寫實主義, 女人, 貓, 夜晚, 街道

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Under a fractured gas lamp, she waits in a rain-slicked alley, her black lace veil dripping with mist. A silver locket pulses against her collarbone, signaling the courier is near. Her gloved hand rests on a hidden blade shaped like a church key. She does not shift, breathe, or blink. A stray cat hisses and retreats. The scent of wet roses and gunpowder curls around her. Her shadow pools like oil on wet cobblestones