Mira and the Glimmer of Time

Young girl in a mystical forest with glowing elements

Artist
Michael Wi...
Prompt
Read prompt
DDG Model
FluX
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Public
Created
3d ago
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- Info
  Mira and the Glimmer of Time
  
  Model: FluX
  
  Size: 2582 X 1936 (5.00 MP)
  
  Used settings:
  
  Prompt: DDC Image Prompt – Mira, das Kind der Ascheblume A mystical and ethereal forest clearing bathed in soft, diffused light, where no fire should ever have touched. In the center stands a delicate, childlike humanoid figure—Mira, the Child of the Ashen Flower. Her appearance is otherworldly: translucent, ashen skin with a soft glow, like moonlight filtered through fog. Her hair is long and flowing, resembling drifting ash, with strands catching the light in hues of silver and pale violet. Her eyes are luminous and golden, flickering like the embers of a long-forgotten flame, reflecting visions of worlds that never came to be. Mira's clothing is simple yet enchanted—woven from faded petals, fine bark fibers, and glowing filaments of moss. Her bare feet touch the mossy forest floor with reverence, as if she belongs to it more than she belongs to air. Around her, a delicate aura shimmers faintly, blurring the edges of her form. From beneath her fingers, pressed gently to a decaying tree stump, a small silver sapling grows—its leaves shaped like tongues of flame, glimmering in the light. Surrounding her, the forest is ancient and alive, dense with towering trees whose bark carries the memory of centuries. Soft spores and glowing motes of light drift lazily in the air. Nearby, ferns and mushrooms curl toward Mira as if listening. The entire scene exudes an atmosphere of reverence, timelessness, and gentle awe—blending themes of rebirth, memory, and quiet magic. Mira appears both fragile and eternal, a being of ash and possibility.
  
  Face enhance: No
  
  Upscale & Enhance: 5
  
  Aspect Ratio: landscape
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Prompt: DDC Image Prompt – Mira, das Kind der Ascheblume A mystical and ethereal forest clearing bathed in soft, diffused light, where no fire should ever have touched. In the center stands a delicate, childlike humanoid figure—Mira, the Child of the Ashen Flower. Her appearance is otherworldly: translucent, ashen skin with a soft glow, like moonlight filtered through fog. Her hair is long and flowing, resembling drifting ash, with strands catching the light in hues of silver and pale violet. Her eyes are luminous and golden, flickering like the embers of a long-forgotten flame, reflecting visions of worlds that never came to be. Mira's clothing is simple yet enchanted—woven from faded petals, fine bark fibers, and glowing filaments of moss. Her bare feet touch the mossy forest floor with reverence, as if she belongs to it more than she belongs to air. Around her, a delicate aura shimmers faintly, blurring the edges of her form. From beneath her fingers, pressed gently to a decaying tree stump, a small silver sapling grows—its leaves shaped like tongues of flame, glimmering in the light. Surrounding her, the forest is ancient and alive, dense with towering trees whose bark carries the memory of centuries. Soft spores and glowing motes of light drift lazily in the air. Nearby, ferns and mushrooms curl toward Mira as if listening. The entire scene exudes an atmosphere of reverence, timelessness, and gentle awe—blending themes of rebirth, memory, and quiet magic. Mira appears both fragile and eternal, a being of ash and possibility.

Modifiers:

digital painting oil on canvas vibrant award winning imperial colors hyperrealistic ultra detailed high definition crisp quality hdr Vintage Arthur Rackham Jean-Baptiste Monge whimsical Louis Wain voll body Beautiful detailed eyes ©Miwi digital painting digital painting oil on canvas oil on canvas oil on canvas

More about Mira and the Glimmer of Time

Mira and the Glimmer of Time
It was early in the mist when the forest paused.
A sound, barely audible, broke the silence—not a scream, not a song. More like the sigh of a seed choosing to germinate. And from a clearing that shouldn't have existed, Mira stepped. Her feet touched the ground like dewdrops that couldn't decide whether to fall or fly.
Wherever she walked, nothing wilted—but some chose to simply pass away silently.
For Mira was not a healer in the usual sense. She didn't heal what was desired, but what was ready to die. She was young—in form. Her skin was like pale smoke, her hair ash-colored, as if the memory of a fire had taken root in it. There was a golden glow in her pupils, a quiet burning—the suggestion of stories never written, never dared. The animals didn't shun her.
The old trees bowed their branches when she spoke. And when the wind bore her name, it grew warm, even in the depths of winter. Some said she was born from a single flower whose ashes had fallen on sacred ground—a flower that had once seen the end of the world. Others said the Keeper—that ancient sentinel between moss and metal—had once wished for a child. Not of flesh, but of memory and hope. And Mira was that wish. One day, she was found kneeling at the edge of a crumbling tree trunk. Her hands rested on the rotten bark. No light, no movement. Only silence. Then—a trembling. From the rotten wood, a new shoot slowly grew. Not green, not brown—but silver. Like moonlight in form. Mira didn't smile. But the shoot continued to grow. And the forest breathed a sigh of relief. The Keeper didn't appear until sunset. She didn't speak, but he nodded—as if he understood what she had never spoken. "What you touch," he said softly, "doesn't forget its transgression—but it is borne more easily." And Mira looked at him, her eyes full of unborn worlds.
Then she disappeared back into the clearing, which only existed when one wasn't looking for it.