Amber always loved my shadow puppets. Her imagination was so vivid that she made my job easier. Just my hands waving between the torch and the wall were enough to keep a smile on her face.
My, how time changes things. She's grown up and moved out. Her thoughts are less fantasy and more in tune with the bitterness of reality. For the best, probably.
Fortunately, she won't need much imagination for my last shadow: just a tired old man hanging by his neck.