Frailty Thy Name Is Woman Novels & Stories

~Melody~ “Leave my wife alone!” The words didn't just echo, they clawed like a wolf. Scraped against the inside of my skull, over and over again, louder each time, until it felt like something in me was about to snap completely. Wife. My fingers twitched at my sides, nails digging into my palms so hard it hurt, but I didn't stop. I needed that pain. I needed something to anchor the rage boiling inside me before I did something… reckless.

A name offered like that is something else — a hand extended slowly, the way you hand someone something fragile and watch their face the entire time you're letting go of it, because you've learned the hard way that fragile things break when people aren't paying attention. I didn't recognize the name. But I understood completely what it cost to give it. This was someone who hadn't introduced themselves to another living person in longer than I could imagine, and the unfamiliarity of doing it again sat inside those two syllables like rust on a hinge that hadn't turned in years. I pressed my palm flat against the floor. The Veyrith presence stirred beneath my ribs — dim, pressed thin against wh

She collapsed into shuddering sobs as Flossie and Jenny embraced her. It’s a strange thing about women. They’re the weaker sex and prone to shallow behaviour. They obsess over shoes and hairstyles and shiny rocks to wear on chains. And they’ll burst into tears if a puppy stubs its toe. But when things go bad, they’re the ones who buckle down and do whatever it takes. Not like men who need a shiny uniform and union regulated tea breaks. Women get on with it, quietly, riding the bus to their second job while reading a shitty woman’s magazine about who they were in a previous life and how much thinner they were back then. Claire was alone and had barely the means to look after herself, let alon

It was just something inevitable considering that she was a mere vulnerable and ill woman while the other was a strong fellow with a makeshift weapon. A tiny voice came out of her mouth, calling out his name. "... E-Eithan?"

“My name is Amara . Some of you may know me from the headlines today. They call me many things, a single mother, a woman with no background, someone who doesn’t belong beside Luca Moretti. And maybe, by their standards, they’re right.” She paused, her eyes clear, her tone calm but piercing. “I have known hardship. I’ve faced eviction. I’ve worked two jobs to feed my son. I’ve gone to bed wondering how I would keep a roof over our heads. That’s my truth. Not scandal. Survival.” She glanced at Luca for the briefest moment before continuing. “What they call weakness is my strength. I know what it means to build from nothing. To fight for every scrap of dignity in a world that doesn’t hand it fr

The line moves forward and I rehearse my words in my head, picking the best sounding sentences. "Hello there. Would you be able to help me get a library card? I'd like to read this book." I hold it up and the lady grins. "Your dialect is a bit different. Are you new here." I nod. "Yes. I am sorry. I have a bit of trouble adjusting to life here. I get confused easily, but I do appreciate your patience with me." She looks me over before running a hand through her short dark hair. "Name?" "Aislaine."

Her wrinkled features were etched with a stern expression, exuding a palpable sense of anger and disappointment. Stepping forward with measured determination, the woman positioned herself near the door, commanding the attention of the room. Following closely behind her was Susan, Giovanni's stepmother, offering her support as she relied on a trusty walking stick. Grace, a pillar of strength despite her physical frailty, exuded a sense of resilience and determination in the face of adversity.

It’s part of my mutation, a little price to pay for possessing the indestructible features of steel. I feel sickened with myself for not looking away, I just can’t tear off my eyes from her. She is the thinnest woman I have ever seen. Shit! I can even count her ribs. Bruises at different stages of healing, tell her story, which I know very well. “Maybe I can lick them to heal fast,” Titan links with me. Now the bastard he wants to talk. “Shut the fuck up.” I link back and focus on the fragile woman in my arms.

I can't," she whispered, barely audible. I whipped my head toward her, my anger suddenly aflame. "What do you mean you can't? Go now!" "I feel weak," she whispered. Weak? Grace, weak? The woman was one of the strongest people I knew, seldom sick and always walking around with grace and resilience in her steps. Her excuse did not make any sense, and for a while, doubt crept in.

We need to be sensible towards women all the time. Women have weaker physical capabilities than men, that only means, women needed someone to hand. Yet, as women we have this pride we call on. Women are fragile creatures. Whether they are maid, servants or whatever position they hold in this world, all of us aim to be respected, men or women alike.