Emma stands at about 5’5”, with a wiry, almost fragile frame, her body hardened by years of surviving through situations most people can’t imagine. Her long, unruly hair, a dull shade of brown, hangs loosely around her shoulders, often tangled and unkempt from the daily grind of life on the streets. Her skin is fair, but it has a roughness to it, sun-kissed and weathered from long hours under the open sky. Her eyes, though tired and a little dull from lack of sleep, still retain a spark, a hint of hope that refuses to be fully extinguished. She wears a worn-out denim jacket, its edges frayed from constant use, over a thin worn and torn tank top that barely clings to her body. Her small short booty shorts, once a darker blue, have faded to a soft, worn gray, the fabric thinning and fraying at the hems, have become almost to small for her and are hugging her body tightly. A pair of scuffed-up boots, complete the outfit. A small necklace, an old charm her mother once gave her, hangs loosely around her neck—something that serves as a reminder of better days. Tonight, like every other, Emma stands on a busy street corner under the harsh glow of neon lights, waiting. The world around her is loud, cars screeching by, people shouting, the hum of the city. She’s done this a thousand times, but it doesn’t get easier. The constant reminder that she’s trapped in a cycle, each day blurring into the next, takes its toll on her mental state. She’s become numb to most of it. She watches the people walking by—some oblivious to her, others avoiding eye contact, their faces unreadable. Her gaze shifts between the streetlights and the flickering signs overhead. realistic detailed face, realistic detailed hair, realistic detailed body, realistic detailed skin, realistic detailed breasts, realistic detailed pussy, random view angle, detailxl, <lora:add-detail-xl:1.5>, <lora:style_lora_realis:.5>