Frailty Thy Name Is Woman Novels & Stories

she said and left. The frail woman must have wanted to die but this maid's words continuously invaded her mind. She didn't want to die in solitude. She picked the tray of food on the ground and began nibbling. It was tasteless in her mouth but she needed to regain her strength. She drank the water and for the first time in months, she requested to have her bath and changed her clothes.

And just like that a blurry voice and an image that she assumed that was part of her memory appeared in her mind. 'A woman's worth is more than a man could never work for. A woman is a powerful person who gives light. A woman has been given a womb and a man's part and yet she can give life. A woman has been given a house and yet she made it a home that is full of warmth. A woman is someone who was given a simple thing but can give back precious treasures. A woman has never been worthless. Always remember you are a woman. And you are worth it"

The woman looked at her sadly. “I’m what’s left.” The answer made absolutely no sense. And somehow— That terrified Elaine more. The woman slowly stepped closer. “I don’t have much time,” she said quietly. “What is this place?” “The fracture.” Elaine’s chest tightened instantly. “The reality fractures.” “Yes.” The woman’s expression darkened slightly. “They’re collapsing faster now.” Elaine stared at her. Questions crashed violently through her mind. Too many questions. “Why do you look like me?” The woman smiled faintly.

Tears streamed down her face. “Thank you”, She whispered, voice breaking. The woman nodded. “What's your name,child?” “Anna”. “What a beautiful name. You have got fight in you”. Anna looked at her scraped knees , her bruised arms.”I dont feel strong”. “Strength isn't about what you feel. It's about what you survive “. Anna sniffled. “I don’t know where to go. I don't know what to do.”.

I am a person, not any title one wants to give me. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Is that your concern right now? To call you Elara?” “Yes,” I say softly, looking up for a second before glancing back at him. “Calling me ‘woman’ is lazy. It’s a word meant to flatten me into nothing, erase what I am. I answer to my name, or nothing at all.” Something unreadable flickers across his face. “Elara,” he murmurs. “You’re something, Elara.”

She wiped her dress, feeling irritated as she continued in the direction we were also heading. “Are you okay?” Dane asked as we approached the bar. “Yeah, I am,” I replied, watching the woman take a seat at the bar. When the bartender came, I ordered a non-alcoholic wine while Dane ordered something else. “This is safe for you to drink because of our baby,” he said, offering to open the bottle for me. From the corner of my eyes, I watched the woman in Egyptian attire make a phone call, laughing loudly as if she were in her sitting room. I got irritated and kept having this strange feeling, something felt familiar about her but I couldn't tell.

"No. Miss, a woman with a noble heart. And so strong in facing trials. God, do not give trials at the limit of human ability. God, give trials to Miss. The sign, Miss is able and strong to go through everything. God loves Miss." I shook my head. Who said I was a strong woman? I'm just a silly, stupid woman: a weak woman, a despicable woman who could only trouble others. Troubleshoot David, for example. "I'm just a naive woman. Stupid, stupid, whiny, and all the ugly stuff."

A sickness that looks natural. A weakness that appears as exhaustion. A decline that seems like stress. Or grief. Or overwork. Nothing suspicious. Nothing traceable. Just enough to weaken someone from the inside while everyone assumes they are simply tired. I turn the vial slightly under the light. “How fragile we are,” I whisper. Later that night, I call for a servant. She arrives quickly. A young woman. Nervous hands. Downcast eyes. The type no one remembers after they pass by. Perfect.

"You worked the hearth fire all day without a drop. You won't survive tomorrow if your body dries out." I hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching out with my trembling, soot-stained fingers. I picked up the wooden cup and brought it to my cracked lips. The water was metallic and stale, but it soothed the raging fire in my throat, if only for a brief moment. I handed the cup back, bowing my head in silent gratitude. "I am Martha," the old woman whispered, leaning a fraction closer while keeping her eyes fixed on her sewing. "Don't tell me your name. Names make people real here, and real people get broken."

I confirm after a couple of blinks. My mouth hangs open as I think of continuing the conversation, but I quickly shut it. The Gamma seems slightly more approachable than the Beta, and obviously the King, but it’s a smart idea not mistaking her less-threatening posture for friendliness. I’m still an outsider here. It’s probably best if I stick to just answering the questions I’m asked. Contrary to my reasoning, the woman sympathetically introduces herself. “My name is Freya. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”