Poetry On Sisterhood Novels & Stories

Why my child? Sophia laughed, the harsh noise breaking like falling glass. "Why? Because you've never had to try for anything in your life. The doting parents, the ideal husband, the lovely home. And what did you do with it all? Nothing. You were just. Existing. Taking space. Being pathetically grateful for crumbs." Each word hammered another nail into the coffin of our sisterhood. Years of memories—braiding each other's hair, sharing secrets under blanket forts, vowing to be bridesmaids at each other's weddings—all proved to be as substantial as smoke.

They were sisters, bound by blood, shared experiences, and cemented by an unbreakable promise of support and love. After their emotional reunion, the sisters settled into a cozy nook, their hearts eager to weave their lives together through the stories they had carried alone for too long. Laughter bubbled up between them like a gentle brook as they reminisced about childhood dreams and whispered secrets that had shaped their identities. They shared the legacy of their parents—their indomitable strength, their sacrifices, and the rich stories that had molded them into the resilient women they had become. The dark war that had once torn them apart transformed into a shared history, a chapter i

Sirelia smirked, a brief flash of the old fire returning to her eyes. They embraced, sisters, not perfect, but present. Not divided by crown or conflict, but united by something far stronger: choice. The sun climbed higher. The sky stitched itself whole again. And the realm breathed, ready for a new dawn....

I had let my mother beat me unjustly, let my sister steal everything that belongs to me, and let Julian’s family treat me like a submissive piece of corporate inventory. No more. I had survived a lifetime of monsters before I ever stepped foot into this dynasty. I had written the very scripts that fooled the high-society board. I wasn't a fragile, powerless shadow twin anymore. I was a mother protecting her unborn child, a sister protecting her brother, and the legal Mrs. Vance holding the voting blocks of an empire.

She softly says. I sigh. “It’s okay.” I say with a small smile. “Just don’t let that happen again.” >>> When we get back home, I go upstairs to my room, leaving Halsey to my mom. My phone starts vibrating. Dean: I’m sorry about your sister. Me: Why are you talking to me? It’s not like she’s dead. Dean: It seems like you’re always pushing me away, even when I try to help. Me: Maybe because I don’t need your help.

Swollen and gray as she was, her eyes pecked out by birds, she was the same woman who had tried to give away her dead baby to her and Andrei. As the blossoming trees, and the blood on the grass, and Alex’ face were receding, floating away from her, she called upon Andrei, knowing he was waiting for her somewhere beyond words. Those words that ricocheted between the two sides of the mirror, giving birth to monsters and miracles. The words that bred shadows of hatred and fear but also of love. So, every man has a sister shadow that goes with him, and lives in the reflection of his life, and dies in the reflection of his death . . .

I can’t think of any woman who wouldn’t swoon at a man saying no other would compare to you. When we reached my sister’s cell, all the sweet words in the world couldn’t stop my heart from sinking. I know she’s a bitch and, well, a cunt if we’re going, to be honest. She’s done terrible things, and I’m sure there have been plenty of horrors she’s inflicted in the years since I left home. But she’s still my sister.

Something she had not fully anticipated, though she understood now that she should have. Women writing not about their own recognition of the story but about what they had done with the recognition. A woman who had called her sister after reading the chapter about Chisom. Who had said to her sister, for the first time, the things she had not been able to say before. Who said: I needed to see what friendship that showed up looked like before I could ask for it.

"Things she apparently didn't show anyone." She thought about Anna in the shower, singing off-key at full concert volume. The version of her sister that existed only in private spaces, that the world never got to see. How many private spaces had Anna had. How many of them had been frightening. "What happens now," she said.

Go fix her right now! "Otherwise, don't blame me for not recognizing you as my brother!" It had been less than thirty minutes, yet Charlotte already knew. Other than Liam, I couldn't think of anyone else who would have told her. As for this sister of mine–ever since she kicked me in the chest for Liam, I had already given up on her. My voice turned cold. "I should be the one saying I don't have a heartless sister like you." Ignoring the shock on her face, I kicked her out the door.