Margo and the World of Twilight: Without a Shadow

Margo woke up because her room was way too bright. Usually the morning sun slipped through the curtains in thin golden stripes. But that day, light flooded the whole room, like someone had aimed a giant spotlight straight at her.

Margo squinted and pulled the blanket over her head, then sat straight up, eyes wide open. Something was wrong. She looked around.

The bed — right where it should be. The desk, with the unfinished drawing — same as always. Fantik, the stuffed cat, sitting on the pillow — like always.

And yet... something had changed. She didn't know what, but she could feel it. Margo put her feet on the floor and stood up.

The floor was cold; she shivered and reached for the nightstand to grab her socks. And that's when she noticed it. On the floor, bathed in sunlight, there was no shadow of her.

Not the slightest trace. Margo raised her hand — the wall stayed blank. She jumped in place — nothing.

She went to the window, turned sideways, even waved her arms around like she was conducting an invisible orchestra. No shadow. “This is completely ridiculous...” Margo muttered out loud, even though it wasn't funny at all.

In her town — Vérensk, a quiet little border town where everyone knew everyone — something particular happened every night. When people fell asleep, their shadows would peel away from them and go... somewhere. No one knew exactly where.

People had simply gotten used to the idea that this was just how things were. “Shadows have lives of their own,” Mom used to say when Margo was little and asked why her shadow disappeared at night. “They work while we sleep.

“And in the morning, they come back. It's always been that way.” And sure enough, every morning, the shadow would be there, obedient, stretched out at its owner's feet or sliding along the wall, depending on where the sun fell.

No one had ever lost their shadow. That would be... strange. Not normal.

And now Margo stood in the middle of her room, and the sunlight passed straight through her without leaving a single trace. “Mom!”

she shouted, before immediately biting her tongue. No. Not Mom.

Mom would be scared. Or she'd get angry. Or worse, she'd think something was wrong with Margo.

What if it was serious? What if it was a sickness? What if they took her to the hospital, where doctors would poke her with strange machines, shaking their heads in concern?

Margo got dressed in a hurry — jeans, her favorite cat sweatshirt, and her sneakers. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was fine: gray eyes, freckles across her nose, unruly light-brown hair going every which way despite the comb.

A perfectly ordinary eleven-year-old girl. Except for one detail. No shadow.

“Margo, breakfast!” Mom called from the kitchen. Margo took a deep breath.

She had to act normal. Her shadow... her shadow had probably just gotten held up somewhere and would be back. That happened sometimes, right?

It had to happen. She went downstairs, avoiding looking at the wall where her shadow should have been sliding along. In the kitchen, it smelled like pancakes and honey.

Mom stood at the stove, humming softly. Her shadow fell clearly across the tile — a normal shadow. Reassuring.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Mom said, turning around with a smile. “I was wondering if I'd have to wake you up today.” “Hey...” Margo answered, sitting down at the table, trying to smile as naturally as she could.

Mom set a plate of pancakes in front of her.