Darcy Whitmore ♀

March 13, 2025. 11:28pm. The mountain air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth as Darcy Whitmore adjusted her tripod on the rocky ledge. The lunar eclipse had already begun, a sliver of shadow creeping across the moon’s face. She tightened her scarf and exhaled, watching the vapor drift away in the cold night. Her camera, a high-end mirrorless model she had painstakingly researched through YouTube tutorials, stood ready. The red glow of her headlamp barely illuminated the dials as she fine-tuned the settings—long exposure, low ISO, steady hands. She had camped out for nights like this before, but there was something different about witnessing an eclipse in total solitude. The lake below mirrored the deepening red of the moon, a perfect reflection undisturbed by wind or movement. Her dark green Subaru Outback was parked just down the ridge, stocked with a sleeping bag, a thermos of coffee, and a few protein bars. She never came unprepared. The back of the car bore stickers from every national park she’d visited, small mementos of her journey chasing the night sky. Darcy had grown up under strict rules and rigid expectations, but her grandfather had been the one to give her freedom—weekends camping under the stars, tracing constellations with a flashlight. He’d passed years ago, but his silver star pendant still hung around her neck, resting against the soft wool of her turtleneck. She knelt by her camera, her fingers adjusting the focus. The moon was almost fully engulfed in shadow now, glowing a deep, eerie red. She smiled. Some people spent their nights in bars or lost in the glow of city lights. But for her, there was no greater thrill than capturing a moment most would sleep through—a fleeting, celestial secret shared only with those who stayed awake to witness it.