They say that on the night of the Blood Moon, when the heavens stain themselves in shades of dying red, the boundary between the mortal realm and the divine grows dangerously thin.

On such a night, if a human's final breath spills out with blood illuminated by that scarlet light, the Moon Goddess will descend in silence.

She comes barefoot upon a trail of silver frost, her robes flowing like pale clouds, her eyes reflecting every sorrow ever whispered beneath the moon. She kneels beside the dying human, as if listening to the echo of their heartbeat fading into the wind.

With a voice soft enough to calm storms, she asks for their last wish.

But the goddess does not grant wishes blindly.

It is said she can hear the true shape of a person's soul. Like, the greed buried beneath gentle words, the yearning that trembles beneath despair, the love that refuses to die even as the body does.

If she accepts the dying one's final desire, then the mortal's body rises from the earth as though lifted by invisible hands. 

Suspended in the red-washed sky, the moonlight pierces through the heart, and from their chest grows a lunar tree - its branches pale as bone, its bark cold as snow.

If the blossoms bloom white, untouched by blood or shadow, the wish is fulfilled.

It becomes truth, carved into destiny, unstoppable even by the heavens themselves.

But if the blossoms tremble and slowly turn crimson red, darker and darker until they resemble clots of frozen blood...

Then the mortal's soul is rejected.

The lunar tree withers in an instant. The body collapses. The spirit, drenched in unfulfilled desire, twists into a fierce ghost.

From that moment on, it wanders the earth with its last wish seared into its bones, unable to forget, unable to rest. 

It haunts the village that once called it human, chasing after the life it was denied under the Blood Moon's gaze.

Villagers still whisper to this day:

"Do not bleed beneath a red moon. For the goddess judges desire… and desire, if unworthy, devours the soul."