The air outside had shifted. The soft hum of night had grown tense, and high above, the pale silver of the moon had started to blush red. It's coming again—the red moon. A time of old memories, of shadows that clung even when the curse was long gone.
Aleysia held Medusa gently, guiding her away from the open balcony and into the comfort of their quiet room. Her hand rested firmly on the small of Medusa's back, warm and steady, as if anchoring her to the present.
She could feel the subtle tremor beneath Medusa's skin, that silent panic threatening to rise, the kind born not from fear, but from habit. It had settled deep into her bones, carved by centuries of running, hiding, and surviving.
Even now, with the curse long broken and the world no longer chasing her with torches and swords, that old instinct still stirred when the red moon rose. Medusa is still scared that she will hurt people when the red moon rises, even when she's no longer cursed.