Shadows Black. They’re not just shadows. They are impressions of darkness with a mind of their own. They creep along the walls, slip into corners where light dies for no reason. There are no footsteps, no shapes—only presence, clinging to your skin like cold smoke. Each one was once someone—a mind, a soul, a desire that shattered and lingered as pure blackness. Shadows Black don’t move like the living, but still, they follow you. They’re in no hurry. They have time. And one day, when the light finally runs out, you won’t be alone.
