Soulless Ginger Novels & Stories

Lexi put on a fake pleading expression and Robert scowled. "Now listen carefully, I wouldn't say this twice, it isn't supposed to be told." The atmosphere changed and everywhere became silent, "The Ginnak is a soul, an evil spirit that possesses a body once in a hundred years. And I'll tell you, it's very cruel." "If… this Ginnak is evil, why hasn't it been killed or destroyed?" She asked.

She seemed to be a woman who enjoyed dating around. He cleared his throat and asked, "And what's your name?" "I'm Ginger, four years old, and I'm a Taurus. My favorite foods include ice cream, fruit candies, marshmallows, fudge, chocolate, and tiramisu!" Ginger replied, barely pausing for breath. Timothy arched an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you keep that to yourself?" "But Mister, you're a nice person." Timothy couldn't shake the suspicion that Ginger was deliberately bringing up her love for sweets.

Days blurred into a tense, agonizing waiting game. Back at home, Ginger had suddenly shifted tactics. The loud, vibrant "golden girl" persona vanished, replaced by a frail, fragile girl who constantly feigned being sick. She spent almost all her time locked inside my old bedroom, skipping dinners and pretending her "grief and asthma" were flaring up. But I knew better. My ears were constantly tuned to the sounds across the hallway.

I launch myself into the air as they scramble to get organized, and I pounce on Ginger first. The last thing I see in her eyes is fear before I claw her face open, watching all the blood trickle out. It’s not red anymore, though. It’s black. And it smells rotten. It looks congealed. It seems that their bodies are animated and alive, but nothing inside them is really living.

Zeke ordered but I threw my face away, ignoring him. “If you want us to do this the hard way, then we will.” He let out a low growl. “Who is Ginger Carmine and why is she in my sister's body?” I blurted out, going off topic entirely. I needed to know all the details if I was ever going to escape with Taloria. “Oh, I see Jamie has broken the news to you already.” He nodded while I waited for him to answer my question. “Ginger is one of the most powerful witches to ever live. She possesses great powers which every sensible man would want to keep for himself and she is the reason for all this trouble!” He continued.

I played it cool and collected and Jason didn't seem to notice anything erratic. "Who are we locating?" The ginger witch asked, opening the map app on her phone. The goal was to be as vague as possible. "My family," I answered. I watched her go into a deep thought for a moment right before she snapped her right fingers. I didn't need anyone to tell me what she was asking for. I graciously stretched my hand and watched as the knife on her left dug into my skin, drawing blood. Ginger took a swipe at my bleeding cut managing to get some of the Crimson liquid that seeped out onto her blade. She then dangled the blade above her phone. Droplets of red splashed on her screen and Ginger began to cha

Spitfire was not in the most comfortable of positions as a sickeningly sweet incense assaulted him and roused him from his earlier sedation. The tall ginger-haired no-fur was sort of floating and spinning upright in mid-air. There were tethers of some kind of auric signature he'd never felt before on his neck, ankles, and wrists. As of yet, they were not attached to anything to anchor him in place.

If not stopped, his soul would be sucked into Mount Shayu's spiritual vortex. Sua dropped to her knees in front of the seal, her sharp eyes tracing the patterns on the ground. She had no spell scrolls. No official seal-breaking tools. But she had treated possessed soldiers before. She knew one thing: spirits responded to smells and balanced energy. Sua opened her small cloth pouch, pulling out what she had brought: dried ginger flakes, three stems of baixin root, and burnt rice leaves. She mixed them quickly, grinding them roughly with the handle of the small kitchen knife that still bore the scent of garlic.

- he understood me far more than I understand myself. This long table was a modest, dark oakwood with at least 20 chairs around it. Those are equally thick with some local patterns. The food is rich and tasteful, but we always drank blood. Even on social occasions, only disguised as wine. When I finished my report, he patted my shoulders and said: "I'm proud of you. Now, you are the perfect assassin." - as he smiled at me, I saw the color of his power. A thin, golden strand around his head is what always connects with a person's head he interrogates. Now, it's me.