So. I decided to try this out. Yay.

The basic concept came from the pondering of my mind to this thought: how do Souls fall in love? And after a brief discussion with a fellow Hoster, I decided to try this out.

This is OC-based, but there will be canon characters, so don't worry about that. And if anyone would like to beta for me or give me ideas, don't be afraid to message me.

I should also mention quickly that the FC for Melanie Stryder is not Saoirse Ronan in this fic; it's Jennifer Lawrence. Shersh is one of my OCs (because as a few of you know she is my top female FC for everything).

AND PLEASE DO NOT FLAME. If you think I could have done something different, let me know in a kind, polite way. Thank you.

Prologue: Taken

I knew it would begin with the end.

This can't be right. Those men were much too gruff with me to be Souls. I start out of my office, intent on finding them.

Wait…this couldn't be right.

I run down the stairs, pushing the door open. I scan the parking lot, and there among the smaller cars is a large truck, a canvas over the bed. I stride forward, hands balled into fists.

How can I remember this? These memories…they were mine.

"Excuse me?" I call. "Could I speak with you for a moment?"

The man with the sand-colored hair comes around from the front of the truck, a frown on his face. He says nothing to me.

"What did you say you needed the canisters for again?"

"We live out of town, and this was the closest healing facility."

"Is this a dire emergency?"

"Of course it is."

How can I be experiencing my own memory? How was this possible?

I reach forward tentatively toward the tarp. "What…what do you have-"

A strong arm connects with my jaw. I feel more shock than pain as I fall to the ground. In a few seconds I see black, and then…

The memory ends, and my eyes start to flutter open.

"Can you hear me?"

The voice belongs to a male, a different one than the one from my memory. This man's voice is softer, almost hesitant. He asks again.

"Can you hear me?"

I open my eyes slowly, adjusting to the light shining down on my skin. It takes a moment to search the face of the man who has spoken. He is the only one here. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the silver staring back.

Even so, I cannot ignore that this is not a healing facility - at least not one I'm used to. The bed feels harder, the light harsher. The walls are not white…they are made of dirt.

"Where…where am I?"