Poetry On Sisterhood Novels & Stories

“ this is my younger sister, Isolde. Isolde, this is my mate, Elowen and this is her sister, Layla.” A young woman came forward with a pleasant smile, yet I noticed how her eyes swept Elowen all the way up to her head and down to her feet. “So here is the one the moon goddess chose for my brother?How… interesting. I am Isolde, lovely to meet you.” I slightly tightened my jaw, but I made no comment. The voice of Kieran came in. “Introductions will be properly done later. The mating ceremony has to be fulfilled before the moon sets.”

“You show up, the house comes alive, the kids drive everyone insane, and then you just pull everything away again.” “Fio—” “No, seriously.” Now her voice was calmer. Worse. “I know you work. I know you’re busy. But I’m your sister. They’re my niece and nephew. Sometimes it feels like you show up with one foot still out the door.” The room suddenly felt too bright. Theo stared at his plate. Papá lowered the newspaper completely. Mamá didn’t say a word. Even Delano, who usually couldn’t resist jumping in, stayed quiet.

, He said and I immediately saw the hope of getting my body back shattered. This was my life now. A prisoner sold by her own mother to a stranger. A Human. I would never understand the reason why her mother was doing this. "Damon loves his sister", I said in my head. When we were together, he'd always look out for her even though they weren't that close. I guess this was why. "Damon would find me", I reassured myself just like I always did as Jenna. "Damon would never..." I began but he cut me off with a wave of an hand, clearly not interested in whatever I was about to say.

Now it sat there, silent for the moment, but I could feel every inch of it filling me, reminding me exactly who owned my holes right now. My pussy was already betraying me, a slow warm slickness building between my thighs that I prayed nobody could smell. I cleared my throat and continued, “As your president I want to talk about what sisterhood really means. It’s not just parties and matching shirts. It’s lifting each other up, staying strong even when shit gets hard.” A few girls clapped politely. I smiled the practiced smile I had perfected over the last two years, scanning the room like I owned every inch of it.

She asked me, "Is that some sort of therapy for you?" "Therapy for what? I don't need therapy." "Well, with your dad in town... and everything with your mom and sister...." "Oh.... Ohhhhhhhhhh...." And somehow that was literally all it took. Mated in the Shadow of My Sister was born. I feel sort-of disingenuous saying I wrote it, because it largely wrote itself. More often than not, the characters took over my keyboard as I typed, or they started yelling plot points to me in the shower or while I was driving. It was sort of a wild ride, to be honest.

Or maybe it wasn’t pride. Maybe it was fear of the uncertain, or maybe she didn't care as much as I thought. No. I banished that thought. The woman that sat in front of me wanted to save her family's legacy. I wondered what made her choose to leave when she obviously didn't have any other options. Was it pride? Or fear? The distinction didn’t matter. What mattered was that she still needed this deal. And whether she liked it or not, she would come back. I was certain of it.

The one thing Jackson might just fear. But it’s good. Because we … sisters — new, fierce, unyielding sisters — don’t back down from shadows anymore. Not when we’ve already survived the dark. I look at them — these women, this strange, untamed sisterhood — and feel something settle inside me. Maybe happiness isn’t tempting fate. Maybe it is daring the darkness to try again. Only this time, we won’t be standing alone.

As the night wore on, they talk about lighter topics, bringing back shared childhood memories that had been dormant for years, waiting for this reunion to breathe life into them once more. In the stillness of the night, with only the soft murmur of their voices breaking the silence, the two sisters discovered the threads that connected their lives. They laughed, they cried, and in doing so, they began to weave a new narrative of redemption, reconciliation, and the resilience of familial bonds.

Then I chuckled, staring into space as I added, searching deep within me, “But isn’t that what sisterhood is about? Torturing one another and being each other’s nightmare? My sister definitely did more than that, and even though she missed her way many times, I got to experience her love before she passed away.” “I got to hear her apologize to me. I got to hear her own story and the demons she had to face while I hated her,” I chimed in. “I got to understand that while she tortured me, she was hurting too. She traumatized me, but she was equally traumatized. I guess we are two identical souls who couldn’t agree until the very end.”

Even if I had to die then die I will. As the night wore on, we shared stories and laughter, enveloped in the healing energy of the moonlit clearing. She reminded me of the strength and resilience that ran in our bloodline, the unwavering sense of loyalty that ran deep in our veins and I was so happy to call her my sister.