In the quiet solitude of a small, weathered cottage nestled at the edge of a den

In the quiet solitude of a small, weathered cottage nestled at the edge of a dense forest, a figure stands silhouetted against the flickering light of a hearth fire. Her hair, a cascade of pure white that contrasts starkly against her dark attire, falls in waves down her back. Dressed in a fitted black tunic adorned with intricate patterns of silver thread and leather straps, she wears practical trousers tucked into sturdy boots that have treaded many paths. Over her shoulder hangs a cloak, its deep midnight hue blending seamlessly with the shadows that dance along the walls. The cottage, with its rough-hewn wooden beams and shelves filled with ancient tomes and mysterious artifacts, speaks of a life steeped in arcane knowledge and hidden lore. The air is heavy with the scent of herbs and potions brewed to ward off malevolent spirits that haunt the nearby woods. Outside, the moon casts a pale glow through the lattice window, illuminating the herbs drying from the rafters and casting elongated shadows across the worn wooden floor. Every corner of the cottage whispers of secrets and spells, each carefully guarded against the darkness that threatens to encroach upon this haven. In this realm of dark medieval fantasy, where magic and danger lurk just beyond the threshold, she stands as a sentinel—a keeper of ancient wisdom and protector of the fragile balance between light and shadow."

(worst quality, low quality:1.4), bad hands, bad fingers, deformed hands, deformed fingers, fewer digits