Invisible Sister Novels & Stories

"You'll have to move eventually when security gets here." My body jerks back to life at the word security. "Please, sir," I blurt out. "My sister, Keisha, works here. I'm not an intruder." "Tell that to security." "Please—" "Don't move." His tone sharpens, as if he knows I'm about to make a run for his direction. Then I hear it, the sound of his phone dialing. My heart pounds so violently I promise one could hear it echo through the library.

The Throne Room had transformed into the interior of a massive, pulsing lung. The walls, once cold marble, were now slick with a bioluminescent film that tasted of ozone and ancient copper. Isabella stood atop the dais, her body partially submerged in the quartz skin of the Elder Mother like a graft that had refused to take properly. She wasn't just a ghost in the machine anymore; she had become the machine’s primary directive.

She dissects selfhood, fractures timelines, breaks souls not by blade or flame, but by speaking their names back to them incorrectly. She walks into villages and recites birthdays that don’t belong. She whispers lullabies with missing verses. She names children before they are born. And when her victims try to speak, try to defend who they are, she speaks over them— —until their identities melt into contradiction, until they no longer know what they were fighting for. --- The Sovereign’s Audience When Irsi finally slithered into the Sovereign’s Hall of Stillness, the frost bowed around her. Even the throne itself dimmed.

His touch sparked a jolt of electricity, and I felt our connection deepen. As we walked through the garden, the scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth filled my senses. Phoenix led me to a shimmering pool of water, its surface reflecting the moon's silver glow. "This is your inner realm, Syla," he explained. "Here, you'll meet your Fae inner guide, her name is 'Whisper'." I peered into the pool, and a figure began to take shape. Whisper, my inner guide, emerged as a wispy, ethereal being with wings like a butterfly and hair like silver mist.

Overwhelmed by devastation, traumatizing memories of those men barging into the dark room in her aunt's house played before her swollen eyes. Echoes of their lewd moans while licking her ears, the sound of them sucking on her nipples, and their giggles of achievement when they shoved their fingers into her wet vagina haunted her every now and then. She grabbed the bath sponge and drenched it with the shower gel, scrubbing her body hard. "Go away... Go away..." Clover wept.

“If you need anything, just ask. I remember my first time—I was terrified.” “Being terrified is not my thing,” Linda replied with a dry smile. “But thanks for the tip.” The youngster blinked, confused, then followed her gaze to the witchy-looking beautiful woman at the head of the table. “By the way, Marianne is not her real name,” he whispered reverently. “She’s the Venerable Mistress of the Mask. And I think she is beautiful.” The lanky guy produced a heavy sigh. Linda shrugged: “Must be the hat.”

I gripped her rough, warm hand tightly and led her into the spotlight. Paolo froze for a beat. "And this is?" I raised the microphone, and my voice rang through the entire hall. "This is the family I chose for myself. We're not bound by blood, but by the warmth of our souls." The whole auditorium fell dead silent for a single second. Then, the applause that erupted nearly lifted the roof. I glanced sideways and saw Isabella desperately trying to hide her face behind my shoulder, yet her hand clung to mine with a strength that surprised me.

The subterranean library, once a sanctuary of ancient parchment and silent history, was now a tomb of vibrating shadows. Selene—or the hollowed-out vessel that had once been my sister—stood in the wreckage of the elevator doors. The black liquid leaking from her eyes wasn't blood; it was the physical manifestation of the Shadow Heir’s data, an ink that rewrote the reality of anyone it touched.

**** Dear Reader, I very much hope that you enjoyed meeting the characters of the ‘Unseen Enemy’ series. The stories will continue in ‘Enemy Outside’ (Unseen Enemy #2), which focuses on Dallas and Olivia, and which is available here on GoodNovel. I also invite you to visit my website: www.marysoljamesromance.com

Her complexion, a delicate shade of baby pink, hinted at otherworldly origins. In the mirror's gaze, she saw a being that transcended mere humanity. It was a face marked by whispers of ancient power and forbidden allure. Inside, emotions roiled—anguish, defiance, and a fierce longing for acceptance. Her form spoke of a silent struggle against judgment and isolation. The reflection before her was not merely a woman; she was a paradox. In her mother's words, a demon, a shame, or a witch.