Lingering Soul Novels & Stories

the spirit through "Mechanical-Duress." Elen established the Soul-Refinery on the outer rings of the First-Engine. It was a terrifying structure of "Hyper-Compressors" and "Centrifugal-Sieves" designed to strip away the light from the Quintessence, leaving behind only the "Heavy-Residue" of struggle. This was the "Soul-Oil." To produce it, the Guild-Masters had to "D******d" their most difficult memories—the hunger of the North, the fear of the Void, the heat of the forge—into the refining chambers. The oil was literally "Pressed" from the history of the Union.

The engagement ring shimmered under the light. "Why is this still on my finger?" I whispered. Before Michael could speak, Maria chuckled, shaking her head like she had been waiting for this moment. "Oh, Brenda," He sighed dramatically, giving Maria a smirk. "Do you even look at yourself in the mirror when you wake up? Babe, you’ll be twenty-seven this year. You’re not as fresh and beautiful as you think." He scoffed, eyes gleaming with cruelty. "I’m actually doing you a favor. You’re outdated, Brenda. It’s time to wake up."

She seems to huff, angry we didn't follow the unknown plan. Moon rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. Somehow I scrape up all my might and words spill from my mouth. "What about the um...gold goop?" I ask, covering my stomach. Feeling exposed and vulnerable. The first original sister takes over once more. "Your soul yearns for the other and will do anything to be with the other during ascending. Therefore it will leak from your body, searching for one another." I shiver at just the thought. My soul was leaking from my body. In search of the man that I was working my hardest to get away from.

“Even when you thought you were. I’ve been patient. Waiting. Letting you ripen.” Liora shook her head, voice cracking “You’re nothing but a parasite.” The reflection’s voice turned hard “I’m a god And you are my vessel.” A cold force slammed into Liora’s chest, She dropped to her knees as the air thickened cloying, full of whispers and warmth that wasn’t welcome, A glow erupted beneath her ribs her flame. It flickered blue. Unstable. “She’s trying to claim the soul-hinge,” Altheya gasped from miles away.

And remembered the words of a man named, “Nameless.” ““Death is only the beginning, Maru. You should know by now that the soul is imperishable. Though you could change, remove and add something upon it, but its main components remains ever the same. Even if you extinguish the soul unto ashes, it does not follow that it is truly gone. Not really. Only in part, perhaps.” “Yes. Nameless might be right, indeed.” the entity muttered before it opened its eyes to yield unto this irresistible pull. But it was at this moment that some unintelligible words caught up from beneath it.

Amirah asked desperate to end the silence, Muhammad gave her a brief dumb expression. "I don't even know what you're talking about." "The band singing, they're called Lady Antebellum but it has two guys and a girl, the name's weird." She said adjusting her seatbelt as they began to leave the main city behind. "I didn't even know they were a band, I thought it was just a lady singing.." Muhammad said nonchalantly, Amirah glared at him. "You can't hear a man's voice abi?" "I thought he was just an undercover singer."

The name hovered on her tongue, not spoken but sensed—each syllable humming with power that had no place in this world. Selena's knees buckled as the weight of it sank into her bones, branding her soul with memories not entirely her own. Lucien reached for her, but the light between them thickened, warping the air like glass about to break. A hum began low in the ground, like something waking beneath the stone, resonating with the name that had not yet been spoken. The Spiral hissed in pain, its threads unraveling around her ribs like it was being scorched from within.

I hadn’t washed it yet. However, when I examined the collar, my fingers paused. The button was loose. The thread looked new, like it had been forcibly pulled. I crouched down and opened the shoe cabinet. My pair of hospital slippers sat neatly inside. The soles were clean. I remembered clearly that the last time I wore them, there had been a faint yellowish stain from disinfectant. Now, the soles were gray-white, as if someone had deliberately scrubbed them clean. My breathing tightened slightly, but my expression didn’t change.

The Soulbind pulses inside us— half-finished. Half-claimed. Half-born. And the next breath I take tastes like a prophecy awakening.

It hurt and comforted me—a memory of what I was, or what I remained to be somehow, in some hidden core of self. I fought on against the other fog of despair and tried to sit up and see. The room was an expensive education in contrast: beautiful porcelain vases on the mantel, and black velvet drapes which concealed secrets cast into shadow. All a promise of a life I am now to lead—a life not built of me, but one which I can still take by choice.