Amidst the tangled ruins of an overgrown garden, a slender woman lounges on a bed of decaying roses, her alabaster skin glowing faintly under the pale moonlight. She wears a sheer, crimson silk gown that clings to her lithe figure, its plunging neckline revealing delicate hints of her chest. Long slits run along both sides of the gown, exposing her thighs, where silver chains wrap around her skin like delicate vines. Her long, white hair spills down her shoulders in ghostly waves, threaded with thorny rose stems that seem to bite into her scalp without drawing blood. Her lips are painted deep red, curled into a faint, knowing smirk that suggests she takes pleasure in the garden’s decay. Around her wrists and ankles are frayed ribbons, trailing onto the ground like broken promises. The roses seem to rot faster with every breath she takes, as though life drains from them to feed her ethereal beauty. Her heavy-lidded, violet eyes glance lazily at the viewer, as if daring them to come closer, knowing full well that once they enter her world, they will never escape.