A stone bridge arches over a dry canal, but the underside is pitch black—as if it leads somewhere. The bricks above are carved with intricate reliefs of eyes, each one slightly different, staring outward. Moss grows in patterns, not randomly—concentric rings, like targets. Along the canal wall, stairwells descend into nothing, spaced too evenly. At the bridge’s center, a massive root curls up from below, coiled like it’s listening. There’s no sky—just swirling crosshatched clouds pressing low. Style: Franklin Booth—hyper-detailed ink, layered hatching, stark vertical composition, high contrast, no color. See more