“Did it hurt?”
I look behind me, at the bare spot on the white stone of the road. In the palace, my shadow might even now be slipping under a door, stealing a life.
“No,” I tell my daughter. It will hurt later, when my shadow comes home.
Featured image by TheAndrasBarta from Pixabay
Christine Hanolsy 
I loved reading about the secret/other of one’s shadow, especially the implication that you couldn’t have control over its misdeeds.
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This is not an easy prompt to get right, but your piece succeeds brilliantly. I like how the shadow has a separate life as the assassin, yet that separation comes at a cost.
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