A moonlit portrait of a young woman standing in the doorway of a ruined marble rotunda, arms open, head tipped back, as hundreds of pale moths descend on her — settling across her shoulders, her outstretched arms, her dark hair, layering her like living lace until her silhouette is soft-edged and glowing. She has cool porcelain skin, closed eyes with pearlescent lids, full lips slightly parted, a face at complete rest. She wears a slip of ivory silk that the moths are claiming as territory, its hem stirring without wind. The rotunda: broken columns, a dome open to the sky so the full moon falls through it in one clean silver column onto her alone, moonflower vines blooming white along the fallen capitals, a shallow pool on the floor holding the moon's reflection so she stands between two moons — one above, one below her bare feet. The moths in the moon's column glow at their wing-edges; the ones on her face stay dark and soft. Her shadow, cast by moonlight onto the pool's far rim, has wings.
Single silver moon column as key, pool reflection as underlight, palette of ivory, marble grey, and moon silver, moth-wings as layered texture, deep soft shadow, fine grain, ultra-detailed, sharp on her upturned face and the moths at her lips' corner.
