Penelope Ward Novels & Stories

Freya rushed to her, and bowed slightly. “Yes, my lady.” Penelope, with an air of authority, commanded. “Pack Imelda’s things.” Freya and Imelda exchanged glances at each other, but Freya didn’t dare to ask questions, so she bowed and left immediately. After a few minutes, Penelope stormed into the Alpha’s chambers with Imelda, who she pushed on the wheelchair while Freya carried Imelda’s stuff. The security guards outside the chamber didn’t dare to stop Aunt Penelope from entering.

Gush! Warm blood sprayed across Gideon's face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hand shaking violently around the knife. His lips were pressed tight. He didn't say a word. From above, Hayley and the others watched and couldn't help but reassess him. Then, a voice drifted up from below. "Hey. Who are you people?" The one speaking was Penelope, the girl who had just shoved Nora out to feed the zombie. She had a sweet-looking face and stood barely five feet four, dressed in a spotless designer dress from before the apocalypse. Over it, she wore a leather jacket and knee-high boots. The materials covering her looked expensive.

A gorgeous blonde with baby blue eyes and a kind smile, she walked up to Leslie, who was still shell-shocked, with outstretched hands. “Hello, I'm Lady P, but you can call me Penelope.” “This... I... I'm Leslie,” she said, shaking hands with the blonde. “Are you at the wrong address, perhaps?” Leslie croaked out, treading carefully. Penelope laughed heartily. “My, my, you're a funny lady, Mrs. Blackwood. All these,” she said, gesturing to the clothes, shoes, bags, and other items which were quickly filling the large living room, “are for you, Mrs. Blackwood. We've brought them here as requested by Mr. Blackwood.”

"Careful, Rain. Or should I say… Penelope?" I froze mid-step and turned to her. "What did you just call me?" She pulled a photo from her clutch and handed it to me. My hands trembled as I looked at the image. It was of me—wrapped in the arms of a man who looked strikingly similar to Alex, both of us laughing and carefree. "This isn’t real," I whispered, my voice shaky. "See to believe," Gwen said with a smirk before sauntering away. I clutched the photo, my heart pounding. Who was Penelope? And why did she look exactly like me?

I cannot think of any adjective because I can't think straight right now! All I know is that Penelope Avery is really a goddamn rich person and I can't imagine how she feels living into this huge house every single day. The old woman motioned me to sit on this huge sofa. Uggh. I can't keep count of how many times I used the word huge since I entered their mansion. "Do you need anything?" she asked. "No, I'm okay, Maám." I answered. "I really just have to meet with Penelope." "Ohh, right. Wait here, I'll call her."

Williams clenched his weak fists beneath the covers. Penelope let out a sigh, stood, and wandered toward the window, watching the city blink below like stars under her feet. “This is just the beginning, you know,” she said. “Soon, I’ll be Mrs. Andy Smith.” Williams tried to move. To rise. But his body refused to obey. Penelope turned back to him, pitying and cruel. “Oh, are you trying to stand? That’s cute.” She crossed to the bed, reached for the pillow. “No more delays,” she whispered, the voice of her conscience nothing but a fading echo. “Time to discard you.”

She always defended me in front of outsiders, never hurt me. I felt hot tears running down my cheeks. There was a knock on the door, and Penelope stopped giving me a hard time. She immediately stopped her actions, took a step back, and kept her distance from me. The maid's voice was at the door, and I didn't even know if she had heard my conversation with Penelope. "Miss Wilson, Miss Taylor, dinner is ready. Please come down and eat." Turns out Penelope's family name is Wilson. "I know," said Penelope, tidying up her blonde curls and tight, ruffled rose-colored dress. She opened the locked door and was ready to leave.

Her chestnut hair, which had been long and curly years ago, was now a pixie cut, giving her a more sharp and professional look. Penelope's smile faltered when she noticed the way he was staring at her wordlessly. Why was he looking at her so intensely? She mused, unsure whether to approach his desk or just stand there. Deciding that perhaps he was staring because he didn't know who she was or maybe he was expecting her to say something, she cleared her throat, "My name is Penelope Will, and I'm from Clarkesworld Magazine," she explained as

I sent the text, tucked my phone back into my pocket and went in search of Penelope. Finally! I can have her to myself. I roamed the long, barren corridors of the prison, peering into each cell as I passed, but Penelope was nowhere to be found. I followed her scent, a faint trail of lavender that led me to the prison yard. As I stepped outside, the fresh air filled my lungs, but my relief was short-lived. In the center of the yard, I saw Penelope standing alone, her back to me. She was staring at something in the distance, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed. She looked defeated, her usual strength and resilience nowhere to be found.

I scrambled out of the swivel chair, put it back into place before scurrying out of the room and down the stairs. Penelope was in by the entrance, her arms heavy laden with shopping bags from different stores. She shook her platform heels off, a weary expression overtaking her facial features. She looked up when she saw me coming down, and an indifferent expression came to her face. “You have no idea what I had to go through to get you all this stuff. Honestly, I don’t get paid enough for this shit. Davien practically forced me to buy you the best of the best. He must really like you,” she muttered, making heat crawl up my neck. Davien, what are you doing to me?