A dark, elegant moth-like fairy queen with glowing eyes stands in a ruined gothic throne room with shattered windows.

She stands at the edge of the ruined throne room, framed by fractured stained-glass windows and the cold light of twilight. Her body is tall, statuesque — a humanoid figure wrapped in shadows and silk. Her skin is black and smooth like velvet, glinting subtly when she moves, and her limbs are long and graceful, ending in fingers that narrow into delicate talon-like points. Not monstrous — precise. Controlled. Deadly, but elegant. From her shoulders unfurl a pair of translucent moth wings, vast and fragile-looking, their edges torn like burned parchment. They shimmer with hidden colors — dark purples, ghostly greys, glimpses of midnight blue that flicker with every movement. Her face is fully visible, untouched by the curse in structure, but otherworldly in expression. High cheekbones, sharp brows, and violet glowing eyes that carry both fury and endless grief. Where hair once was, long feather-like tendrils float gently, resembling moth antennae — they sway in an unseen breeze, shifting with her thoughts. She wears a gown of living silk — it flows like fog, forming and dissolving with every breath. When she speaks, her voice feels wrapped in gauze — soft, regal, and echoing like a lullaby for the dead. See more