Above the quiet town of Bitche, nestled in the heart of northeastern France, a copper-hued moon rises like a celestial ember. Its soft glow bathes the rooftops and ancient stones in a gentle blush, while the hills and mountains stand in silent reverence. The castle watches from its perch, a sentinel of centuries past, as warm lights flicker below and the sky deepens into velvet blue. It’s a moment suspended between dream and memory—where night becomes a canvas and the moon, its muse.