The Warmth of Shadows
Warmth bloomed around me, holding me steadfast amid the morning light. He, usually a shadow, touched me. He was used to the cool touch of steel and red brass, used to the way it calloused his hands. Imagine my surprise at the way he touched softly, chastely, his fingers dancing across my skin as if to commit every cell and molecule to memory, but so lightly it left goosebumps in its wake. A chill amidst the warmth as the shadow reared its head. I look up, marveling at the sight of shadow and sunlight.
