Monomad - Shades and lights

To spice things up, let’s weave some fiction into these black-and-white images. Enjoy the story, the pictures, or both.

The summer air was thick, humming with the low drone of cicadas and the scent of jasmine. A faint breeze rippled through the trees, doing little to cut the oppressive heat that clung to the city. She walked alone, her sandals tapping softly
against the cracked pavement, her summer dress fluttering just above her knees.

The dress was pale yellow, light against her sun-bronzed skin, its fabric flowing with her every step. She wasn’t in a hurry, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the alley ahead. She was 38, though her posture and the confidence in her stride gave her a timeless quality.

Above, the moon hung full and heavy, illuminating the scene in a golden glow. The narrow alley she entered was quiet, too quiet for the season. Buildings rose on either side, their windows dark and lifeless, their bricks scorched by decades of sun and neglect.

The shadows in the alley weren’t like the ones she’d walked past moments ago. They were deeper, and thicker, as if the sun had never graced this place. She noticed them at once, though she didn’t slow. Instead, her fingers brushed the edge of a small, glass pendant resting against her collarbone. It felt warm, though the night was cool against her skin.

Behind her, the shadows stirred. They moved like liquid, pooling into shapes and gliding noiselessly over the cobblestones. She didn’t turn around, not yet. Her steps stayed measured, calm, and deliberate.

“Why do you come here, at your age?” a voice asked, soft and teasing, though it didn’t come from anywhere she could pinpoint.

She stopped and smiled faintly, though her grip on the pendant tightened. “Thirty-eight is hardly ancient,” she said, her voice light but edged with steel.

The shadows rippled, shapes coalescing into a figure—tall, indistinct, barely human. It seemed to wear the darkness like a cloak, its face a shifting void.

“You still wear light,” it hissed, as though the dress itself offended it. “You don’t belong here. Not anymore.”

“Yet here I am,” she replied, now turning to face it. Her bare shoulders glistened with faint sweat, her eyes unwavering. “I belong as much as anyone does.”

The shadow seemed to expand, filling the alley. Other shapes emerged behind it, thinner, weaker, but no less threatening. They whispered to each other, their voices tangled in the breeze.

“Give us the light, and we’ll let you leave,” the shadow said, its form leaning closer.

She laughed—a clear, ringing sound that cut through the murmur of the shadows. “You think I brought it for you?” she asked.

The pendant glowed suddenly, a soft, golden light that spread outward. The warmth of it was like summer itself, bright and alive, banishing the darkness in waves. The shadows recoiled, their forms collapsing into formless pools that slithered away into the cracks.

As the light faded, the alley returned to stillness. The woman stood alone, the pendant dimming until it was just glass once more.

She adjusted the strap of her dress and turned back toward the street. The cicadas resumed their song as if nothing had happened, and the warm breeze greeted her like an old friend.

Some would call it foolish to walk the shadows, she thought, but she smiled. Not all who walk in darkness are afraid of what it hides.