Keir crawled deeper into the shadows and settled into a familiar place –  the small grimy space between the old cupboard and the dirty wall. Curled up in a small ball, and as still as the furniture next to him, the ten-year-old boy attempted to make himself invisible. Small lights, resembling deformed and ugly stars, appeared on the other side of the window. Oversized noses and monstrous foreheads pressed against the panes. Stale breath hunted for him. Yellow eyes searched for dinner while Keir waited. The young boy had become a statue – a statue with a pounding heart inside and droplets of sweats appearing on its forehead.


But, as every day, the shadows protected Keir. Protected him from the Others; from the blinding light; from the scorching fire.


Somehow, the dark mist reminded him of his dead mother’s black veil in which he had spent his first years – comforting and warm. The darkness also made his ugly scars vanish – scars which mocked and jeered at him in the light.


The shadows had become a companion; a friend; a guardian.