The Shadow's Captive

The cell was like all others: cold and dark. He wasn’t afraid, just tired. Captive here was more wearing than it had been anywhere else. With clacks echoing down the hall, he stood up, coming to attention at the front of his cell. The Shadow neared, his misleading pastel-colored clothes shining lightly in the flickers of a candle.

“Good day,” The Shadow said, stopping in front of his cell.

“Good day, sir.”

With a nod to the jailer, his door was opened. The Shadow motioned him forward to stand in the light of the candle. “Wonderful shadow today. It appears that time and the potion do improve the potency.”

“Sir?”

“Oh, don’t worry about the potion: I need you alive. I don’t know why, but your shadows are the best.” The Shadow leaned forward, grabbing a hold of his shadow.

The Shadow yanked on it, and a wave of pain washed over before he fell.