The water shimmers and I see my reflection, trembling on the gossamer membrane that separates my feet from the darker waters below. My silhouette is distorted, dappled, translucent, a ghost that hovers within a misty realm of pale radiance. The slightest current of air sends faint ripples gliding across the silver surface that extends unbroken as far as the eye can see in every direction, save for one structure which rises from the depths—a place I cannot enter, for it does not touch the water. It stands on a small circle of dry land, and the water laps at its shore.
But the water, like me, is an illusion.
The eyes that stare back up at me from that false and shifting mirror burn dimly like coals from the darkness of a neglected hearth. My shadow watches me intently, waiting with infinite patience for me to make the first move, which it must then imitate with absolute perfection and speed. It gives no hint of weariness, no indication whatsoever that it might someday lessen its vigilance. It never will, because for one who exists in that illusionary water of reflection, there is no room for error and no possibility for doubt or consideration, lest the illusion be dispelled. But I wonder: if it were given the chance, would it resent me?
I, the one who cast the shadow, the source of its being, and the constant motive of its actions.
Would it wish to be free?
Truly it makes no difference in the end, and yet I find myself asking these questions often, for they are a reflection of the fears that haunt me throughout my silent existence here, as I await the day that the true Origin will come to seek his own shadow. I know he will find me; already he is drawing close, I can feel his approach. He is drawn toward me, his mirror image, though he does not yet know it. The dark energy that created me tied me not only to his physical form but to his soul, and so we are destined to meet. When that happens, I fear the illusion will be dispelled.
Unless . . .
If I can sever the bonds that tie shadow to caster, if I can overcome the limitations of illusion long enough to end his existence, it may be that I will be able to walk freely for the first time in my own existence. Or if it turns out that in taking his life I only hasten the end of mine, what makes that outcome any worse than the one I already face? I have long been trapped here while the other goes about as he wishes; why is his right to freedom any greater than my own? Why should his Reality take precedence over Illusion?
For I am but a shadow, true, but I was made from a greater magic than the lowly reflection that stares up at me from the water. There is something within me that allows me to contemplate such things as this freedom I seek, and that alone sets me far apart in potential, and in worth.
I am the Darkness that will swallow the Light, and I will be free.