The living shadow wanders the void between the stars, thinking nothing.
It exists just to wander, floating in the endless cold and dark.
No memory of where it came from, and no thought as to where it goes.
A week? A year? A century? A millennium?
It has no idea, and does not care.
There is nothing to see it, so it has no form.
There is nothing to hear it, so it makes no sound.
You might think that I’m telling a ghost story, imagining things.
But the living shadow is there, drifting in the vastness of empty space.