The world is destroyed. But beauty refuses to die.
Many decades ago, humanity collapsed. Pandemics, climate disasters, and finally an alien invasion turned the Earth into a wasteland of metal, dust, and forgotten memories.
The aliens disappeared again — uninterested. The world was left behind: devastated and sick.
Through biological mutation and toxic remnants, something happened that no one saw coming:
No male offspring have been born since.
What remained were scattered groups of young women — the last humans.
They roam abandoned halls, crumbling cities, and industrial wastelands, searching for the most precious things left:
Seed banks secure humanity’s survival — as long as energy lasts, supplies hold, and someone is there to protect them.
All births: female. All futures: uncertain.
In a world without hope, they make a radical choice:
Their clothing serves no purpose. It protects nothing. It is a statement.
They wear:
Not out of necessity — but out of defiance.
The environment is dead and cold. They themselves are warm and alive.
Eroticism against apocalypse. Sensuality against rubble. Beauty against nothingness.
AI-generated image worlds. Future visions.