Frailty Thy Name Is Woman Novels & Stories

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."

**Frailty and Friendship** Aria lay in bed, her body feeling achingly heavy and weak. The premature contractions had taken a significant toll on her, leaving her exhausted and struggling to recover. Each breath felt laborious, and she couldn’t shake off the pervasive sense of frailty that had settled over her. Even the soft sheets felt oppressive against her skin.

"I care about results." He says the word with a strange, dark relish. "Tell me, Fragile... why should I hire a woman who looks like she’s one bad day away from an ending?" he continues, his voice a low, dangerous tone. The nickname Fragile hits her like a physical blow. Rhea’s breath stutters. She looks at him, really looks at him, and sees a monster behind the bespoke suit. "I'm...I'm not breakable, sir," she whispers, though her heart is screaming.

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.

She kept going, her voice getting that rhythm old people got when they were about to lecture you. "En styrkur þinn er veikleiki. Eins og kona sem grátur blóð en neitar að þurka augun. Eins og barn sem öskrar í myrkri en neitar að kveikja ljós. Þú gengur með dauða barnið þitt og kallar það líf." But your strength is weakness. Like the woman who cries blood but refuses to wipe her eyes. Like the child who screams in darkness but refuses to light a candle. You walk with your dead child and call it life.

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.

“You treat me like this? Do you think I’m so cruel as to trample on Gina like this?” The woman was crawling on the ground, the light in her eyes was shining, becoming increasingly gray… Between her forehead, there was an expression of unspeakable fatigue and pain.

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.