The man stands amidst a dense, dark forest, night, fog, where the towering trees form a twisted, oppressive canopy overhead, He wears a scarf on his head that makes his face look dark, their branches like skeletal fingers interwoven in an eternal grip. The ground is damp and riddled with ancient roots that seem to pulse, almost alive, as if guarding hidden secrets beneath the soil. Ghostly wisps of mist slither between the trees, wrapping around his tattered cloak, which flutters weakly, as if struggling against the stillness of the air. The scent of charred wood lingers, blending with the acrid odor of sulfur emanating from his scorched face. Shadows dance around him, flickering with the intensity of his ominous presence, filling the forest with an unsettling, relentless dread
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