Navidanjum Majgaonkar

The Crimson Aurora

Beneath a sky ablaze with the ethereal brushstrokes of the Northern Lights, a hush fell over Reindeer Hill. The snow muffled every footfall, the wind held its breath, and even the ever-present jingle of silver bells seemed to dim. Ten-year-old Elara, bundled in layers against the arctic bite, watched from her hidden perch behind a towering spruce, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.