A midnight-hued feline arcs its spine like a storm-swollen wave, dominating a low-angle perspective in a fractured parlor room. Franz Marc’s expressionist tension electrifies the scene: smoldering amber walls bleed into cobalt shadows, while a shattered mirror splinters light into prismatic shards that cling to the cat’s silk-furred flanks. Chiaroscuro carves its pupils into twin supernovas, casting elongated claws that gouge velvet-upholstered chaos. The air hums with static, charged by the creature’s coiled stillness, as a single moth—translucent wings etched with bioluminescent veins—hovers near its twitching ear, caught between predation and reverence.