Lingering Shadow Novels & Stories

The teaching of the temple usually talked about the existence of the souls full of hatred that possessed others because of different circumstances, feeding on their life force. “They are called Lingering; in simple terms, they are the left behind of a will full of hatred and vengeance. Their strength usually depended on the degree of emotions felt before death. There is a condition for a Lingering to possess you: it’s that you need to touch them for people like me who can see them and for normal folks, they need to enter a state of resonance with the evil spirit, like a moment when you feel a great hatred and if a Lingering was nearby, it would make you grow angrier and possess your shadow.

My breath came in sharp, shallow bursts as I stared at Marcus's lifeless body, the pool of blood around him spreading like ink on a parchment. I hadn't done this. I couldn’t have done this. Could I? A jolt of panic coursed through me, snapping me out of my frozen state. I backed away, my gaze darting around the room. The shadows on the walls seemed alive, coming closer to me. I needed to think, to move, but my legs felt like lead.

They drew many vials of blood from me, but compared to the pain caused by the cancer, it was a trivial experience. In the end, the side effects of the special drug manifested even more intensely within me. Before my death, I had resembled a living corpse, wishing I could never open my eyes again. By the end, I could barely keep my eyes open because they had begun to rot. Now, witnessing Chandler’s unexpected reaction, I felt no joy, only pity. What was the point of such emotions when I was already dead? He wandered in a daze until the hospital called him, jolting him awake.

Without reading the texts, Willow knew the content was insults and hate directed at her. She plopped the phone back into her phone and pulled her coat tighter around her shivering body, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. Such was her life, but thankfully, all would be over eleven days later.

The fear was still there, a constant presence gnawing at me, but his presence was a lifeline, a protection I could feel wrapping around me like armor. And yet, even as I clung to that, I knew, deep in my heart, that the shadows of these past three days would never truly disappear. They would linger, quiet and patient, waiting for a moment when I might slip, when everything could come crashing down. But for now… for this moment, Lucien’s words were my shield. And in that trembling, shaking silence, I let myself just breathe, let myself just survive, and hope that the shadows would stay buried.

But the vision lingered the flames, his blood, the Shadow’s promise. And deep in the hollow of my chest, the whisper of chains breaking echoed still. To be continued…

Not Kael. The figure lingered at the edge of the trees, unmoving, watching. Even through the haze, I felt its gaze lock on me, heavy, cold. A shiver crawled down my spine. The shadow slipped back into the smoke, vanishing without a sound. But the feeling lingered. I was not alone. ‐‐‐ The shadow at the treeline did not move. It lingered, smoke curling around its body, eyes glowing faintly through the haze. Then it turned, its massive frame slipping soundlessly between the trees.

Shadows of Destiny The courtyard of Darkfang Keep was a graveyard of silence, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint hum of the relic still clutched in Elara’s hands. The loyalists’ bodies lay scattered across the stones, their rebellion snuffed out in the shadow of the blood moon. Its crimson light throbbed overhead, a heartbeat in the sky that quickened Aria’s own pulse. She held Rollan close, his tiny frame pressed against her, his soft whimpers cutting through the stillness. Then it came—a howl, low and mournful, rising from the earth itself. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the torches lining the walls sputtered, casting frantic shadows that danced like s

"You're the part of the magic that's afraid to die." "I am the part of you that remembers the Cellar without the hope," the Shadow countered, stepping forward. "I am the doubt that whispers that Félix will eventually leave, that the twins will eventually hate the weight of their names, and that the North will eventually burn. I am the End of the Story." The battle on the obsidian platform was a visceral, psychological collision. We weren't fighting with steel; we were fighting with Definitions. The Shadow-Emma moved with a fluid, terrifying grace. Every time I struck with my heavy, cold shard of starlight-glass, she dissolved into mist, only to reform and strike me with a beam of "Idealized-

He had not taken it off since the ball. How do we know she is not the shadow? Lysander asked. His voice was calm, but I felt his suspicion through the bond. How do we know it did not send her to plant lies? To sow discord? To lead us into a trap? Lorna's face twisted. Pain. Anger. Desperation. She pulled back her sleeve, revealing her forearm. The skin was burned—not with fire, but with shadow. Black lines curled around her wrist like living vines, pulsing with dark light, throbbing in rhythm with a heartbeat that was not her own.