Sister Wedgie Novels & Stories

Alice tried to defend herself, the judgmental looks of the wedding guests scratching her skin “I didn't even touch her!” “So, what? Are you saying Amber did this to herself?” Kendra asked, as Amber lifted her face with her makeup completely ruined by tears, the mark on her skin even more visible now, which caused a buzz of shock and outrage to spread “How could you do this to your own sister?! And on your wedding day? God, what did I do wrong to have a daughter like you?” she lamented loudly, not allowing even the people who were furthest away from them to go unheard “I always knew you were jealous of Amber, but I never thought that would lead you to act like a child again and attack your si

“I stopped seeing you as my sister the day I realized what you were capable of.” Uriel’s smirk faded instantly. Her hand lowered the glass to the table, and her voice dropped to something colder. “Is that why you’re siding with the enemy?” The question hit harder than I expected and I turned slowly, with the glass still in my hand, and met her eyes. “What are you talking about?” Her lips curled again, but this time it wasn’t amusement. “Don’t play dumb with me, Colleen. I know you’ve met Savannah Ford.” She said icily.

I let myself grieve the family I had thought I had. My sister. Not the woman she had turned out to be, that grief was different and older and I would deal with it on its own terms in its own time. The sister I had grown up believing she was. Eleven years of shared bedrooms and borrowed clothes and the twin language we had developed, those slight, specific signals that only the other one understood, the way you could be across a crowded room and catch her eye and have an entire conversation in the tilt of a chin. That sister. The one who had sat beside me at every pack event and who had known my face better than I knew it myself because you spent your whole childhood studying the face that wa

When I returned home, I saw my sister in the living room, tending to her arms. Her arms were covered in needle-like wounds—the kind I had all over my body in my previous life. Seeing me, she quickly lowered her sleeves. Even though pain drained the color from her face, she still lifted her head high, proud. "Lex was so passionate just now. He said he'd love me forever," she said. I thought she was both foolish and childish. To satisfy her ridiculous need to win in front of me, she even had to pretend.

The man across from me – Matteo Ricci, and my husband now, God help me – slid a ring onto my finger, and I felt the weight of the cold metal like a noose. Final. It was wrong in a way that only things belonging to the dead can feel wrong. This was Isabella's ring. She had worn it to the final fitting three weeks ago, turning her hand in the light while our mother cried and said she looked like a queen. Now it sat on my knuckle and I stood in Isabella's dress, in Isabella's church, surrounded by Isabella's life, while somewhere in the east wing of this marble mausoleum of a mansion, my sister was lying on the floor of a bedroom with a pool of blood surrounding her.

I loved how form fitting they were, they accented my curves in the right manner. "You're taking basic way too literally," she chucked at my choice and I shrugged at her. She put it on me and it was a stretchy material so it was really nice sitting on me. "That's got to be one of the fastest fittings we've ever had." She commented while I kept admiring myself in the full length mirror. We left to join the girls and my jaw dropped when I saw my sister in her wedding dress. It was fitted from neck to sleeves to waist but the bottom half was a flare lace part. It was so heavy and flowed around her in a circular pattern.

Cassie trudged up the hill with her sisters, the massive packhouse looming before them. The three of them weren’t particularly tall, but they were strong. With thick auburn hair and hazel eyes. Their faces, arms and legs were largely covered in freckles. A gift from so many days spent out in the sun with the rest of the pack. The sun was fading now, as they walked through the main room and up the stairs to their families’ wing of the house. They shared a kind of suite, with three bedrooms branching off of a small sitting room. The large bathroom could accommodate all of them, but there always seemed to be a fight over its use.

My soul drifted in the air, coldly watching the wedding that was supposed to be mine take place. All eyes were focused on the center stage at the wedding venue. My sister, Sonia Quade, dressed in the wedding gown meant for me, was saying heartfelt vows to my fiancé, Yoseph Caldwell. "Nia is finally happy now!" My parents kept murmuring in the audience as their eyes reddened with emotion. Amid the crowd's cheers, the newlyweds beamed with happiness as they shared what they claimed were cherished memories.

Not everybody had to be a warrior, she told her classmates, and though some boys curled their lips in contempt, the teacher agreed. “Svetlana? Sveta? I had a sister named Sveta.” “Really?” she smiled at him. “So, you can still call me ‘little sister’.” The bent pin holding her hair under the kerchief chose this moment to break, and her plait tumbled down. He gently tugged the thick fair rope of hair braided with a threadbare ribbon. “My sister was a pest. I bet you’re a good girl.” “I bet you pulled her hair all the time and this is why she was angry with you,” Svetlana giggled.

What a narcissistic fellow. "Sister, you better give up now and stop the wedding. What do you think will happen, when he finds out just how promiscuous you are! You can never be a match for Mr. Weng. You better end this wedding." An annoyed Vivienne proclaimed harshly with a mocking smile plastered on her face.