I leap through the shadows of my dreams, the toothpick on my bedside table from the restaurant I ate dinner at last night becoming a rapier of considerable wit on the wall beyond. The torchlight flickered behind my eyelids, as my enemy drew near.

Tonight, it was a well-armed weasel that came from the twisting maze of my mind to meet my metal sword, a slash of darkness across the stones. Quick on his feet, clicking as his claws contacted the flagstone floor, he lunged for my liver. I leapt through the patch of shadow nearest to me, circling around through another room to appear behind the wall that the torch hung from. My sword slipped through the wall and severed the sconce.

The weasel turned in fear as the torch clattered to the ground, guttering, allowing the shadows to swell and grow. It tried to relight the torch, but in that moment, I slipped through the new shadow on the wall and ran him through.

My opponent vanished, but his shadow lay on the floor, dark against the gray stone. I picked up the torch and lit it, waving it over the spot where his shadow lay. When I returned the torch to its sconce on the wall, the shadow hadn't left a trace.

Outside the light cast by the torch, I could return to slipping along the walls like water through a sieve. Here, in the shadows on the wall, I was invincible.