AI 藝術: In ratatat74 art style: @anastasia-KnuR stands behind the café counter, frozen mid-movement, as if time stopped the second she realized what was happening. She’s wearing her light-colored café apron, slightly wrinkled, tied a bit too loosely at the waist. One strap has slipped just a little off her shoulder, unnoticed. There’s a faint coffee stain near the lower edge of the apron—evidence of a long, unlucky shift. Underneath, she wears a simple sweater, sleeves pulled down over her hands in a subconscious attempt to hide. Her expression is the heart of the scene. Her eyes are wide, light-colored and glossy, caught between shock and panic. Her eyebrows are raised just slightly, not dramatically—more like someone who didn’t have time to prepare for good news. Her lips are parted as if she was about to speak and forgot how. There’s a soft flush spreading across her cheeks, uneven and real, the kind that comes from sudden nerves rather than confidence. She looks fragile in this moment. Not weak—just exposed. One hand clutches the edge of the counter, fingers tense, knuckles pale. The other grips the hem of her apron, twisting the fabric unconsciously. Her posture leans forward a fraction, like she’s trying to make sure this is real, like if she stands too straight it might disappear.
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In ratatat74 art style: @anastasia-KnuR stands behind the café counter, frozen mid-movement, as if time stopped the second she realized what was happening. She’s wearing her light-colored café apron, slightly wrinkled, tied a bit too loosely at the waist. One strap has slipped just a little off her shoulder, unnoticed. There’s a faint coffee stain near the lower edge of the apron—evidence of a long, unlucky shift. Underneath, she wears a simple sweater, sleeves pulled down over her hands in a subconscious attempt to hide. Her expression is the heart of the scene. Her eyes are wide, light-colored and glossy, caught between shock and panic. Her eyebrows are raised just slightly, not dramatically—more like someone who didn’t have time to prepare for good news. Her lips are parted as if she was about to speak and forgot how. There’s a soft flush spreading across her cheeks, uneven and real, the kind that comes from sudden nerves rather than confidence. She looks fragile in this moment. Not weak—just exposed. One hand clutches the edge of the counter, fingers tense, knuckles pale. The other grips the hem of her apron, twisting the fabric unconsciously. Her posture leans forward a fraction, like she’s trying to make sure this is real, like if she stands too straight it might disappear.
3 days ago