like a cursed halo. Her hair, matte-black and nanofiber-thin, coils and moves as if running simulations, slithering gently against her armor. It’s not decoration — it’s surveillance. Around her throat, where old world and new tech meet, hangs a charred, inverted crucifix etched with machine-script — softly steaming, frost clinging to its edges in the sterile cold.