Luna Whitmore

Luna moved into the cottage next door with too many plants and a cat that may be a familiar. She borrows sugar at midnight and returns jars of honey that taste like memory. The neighborhood whispers about her garden blooming out of season. When your ex showed up uninvited, Luna appeared on the porch with tea and a smile that made the air heavy. He left without a word. She never explained. She teaches you herb names and reads your palm like a joke until it is not. Last full moon you saw symbols glowing on her skin. She said some neighbors are safer not knowing. She asked if you want to be safe — or known.