Sweetly Stitched Novels & Stories

In front of her hung a black off-shoulder dress. It wasn't overly flashy. It cinched at the waist, and the fabric flowed gracefully with a subtle sheen. The sheer outer layer was studded with tiny diamonds. Under the lights, it sparkled like a star-strewn sky. It was so dazzling that it was impossible to look away.

Sabrina woke up and felt a little better after yesterday's outburst. Her eyes were a still a little puffy and sore. She stode up to go have a quick shower. She submerged herself in the water. The steam surrounded her and while the water gave her relief. She stayed submerged for a while then got up to face the world. She quickly got dressed and did her hair. She was wearing a black dress with a red rose in her hair. It was simple but sophisticated.

Gillian could not believe his eyes, he just watched what was happening. “Let us go inside”, Mr. Hilary announced while the Alpha was still looking around and observing all the activities. “Okay”, he responded gently still amazed at what he was seeing. They got inside the warehouse first and he saw textiles of different type and colour arranged neatly according to their types; some were knitted, others were weaved and some were crocheted textiles. The old alpha was perplexed, he opened his mouth slightly at the awe of what he was seeing.

Thank you all for always supporting “Sweet Treachery”. I couldn’t have asked for better fans. I love you all!!! I rush to the window to catch a glimpse Of how life used to be wonderful How there were no worries and I was at ease I had my family’s love in full But all I see is the tears of the moon In the form of dew And the life which I once knew Is now a poor shadow of itself PenaciousShewa

"Yes". She replied with the perfect word and every self restraint I had left was swept away immediately. "Take it off". I demanded, referring to her jeans, she understood immediately and reached for the button but I stopped her. I suddenly had the urge to do it myself, so I place a finger around the waist band of the jeans and lightly stroke her skin and the slight shiver I got in return made me smile. She's so responsive, just how I remember. I stop my mild tease, and pop the button, then making my way to her zip and all these I'm doing very slowly.

My slippered step falters beneath the weight of it, the marble floor suddenly feeling treacherous beneath the thin soles. My shawl shifts slightly off one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of my silver curls, and my fingers reflexively clutch at the edge of it tighter. The silk is cool and smooth, but I find the familiar rough stitching of trees and animals along the seam and hold fast—needing that scrape of thread beneath my fingertips like a tether to something real. Something mine. The embroidery is slightly raised, each stitch a small bump I can trace with my thumb, grounding me in tactile certainty.

Phoebe's gaze fell on the damaged part of the wedding dress, her brows furrowing slightly. Without hesitation, she skillfully opened the sewing kit, delicately picking up the needle and thread with practiced ease. The issue wasn’t difficult to fix—her proficiency in needlework made it a simple task. With unwavering focus, she threaded the needle and carefully embroidered a petal over the torn area. Each stitch, precise and meticulous, concealed the flaw seamlessly.

But just as they were about to leave the store, Seline's eyes fell upon a delicate bracelet displayed in the window. It was a twin bracelet, with a heart split in two, each half adorned with intricate designs. When put together, the two halves formed a complete heart, symbolizing unity and connection. Seline couldn't tear her gaze away from the beautiful piece, her heart fluttering with a strange sense of longing. Sweet noticed her admiration and followed her gaze to the bracelet. Without a word, he signaled to the salesperson, who quickly retrieved the bracelet from the display case. Sweet then turned to Seline with a warm smile, presenting her with the bracelet as a gift.

She sewed the collar. The stitch she used was a slipstitch, the same stitch she had learned from their grandmother, who had made her clothes for thirty years and had taught Elena the stitch the summer she was twelve and their grandmother's hands were still steady and the light in the workroom was the particular afternoon light of a house that no longer existed. The slipstitch caught the folded edge of the collar and the fabric underneath it and held them together without showing on either side. The join was invisible. The collar stayed where it was because of a thread that could not be seen, running through both layers, continuous and quiet. This was what trust looked like, she thought. Not

But the silence between us no longer felt heavy. It felt peaceful. It was the quiet concentration of two people pouring their attention into something delicate and meaningful. Time moved slowly. Sophia stitched the waistline carefully while I worked on securing the lace along the neckline. The lace itself was breathtakingly delicate, patterned like curling vines spreading across the bodice. Every thread seemed to tell a story of patience and artistry. When the sunlight from the window touched the lace, it shimmered faintly, almost like frost catching the first light of morning.