In the soft glimmer of a forgotten city, where the streets whispered of old secrets and the lamplights flickered with a ghostly hue, there was a shadow without a person. This shadow, named Silhouette, drifted along the cobblestones, its form vague and trembling like a leaf in the wind.
Silhouette remembered little of its origin, only that one evening, as the sun dipped low, casting long fingers across the cityscape, it had looked around to find itself alone. Its person was gone, vanished perhaps into thin air or slipped away into the shadows of another world.
As days turned into nights and seasons shifted in whispers, Silhouette searched every corner of the city. It danced along the walls of moonlit rooms, slid under the crackling doors of bustling taverns, and hovered in the silent libraries where dust motes spun in beams of light.
People passed through Silhouette often, their own shadows crisp and obedient, following their every move. Silhouette felt a pang of emptiness with each passing figure, a longing for the familiar stride and warmth of its missing person.
One rainy evening, while tracing the old routes once walked with its person, Silhouette reached the city’s edge where the land met the sea. The water, a mirror under the moon’s soft gaze, reflected a thousand stars and a solitary shadow. Silhouette peered into the reflection, its form blurring with the ripples.
It was here, in this liminal space, that Silhouette felt a curious peace. The sea whispered of vast depths and endless horizons, of a world beyond the city of shadows and light. And as the dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Silhouette realized that perhaps it didn’t need to be the shadow of someone else to exist. Maybe it could cast its own way.
With the rising sun warming the cool sea air, Silhouette merged with the morning light, stretching long and far across the sand, no longer a mere follower but a presence in itself, embraced by the world in which it wandered, alone but unbound.