Conjured – or more aptly — released from an ancient, dark spell, this creature was born at the bottom of a well beneath the footsteps of a hero.
It was vanquished in one time, but remains in that secret place still, in quiet agony of its own existence.
The old tree in the depths, still rooted, still faintly alive, is said to have a reflection of itself straight above it, a great tree in the old forest, its leaves in constant fall. It weeps, crying out for the strange creature in that deep, empty place. A friend it knows and yet has not itself seen.
When the shade is able to escape its prison, it is said that the tree has been cut in two. Spared a lonely existence in unforgiving eternity. A seed sits in the pocket of the shadow as it seeks its other half, hoping that it can fulfill the duty it had once said.
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