Shadows are impersonations. They move around In the sneakiest of ways. Lurking and inching and cheating. Trying to escape the mirror. The darkness died when the hero won. It didn’t. It just followed them, lurking to get back. The core is darker of the fake. They’re dark, because they tell them of the time gone by. In monochrome, the color died, it lives in the real world now. I don’t have a shadow. I am one.