My parents were...pretty uncreative. Everyone I know was named after some sort of root. Whether it's Latin or Greek or Roman, a lot of them followed the exact same pattern.

Me?

Melan.

Meaning "Dark" or "Black."

Pretty ironic, right?

Especially since I've got something only one in a few hundred in history ever have. A Pure Soul.

It's this weird story about how every generation, on December 25th, one person is born with a pure soul. A ton of people have its birthday in my year, including me, on the off-chance they have a kid with a pure soul.

That kid this year was me.

It's based off of this old tale from the Ancient Age, before the Fifth War of Eons. Something called Christmas or something like that.

Think about it. A Pure Soul is shiny, gleaming, sheening. If I were to reach at my chest and hold my soul in my hand, I could use it as a focused flashlight to burn ants or something.

I don't know. I've never tried. A ton of people have asked to see it, and honestly, I've gotten sick of it. It's hell.

I'm going to be blunt with you. No themes or anything underlying, or at least this one. Gain any sort of message you get from whatever else I tell you, but know this.

I'm just a pure soul.

A lot of people judge by how people look, how people talk, how people act. Always been like that, you see?

Weird, especially cause people usually judge by the purple in the soul most of the times. Most people are normal like always. Got a few blotches, dim light, gentle orange flame crackling upon its top.

Souls usually don't make or break friendships. I've seen a ton of people make friends even if they had, like, the complete opposite amount of dark purple blotches on their soul. Course, there's definitely still that sort of first impression stuff. Making friends like that's still rare, but I seen it happen.

But me?

There's not a blotch. No matter what I do. I've tried to make the worst decisions I can, I've injured myself to force myself to cry, I've laughed and laughed and laughed.

Not even a tiny speck.

I've always wondered whether or not I could take some from another soul or not. It seems plausible.

Well, seemed plausible. Definitely doesn't anymore.

Turns out, whenever you grab some Misery from another person's soul and put it on a Pure Soul, and bam, that stuff's gone for good. The soul just eats right through it like a wildfire.

Naturally, a ton of people have asked me to burn through their misery to make them look better. I don't see why.

But I'm not them.

So I don't question.

I just do it.

Mirth, Misery, and Morality. I've never understood why people care about it. But they do. It's scary how much they care about it.

Misery's usually the thing people who have little of it care about most. You know, most of the people high up in the Sky Towers. At least, that's what I think. I don't know if the people on the Ground care more or not.

The Sky Folk? They've lived their lives in the clouds, seeing the world below, seeing the ocean and the forests.

I'll admit, it's beautiful. One of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

But what's truly beautiful?

Seeing all the people fret about their souls, seeing them work and hustle, strive to have the cleanest soul they ever could.

I'd love to know what that sort of vulnerability is like. I've never had to worry about it.

Anyways.

So, if the people with a tiny amount of Misery live high up in the towers, then what about the people with a bit more Misery? What if their soul's just mottled with bits of purple flowing around like electrons around an atom?

That's for the Grounded. It's a place where the people with a bunch of Misery all gather up.

Sounds like hell, right?

Nope!

Just like your ordinary suburbs, or whatever the Ancient Age called them. I'm pretty sure they were the suburbs.

I've never been on the Ground. I've heard from the few people who've talked to me about stuff other than favors with my soul about what it's like.

Soft breezes, a little warmer than what's up in the clouds. They call these things called sports. There's a whole ton of them. People run, shoot balls into things, swim, even professionally fight. Sounds like a dream, if you ask me.

Now, I've heard rumors when it came to Misery. There weren't too many things that weren't already well-known about the thing.

There's rumors, though, about the Exempt. My dad's told me it's all in my head, something I just want to know about since I'm a Pure Soul.

Supposedly, the Exempt are a group of people dedicated to gathering as much Misery as possible living somewhere secluded.

The Coves. A connected series of tunnels under the ground, so far that people can't dig far enough to get there. It's past all the fossils people have found of the Ancient Age, below the water pipes and power wires. Where darkness...rules. That sounds lame.

I'm not sure why. It seems so...heavy. The few moments I've had Misery on my soul before the purity gobbled it all up felt lethargic, hellish...exhilarating.

I'd never felt so human.

Is it freedom they chase after? Or is it pride?

Are they letting their pride choose their fights for them, or do they think about it?

I'm not sure, really.

Those who live the supposed Luxury of the Sky. Then there are the Grounded on the floor.

The Exempt, below everything in the world.

And then, there's me.

~~~

"Ms. Purus!" One of the Sky Residents calls out to me, fervently waving their arms.

That's right.

My mom was so adamant about everything involving my soul that she convinced Dad to change our last name to the root word that means 'pure.' Or at least, that's what they told me. I actually never looked into roots of words. After learning that a bunch of people were named after roots, it just felt...wrong.

"Hm?" I drawl, gazing down at my dress. I'd learned after a while to keep my eyes away from theirs. I'd learned every stitch and imperfection and little crook and cranny of the 12 things I ever wore.

People used to think it was weird, until they came to the even weirder conclusion that they were unworthy to look at me because of my soul, and that I would only speak to them if they had come to me when they had a clean soul.

I was just trying to walk down the stairs so I could eat breakfast, man.

But this happens every day. Every single goddamn day of my life.

"May you please give me guidance?!" Their ragged voice calls out to me, and before I know it, they're on their knees. Begging and pleading to me, and my eyes widen a little bit.

I've never been able to get used to all this stuff happening on a daily basis.

The schedule stays the same, no matter what.

"With what, I must ask?" I offer my voice, knowing what I have to do.

Sound holy. Give them hope. Help them out.

I've lived my whole life like a goddess. It's boring.

Well, at least I do.

As the Pure Soul of my generation, I live with two other of them. They're really nice. Sort of.

You know how I mentioned how people with barely any Misery live in the Sky Towers?

Yeah, Pure Souls live near the top of the atmosphere. It's a miracle we can even be up here without freezing to death. The only people who live at the top of the atmosphere are us, our immediate family, and a few servants and butlers and the like.

The stars are beautiful.

"I wish to serve you!" He proudly proclaims. At this, I gulp, uncomfortably twirling a finger through some of my...how did they put it, 'golden, perfect locks.'

At least it works with my face. Never had a pimple in my life, actually.

"To serve a Pure Soul would bring honor to my family!" He explains loudly, his hair becoming a little disheveled. He's insane, isn't he?

I hate talking to the people who are meant to serve me. It makes me feel like I'm some sort of slave-owner.

The thing that sucks is that they love being my servant. They take it a great honor upon themselves or whatever to pamper me like a baby.

They try to feed me, give me a ton of food, everything to make me happy.

But I like studying. They say that I don't need to, because a Pure Soul is already perfect.

Sure. Sure it is.

They only see me as a Pure Soul.

I like learning. I like exercising. I like drawing, reading, just having hobbies. I even write a little in my free time.

They're all lofty ideals, belonging to someone below me.

It makes no sense.

God, what I wouldn't give to not have to listen to this crap. Shouldn't they not be criticizing me, by their own standards?

"Then I advise you bring it up to the Council," I offer, even though it was literally the most basic thing I could've said.

The Council of our civilization is the equivalent of...a dictator, if that's a good way to explain it. It probably isn't.

Practically, they have power over everything in the world. The Sky Towers, the Grounded, and everything in between.

Except us. The three Pure Souls. Apparently, we can overrule any decision they make that they don't like, as long as 2 out of the 3 of us agree on it. Majority vote, you know.

He cheers, thanks me for my counsel, and heads off. I'm surprised he didn't ask me to purge him of his Misery or something like that.

I sigh, my shoulders untensing. I didn't even notice that they were like that, actually.

Yeah...I feel like eating breakfast. I don't know what I'm going to eat, honestly.

Once I make my way down the engraved marble stairs, it's not long before I hear the same greeting I hear every morning, "Yo, M! Wassup?!" Cheerful, booming, and hearty. It's that kind of voice that makes you wanna trust whoever it comes from.

"How long've you been up?" I ask casually, walking into the kitchen. Of course, Lib's already making himself a protein shake. He uses chia seeds all the time.

His name's short for Liber, meaning 'free.' He's one of the other Pure Souls that lives here. He's what most people think of when they hear someone named 'Chad Flexington' or something. Muscular, hair that he takes care of, hygienic. Anything you could say about a stereotypical knight in a princess story, you could say about Lib.

He's about 37, I think. 24 years older than me. He works out, studies, goes out often, everything. He's the perfect Pure Soul to the people.

"Three hours!" He chirps, flashing a bright smile at me.

I look at the clock. It's 7 o'clock.

I raise an eyebrow, exasperated, "You've been up since 4?"

"Yep! Just finished my first workout so I'll be ready to meet the people!" He explains, running a hand through his short brown hair.

I sigh, "Of course you have."

"You wanna go with me for a run for a bit? It'll be a good warm-up for you!" He offers, handing me an extra shirt that I could change into. "I'm gonna head down to the track in a few if you wanna join me!"

I should mention. Every week, we take the water elevator down to the Sky Towers to make a public appearance, guide the people, and talk to the Council. It's how it always has been. That's what Lib's talking about. He's all about encouraging the people.

I shrug, "Sure. How's Luna?" I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge, chugging it down at the speed of light.

God, I'm dehydrated.

Hm.

Meeting the people's gonna suck.