Rosemary
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0The image is a custom version of Rosemary, credits to the right owner(s)
 
 
Rosemary is a figure of utter depravity, her form a spectacle of the grotesque. Her skin is a pallid, sickening shade of muddy brown, hanging loose in folds that suggest long decay. Where her arms should be, the shoulders end in twisted, smoothly-healed stumps, leaving her permanently disabled and unnervingly sleek.
The most horrifying feature is her face: her mouth is not merely open, but unhinged and unnaturally distended, stretched wide across her lower face in a silent, permanent scream. The cavity within is a shadow—a yawning chasm of absolute blackness that promises only void. Her eyes mirror this emptiness; they are not sockets, but two deep, sunken depressions filled with the same light-devouring null, devoid of pupils, irises, or any trace of humanity. She is an abomination, a walking testament to grotesque deformity.
Blood traces through, sharply hidden in the texture of the mixture of disgusting, dark and unhinged flesh that it follows through, also keeping its position, with a halted movement that cannot be moved. The shoulders are small but round, blending in with the arm and body texture, this state unbelievable to be fixable.
Its demonic form is its whole life, punishing sinners in the pits of the deepest underworlds, helping other grotesque monsters with their resisting meals. She can echolocate her prey in nonstop chase sequences, screaming and roaring with intense activity, headbutting through the barriers of stamina.
She moves with a lean forward, the feet stumps round and following her legs quickly as they sway back and forth swiftly.
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