There's nothing happening to Medusa when the red moon season is happening. In the silence of Longyearbyen, where the snow-blanketed town seemed cradled by the endless dark of the polar night, a hush fell over the frozen valley as the moon began to change.
At first, it rose pale and familiar above the jagged silhouette of the mountains, but slowly, as Earth's shadow crept across its face, the white disc deepened into a glowing ember. The townspeople, those hardy enough to step out into the brittle cold, gathered by the fjord's edge, their breath curling in silver clouds, to witness the red moon.
It's not just beauty; it's uncanny, as though the Arctic night had lit a hidden fire in the sky. The Svalbard reindeer, normally timid, stood still at the ridgeline, their dark eyes reflecting the glow. Even the huskies tethered outside the homes fell quiet. Only the crackling of ice shifting on the fjord broke the silence.
