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Miranda
Miranda stands at the water’s edge, her gaze lost in the storm’s fury. The waves churn, her dress clinging to her as if the sea itself reaches for her. There’s longing in her stillness—a woman caught between the tempest and the shore, between myth and the moment.
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Diana Leaving Her Bath
Diana steps from the water, her body half-turned as if caught between retreat and defiance. The forest air still clings to her skin, droplets glistening like scattered pearls. A hunter’s poise lingers in her limbs, though the bow lies forgotten—for now.
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-full.webp "La barbe bleue (1904) by A. Guillon")
La barbe bleue (1904)
A shadowed figure looms, his beard unnaturally blue. Whispers of dark deeds cling to him like the scent of old blood. The air hums with unspoken warnings—what lies behind that locked door? French folklore’s most chilling question lingers in the gloom.
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-full.webp "Psyché (1881) by Alexandre Cabanel")
Psyché (1881)
Psyche lies bathed in golden light, her delicate form draped across the canvas like a whispered secret. The air hums with unspoken longing—half-myth, half-dream—as she lingers between mortal and divine. That suspended moment before awakening, when even the gods hold their breath.
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-full.webp "Lamia (1905) by John William Waterhouse")
Lamia (1905)
A woman’s serpentine form coils in shadow, her gaze both alluring and dangerous. The flicker of scales beneath her skin hints at the predator within, while her human face remains hauntingly beautiful. Myth whispers of her curse—love that consumes, beauty that betrays.
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Diana the Huntress
Diana stands poised, bow in hand, her gaze sharp as the arrow she’ll loose. The forest holds its breath around her—every leaf, every shadow stilled in anticipation. This is the huntress in her element: untamed, unwavering, a force of nature barely contained by the canvas.
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-full.webp "Narcissus (1597–1599) by Caravaggio")
Narcissus (1597–1599)
A boy kneels by dark water, transfixed by his own reflection. His fingers barely break the surface, blurring the face staring back—youth and vanity frozen in that fragile moment before the ripples fade. The pool holds him captive, mirroring a fate already written in myth.
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Phyllis
A woman draped in flowing robes stands beneath a tree, her gaze distant yet intense. The leaves rustle softly as if whispering secrets only she can hear. Myth lingers in the air, clinging to her like the fabric that wraps around her form. Something ancient stirs in her stillness.
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-full.webp "Ulysses And The Sirens (Circa 1909) by Herbert James Draper")
Ulysses And The Sirens (Circa 1909)
Bound to the mast, Ulysses strains against the ropes as the sirens’ song coils around him. Their pale arms reach from the waves, voices weaving through the salt air. The crew rows on, ears stuffed with wax, blind to the creatures whose hunger glints beneath the surface.