Shadowy medieval city, where narrow, winding streets are veiled in a blanket of

shadowy medieval city, where narrow, winding streets are veiled in a blanket of fog, stands a small, weathered house tucked away from the main thoroughfare. The structure, with its sagging roof and crooked timbers, exudes an aura of age and mystery. Dim, flickering candlelight spills through the small, grimy windows, casting wavering shadows on the cobblestone streets outside. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of herbs, old parchment, and the faint aroma of incense. The modest interior is cluttered with an assortment of peculiar objects: dried herbs hang from the low beams, strange vials and jars are scattered across wooden shelves, and ancient books lie open on a cluttered table. Seated by the hearth, an elderly woman with a face etched deeply by time and wisdom occupies a worn, high-backed chair. Her gnarled hands, deft despite their age, gently stir a pot of mysterious concoction bubbling over the fire. Her eyes, sharp and glinting with a keen, knowing light, survey the room with a blend of caution and curiosity. The house creaks and groans with every gust of the cold night wind, and occasional distant howls from the darkened city outside add to the eerie atmosphere. In the dim glow of the hearth and candlelight, the old lady appears as both guardian and keeper of forgotten knowledge, a solitary figure whose presence weaves a thread of arcane mystery into the heart of the medieval night.

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