on the creaking wooden bridge, a lone figure emerges from the darkness. a 35 year old blockade runner, dressed in tattered and worn leather armor, stands at attention, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a mix of fear and determination. the wind whispers secrets through the trees as the moon casts an eerie glow on the scene. shadows dance across her face, accentuating the deep lines etched into her skin from countless nights spent hiding from pursuers. in one hand, she clutches a rusty cutlass, its blade worn to a razor's edge; in the other, a worn leather satchel containing her most precious possessions. the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves as the figure stands frozen, poised between fleeing or fighting off the unseen terrors that lurk in every direction., <lora:sdxl_lightning_8step_lora.safetensors:0.6>