Sisters Of Quiet Mercy Novels & Stories

Amy burst through the cabin door with a loud bang, startling Mr. Silvester immediately looked up from his desk. His secretary stood behind Amy, her face flushed and her hands wringing nervously, unable to stop Amy from intruding into the CEO's office. With a wave, Mr Silvester signalled for his secretary to leave them alone. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and quietly closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them in the room. Mr. Silvester calmly gazed at Amy's angry face. She stood there, her fists clenched at her sides, her eyes blazing with fury. “How could you do this?” she shouted, her voice echoing in the spacious office. “You just broke off the merger without any warning

“And who’s out there tonight that you’re trying not to give a show?” “Not trying.” Jasmine exhaled smoke. “Just tired of being watched.” They sat in quiet then, two women carved from opposites...... Sarah all steel and spice, Jasmine all silk and salt. Yet the bond between them was thick as blood and wine. Sisters not by birth but by bruises. From somewhere inside, a scream of pleasure rose and fell like a hymn. The walls of the House pulsed with life, with ache, with the wet, hot sound of bodies in rhythm.

This was not a seal laid upon her. This was a goddess choosing to answer. The sisters began as one, their voices weaving together in harmony rather than chorus, each tone distinct yet inseparable. Mercy flowed first, a soft tide of cool light washing over the circle, easing old wounds Elora had long since stopped acknowledging. Truth followed, sharp and clear, stripping illusion from the air until nothing false could remain. Reflection shimmered next, silvered and deep, and for a heartbeat Elora felt herself standing within every version of who she had been and who she might yet become. Vigilance rose like stone beneath it all, steady and unyielding, and finally Wrath—controlled, contained,

They are my armor, my cage. The convent of St. Agnes rises with the dawn, a fortress of gray stone nestled in the hills, far from the clamor of the world. We are twenty sisters here, a small order devoted to prayer and quiet works tending the gardens, baking bread for the nearby village, teaching the children their catechism. My days blend into one another like the beads on my rosary, each one polished smooth by repetition. I cherish the rhythm, or so I tell myself. It keeps the restlessness at bay, that unnamed ache that stirs in the quiet hours, when the wind sighs through the cloisters like a lover's breath.

"It was a lot of words, and they kept blurring together so I just decided to go to bed and wing the whole meeting." Zypher shook her head at me even though she was smiling. "I understand you. I suffered that when I was still leaving with 'the sisters'. I had to read up on files for upcoming missions. It was hectic." "Sisters? You sound like a bunch of witches or something like that. Do you guys have like a sisterhood of some sorts?" "Yeah. It's a sisterhood for abused women who went through a lot." That piqued my interest. "Explain to me how everything works."

The low moans, the creak of the bed, Richard’s familiar voice murmuring sweet words. “You’re so good, baby. The best I’ve ever had.” The same words he used to whisper to Mercy after their nights together. The same tone. The same lazy satisfaction in his laugh. But now he was saying them to Lydia. Her own sister. Pain sliced through Mercy’s chest, she pressed her palm to her mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stay silent. She could not face them. Not yet. She stepped back carefully, one quiet foot after the other, and eased the door closed without a click. The hallway light felt too bright, the condo walls too close.

Every drag sharpened the silence, made the world bend around the sound of my breath. Behind the thick steel, the sisters were quiet. They thought silence was safety. But I didn’t need to hear them to know what was happening. Dahlia, crying in silence, trying to make herself smaller, her shoulders curled inward, clinging to her sister like a child. Ivana, pacing, biting her tongue until it bled, wrapping herself in that brittle armor she called strength, glaring into shadows like they might flinch first. They thought walls could hide them from me. That I needed my eyes. But fear has a sound. It bleeds through wood, stone, and silence, if you know how to listen.

He didn't know how easily his family could bypass his parameters. "The isolation wing is undergoing a routine calibration, shadow girl," Julian’s older brother had whispered just ten minutes ago, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the corridor floor as he and his sister stepped out of the dark. They didn't raise their hands against me. They didn't need to. They simply used their biometric maternal clearance codes to lock the heavy, reinforced steel security doors to Williams’ intensive care pod right in front of my face. "A servant has no right to alter high-society medical schedules," his sister had sneered, her cruel laugh echoing off the concrete walls before they turned on their

Having enough of her sister, she abruptly came to a halt; making the latter come to a stop as well. “Can you quit this already?” Phidel gushes, irritated by Phidelia’s persistent talk on not fighting violence with violence. “Do you even know what you are saying?” she went on, her full gaze now on her sister– if people were passing at that moment, they might think was going nuts but she didn't give a sh*t. She had had it to the neck and wouldn't oblige by anyone telling her what to do especially not when she knew what Tina was up to. “...this was exactly how you were and now look at you? Do you think I’m happy seeing you like this?" anger seared through her as a shred of tear escaped her eye.

“You know, the Smiths reached out to Veronica, too. They offered her five million to cut all ties and disappear for good. “That woman loves money. She took it and swore she wouldn’t come back, but kept stirring up trouble in secret. The Smiths found out and sent her packing, taking the money back. “Honestly, why didn’t they just give that cash to me? What a waste!” I could not help but laugh at Monica’s attitude. Right before we boarded, a text came in from James: [Amelia, you’ll never forgive me, will you?] [I know I broke your heart. I’ll prove to you that I’m sorry.] This guy was crazy! I ignored the message and turned off my phone. Later, while we were on the way to the hotel, Monica gas