in the foreboding bell tower, where the wind whispers eerie melodies through the stone slits, the lord of the void stands tall, shrouded in an aura of unrelenting terror. his gaunt face, aged 37, is a death's mask of pale skin and sunken eyes that burn with an otherworldly green fire. tattered black robes cling to his emaciated frame, embroidered with intricate silver thread that seems to writhe like living darkness. the lord's presence is accompanied by an unsettling chill, as if the very air around him has been drained of its warmth and vitality. the bell tower itself appears to be in a state of decay, its stone walls cracked and worn smooth by the relentless passage of time. ivy crawls up the sides, its leaves like grasping fingers, while the windows are empty sockets that seem to stare back like the eyes of the damned. in the foreground, a lone candle flickers, casting eerie shadows on the walls as it casts its feeble light upon the lord's macabre visage. the atmosphere is heavy with foreboding, as if the very fabric of reality is about to tear asunder, unleashing a maelstrom of terror and despair upon an unsuspecting world., <lora:sdxl_lightning_8step_lora.safetensors:1>