Rogue: The Absorbed Soul by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Rogue-The-Absorbed-Soul-1260246229

Rogue: The Absorbed Soul ANIMATION

The Murmur in Her Gloves

Elara Rowan had never asked to carry other people’s memories like contraband—stolen, smuggled, screaming. She had never asked for her curse, either: a touch that siphoned life, thought, and soul in a single breath. But fate rarely consulted mortals before carving its marks into them.

Tonight, the mansion’s east wing lay dark, the antique sconces guttering as if whispering among themselves. Elara walked in silence, gloved hands clasped behind her back, doing everything possible not to touch the walls, the air, anything. Her emerald coat swayed around her like a warning flag. Her boots clicked. Her breath trembled.

And then, as always, the voices began.

Elara… Elara… we’re still here…

She froze, her heart flipping like a trapped bird. “Not now,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

But the voices—those quiet thieves lodged beneath her skin—were never patient.

You took us. You hold us. Let us speak… we can help you…

The echo wasn’t external. It came from her hands.

Her hands. The very instruments of every accidental theft she had ever committed.

“Elara?” A new voice called from behind her—alive, warm, untainted by anything supernatural. She turned and saw Kade Lyrin, the mansion’s resident psychic investigator, leaning against the doorframe.

He raised one eyebrow. “You’re pacing the halls like a specter. That usually means you’re hearing something you wish you weren’t.”

“Kade, not now,” she said, though the relief at seeing a friendly face softened her tone.

He approached, keeping his hands easily visible—everyone in the mansion knew not to touch her. “The others are asleep. Only I’m foolish enough to wander at night.”

“Go back to bed.”

“What if I told you I had a nightmare?” he murmured. “One that felt like it didn’t belong to me?”

She blinked. “What sort of nightmare?”

He hesitated. “Your hands. Whispering.”

Elara’s breath hitched.

“Kade,” she whispered, “they’re speaking to me again.”

He nodded, as if he’d expected this. “Then we should listen.”

“No.” Her voice broke like glass. “They want something. They always want something.”

Kade studied her a moment—calm gaze, steady breath, the sort of presence that made the walls seem less eager to collapse. “Let’s sit,” he said. “If the voices want something, let’s at least understand what.”

Elara considered this, then allowed him to lead her into the old glass atrium.

Moonlight filtered through cracked panes overhead. Dust stirred in lazy spirals. The air smelled faintly of lilies long dead.

Elara sat on the stone bench, pulling her emerald gloves tight around her fingers as if she could smother the voices through fabric alone.

Kade sat across from her. “Start from the beginning.”

“They’re… louder tonight,” she said, voice trembling. “I’ve always heard… fragments. Whispers. Emotions. But tonight they’re speaking.” She lifted her hands. “My hands feel alive.”

The moment she said it, the whispering deepened.

Elara… beloved thief… release us… let go of your tight grip… let go of control…

She flinched. “Stop it.”

“What do they want?” Kade asked.

“They promise me forgiveness. Redemption. They say they’ll stop haunting me if I—if I let go. If I stop controlling my power.”

Kade’s eyes sharpened. “That sounds like temptation, not redemption.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s what frightens me.”

She pressed her gloved palms to her knees, breathing hard.

Suddenly, her right hand twitched.

“Elara?” Kade leaned in.

She lifted the hand slowly, unwillingly, like a puppet pulled by strings. The glove bulged slightly, as though something beneath it flexed.

“Elara,” Kade said carefully, “is that you moving it?”

“No.”

Her fingers curled, uncurled. The leather creaked.

We only want to help you, the voice purred from inside her palm. Let us speak fully. Remove the gloves…

“No,” she hissed.

Kade reached out instinctively, then recoiled before contact. “They’re manipulating you.”

“They’re memories,” she said. “Pieces of people I’ve touched.” She swallowed. “They shouldn’t have will. They shouldn’t have… desire.”

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