Red Ash
I was born from a bloodline forged in iron and blood. In my veins still roars the echo of forgotten wars… And on my skin, the mark of conquerors burns like an eternal oath.
Posters of the Reign
The doors open onto a kingdom of images forged in the creator’s fire.
Nothing here is frozen. Nothing is innocent.
Welcome to the visual infinity of the Reign.
Queen Selene
Her irises were not just red… they burned, as if every ray came from a sun that died ages ago. On her skin, the blood was not from a recent battle. It was an ancient adornment, a mark of royalty no crown could ever compete with.
Réglisse Noir
She doesn’t touch your body – she owns your soul. She slips in through the cracks, through fear, through shadowed desire. She is the magic of erotic consent, the kind you cannot escape because you want to be bewitched.
Digital Offerings — Versions of the Reign
Here, you don’t receive paper — you receive a digital fragment of the Reign,
an image to keep, to invoke on your screens after the offering.
Queen Selene
Her grace is only an illusion. Her human body is just a necessary lie. The Queen has no “true human form”. She adopts a mask— to rule better, to deceive better, to seduce deeper.
Girl With The Beast
Wrapped in the shadow that claims her, she reigns between fire and ash, guided by a force older than the world itself. A sensual and infernal vision, born of the Reign. For those who are not afraid to hang temptation on their wall.
Queen Selene
On her knees on the bed, Queen Selene stares at the lens with a burning gaze. A blend of desire, power, and contained threat. Her body is poised like a huntress ready to pounce, and the dark light sculpts every curve with an almost sacred intensity. A provocative piece, charged with raw energy — perfect for those who crave the gothic, sensual and dangerous aesthetic of the Reign of Shadow.
Queen Selene
Queen Selene rises from a black mist, as if summoned from another realm. Her body is barely revealed in the dim light, sculpted by a cold glow sliding across her skin. Around her, the mist dances like a forbidden ritual, ready to obey her will. Her gaze, fixed and hypnotic, pierces through the shadows — an invitation, a threat, a promise. An enchanting piece, perfect for a dark ambient, mystical and deeply sensual atmosphere.
Viper Queen
It was Queen Selene who tore me from the primordial Void. In the endless darkness, her burning hand reached for me, ripping me out of the mists of non-being. Her touch carved an irrevocable pact into my blood — a loyalty sealed beyond ages. Since that day, I walk at her side: right hand of the Sovereign of Shadows.
Red Ash
The Thorn — the vampire slayer, the devourer of essences. For a long time, she believed herself above any bloodline, forging her own legend in blood and ash. But her pride led her to challenge Selene. The battle was brief. Red Ash bowed, broken like a child, and since then, her ego has twisted into fanatical devotion.
Red Ash
To ascend, she must hunt her own. Each sister slain, each soul devoured, feeds the fire burning through her veins. A ritual older than memory, written in scarlet on rusted steel. They called it survival. She calls it… ascension.
Queen Selene
What mortals call “the beauty of Queen Selene” is only a veil — a perfect skin woven to soothe the weak and seduce the living. In truth, this is her form: the sacred abomination, the crowned Beast born from the Void.
Daughter Of The Bloodmoon
Under the red moon, her body becomes a dangerous invitation. Light slides along her skin like a caress one doesn’t dare admit. The roses marking her breathe a forbidden heat. Her gaze cuts through you… stripping your will. Each step she takes awakens an ancient desire. The night itself pauses just to feel her breath. She does not touch your skin — she touches your instinct. And once she has seen you… you desire nothing else.
Scarlet Fang Kiss 16:9
They part just slightly… just enough to make control slip away. That deep red isn’t makeup: it’s a secret painted on the mouth of temptation. Nothing is shown… yet everything is suggested. A warmth brushing close, without touching. A desire rising, without permission. These lips ask for nothing— they invite. And whoever dares stare too long already feels their breath slipping away.
Black Roses 9:16
She doesn’t seduce — she enchants. Her shadowed skin blends with the roses as if she were their hidden root. Every flower seems to bloom from her body, every petal sliding along her curves… without ever crossing the line of the real. She breathes quiet temptation, the kind that asks for nothing, but that no one can ignore. Closed eyes, an offered posture, and suddenly the forbidden becomes artwork. She is the nocturnal rose — beautiful, dangerous, and terribly impossible to forget.
Biker Girl 9:16
She belongs to no one. In the raw heat of the desert, her silhouette cuts through like a dangerous promise. Dust clings to her warm skin, her scent mixes with leather and burning metal. She walks toward her bike like one approaches a sin — slowly, with the kind of certainty that makes the air lose its breath. She’s not trying to please. She exists — and that alone is enough to make everything around her tremble.
Sensual Girl 16:9
Her gleaming skin reflects every neon, every pulse of the futuristic corridor where she moves like a goddess engineered for desire and fascination. Her metallic bikini clings to her curves with almost artificial precision, too perfect, too sculpted… as if some unknown intelligence had decided to recreate sensuality in its absolute form. Her gestures are slow, calculated, hungry. Her mouth sketches a smile that promises things no civilization is ready to admit. She plays with light, with water, with you. Sensual Girl is not human. She is an experiment. A temptation. A message coded in the shape of a woman — a call no one should answer, and that everyone ends up following.
You Gaze Me 9:16
Her gleaming skin reflects every neon, every pulse of the futuristic corridor where she moves like a goddess engineered for desire and fascination. Her curves draw themselves beneath the black leather, tight as a burning secret, every buckle and chain sliding over her hips as if the metal itself wanted to touch her. Her gaze… that deep black that devours the light. Eyes capable of making you forget the whiskey, the silence, even the danger. She advances with the slowness of a predator who has nothing left to prove. Her leather gloves creak softly, her dark lips trace a silent dare, and her shadowed hat tilts just enough to hide half her intentions. She is not a cowgirl. She is the kind of woman you meet once… and who haunts you for the rest of your life.