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Prompt: A rain-lashed catwalk of broken mirrors, where models emerge like specters in sculpted leather armor—draped in living ivy that writhes under the downpour. Their silhouettes are razor-sharp, shoulders sprouting antlers or welded scrap metal wings. A ghostly choir hums as wind whips through the glass shards, their faces veiled in blackened lace. Haunting, elemental, and violently beautiful—8K, every raindrop a dagger.