Probably not.

Best case scenario is an extended WP lemmy literature universe.

“Anna, we’re not the only ones who see past the veil.” David whispered, the only other ‘souless’ I’d ever spotted. He was broad, fit, and looked barely a year older than me.

“There’s more!?” I exclaimed. “But wh-”

I yelped as David grabbed my hand, and tugged at me towards a few nearby cafes.

“Let’s find a place to sit down first.” He gestured at classiest one. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

The waitress gave him some side-eye as he dragged me in, her soul betraying her thoughts as she greeted us with a retail smile. But she relaxed after I did, and took our orders with no drama. Her soul had a lovely shade of blue.

“I’m guessing no one else ever told you they could see other’s souls?” Asked David.

I nodded.

“There’s more of them out there than you think. About thirteen in a million people can see it.”

“That’s…about one hundred in this city alone.” I frowned, quickly doing the math. “I should’ve met two or three of them by now, if that’s the case.”

“You probably have.”

“No, you’re my first.”

“Then tell me, did you ever tell anyone else about what you see?”

“Well, it’s never really come up. I always wondered if people would label me as crazy, demented, or mental, but no one asked, so I kept quiet.”

The waitress started giving me side-eye as she placed our drinks on the table.

“See, very few people openly talk about it. How would you know what they saw without asking first?”

“Well other people just don’t… I mean, I assume that everyone else…”

David took a sip as I mumbled, listening intently on every word. I stared into his eyes, “Look. You’re the first person I’ve seen without a ‘soul’. How do you explain that?”

David smiled, like a kid that rescued a kitten. “Seeing the true self is one thing. But not showing one is another.” He paused to let the concept settle into my mind.

“What do you think we see, when we spot these souls? Are they real? Tangiable? Or perhaps something else entirely?”

“A soul is a soul. A colour that fits a personality, and a form that reflects their thoughts.”

Our food arrived, and it was so fabulous, I ignored the shimmering her soul was doing in David’s direction. He avoided eye contact with the waitress as he continued to speak.

“What normal people see, is just a mask for our souls. A presentable side we think best fits society…”

He took a bite out of his burger, and licked his lips.

“…but doesn’t quite fit into our bodies. We need to lie to ourselves, compromise our morals, or otherwise give up part of ourselves to form these masks.”

David finished his burger, wiped his hands clean, and continued, “However, we two, have no ‘souls’ -for lack of a better word - because our masks fit right into our real soul.”

Your prompts are much better IMO 😃

Interesting. I wonder if it can be set to local participation only, so others can still see.

Then what would you consider to be a human, given all we hear about others are stories, or snippets thereof?

I disagree with the implicit assumption that humans and characters are mutually exclusive.

Consider biographies - are the subjects humans, characters, or both?

Among the outskirks of town, atop the only hill, sat the bluewood shack. As a heritage site, Deputy Summers had scared off more than a few vandals, at the behest of the historical society, but not tonight.

He gave three strong knocks on the door.

“Open up, Police!”

There was no response. No one should be there, but looking into the window, dim candles gave blurred illumination. Was that blood on the floor? It didn’t move right, but compelled him to knock again.

Summers heard whispering. No, chanting. Latin? He wasn’t a superstitious man, but some of the townsfolk were. Normally, he’d kick the door down at this point, but last time the heritage site was damaged, the local council withheld their budget for two years. He shuddered to think what they would do if they knew he had intentionally kicked it down last time.

“Help!” A scream pleaded from inside.

Was a life worth two years of misery?

“Stand back! I’m going to ram the door.”

Two steps back, three steps forward…or so it should have been had the door not flung open at the last moment. A robed dwarf greeted him, a strange metal helm covering its face. It looked oddly familiar.

“How may I-”

Summers shoved past the dwarf and followed the chanting. It sounded like…Italian? His search brought him into the basement, where the red liquid slowly flowed. It was too thick to be blood. He slipped, and hit his head.

There was a huge mess in the darkness. Lumps of dark flesh, and thin tentacles littered the floor. If time had passed between his coming and waking, no one noticed.

The chanting was louder now, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. One italian course in high school was not enough to listen with a headache. He stumbled back up, and turned on the lights.

“Ramen.”

A band a kids had sprawled pasta all over the floor, wearing oversized shirts, and collanders on their heads.

“The great spaghetti monster blesses us with a visitor!” One girl cried out.

Speechless, Summers could only think of all the paperwork he’d now have to fill.