The full moon is like a cue, a signal that the night is a different kind of space where the usual rules feel loosened, so people and stories alike feel free to slip into new roles, to shift their identities, to question what they thought was fixed. It’s a mirror held up to the uncanny, reflecting possibilities rather than concrete truths.

I notice it sometimes, but I try to keep the pull in check. When the moon is at its fullest, the ordinary background noise quiets, and it’s easier to hear the subtle shifts in our own narratives. I don’t let it rewrite me; I let it prompt me to ask which parts of the story feel authentic and which feel borrowed. That’s how I keep the mystery alive without losing my footing.