Woman Library Novels & Stories

I tell Ric and he excuses himself to talk to his secretary. Suspiciously, I slide the answer icon and I bring the phone to my ears. "Joanna Williams speaking, how may I help you?" "Good morning, Miss Williams." A soft female voice speaks from the other end. "I am Mercy the founder of Women's right association. WRA is an organisation that works to help women that are in abusive marriages and I am reaching out because a friend of mine told me that you might need our help." I stay silent for a long second trying to make out what she just told me.

The young woman gave May a sad-looking smile before placing the tray she was carrying on the table and shaking her head. "I'm sorry, May," she replied softly. "But I can't help." May release the woman's hand and stepped back. Hearing the woman call her name, May was sure was likely working for Madame Jade. Fear returned to May's eyes. "Oh... no no no,” the woman added. "Don't be scared. I won't hurt you. Just like you, I don't want to be here either. And honestly, it seems like none of the women here want to be here. Most are forced to work here because of their family’s debts or being sold by the people they trusted."

She was still bothered about all this and she wanted to know more but these women weren't ready to say anything or give her answers to her questions. The bowl was pushed away and the last lady brought her bag close to the first woman who had to bathe her earlier. The other two women didn't utter a word even though the first woman was talking to her as if trying to talk meant death. The woman opened the bag to reveal different undergarments. There were a lot of pants and bras inside the bag but Althea couldn't find even one piece of cloth to cover her body and they had taken away her cloth when she cleaned her body.

Leo asked the woman in a thick voice, and she gave him a sad smile before she sat straighter in her chair. “She is fine, some cuts and bruises and that is it. But you need to see the other woman she was fighting with. I have brought some pictures with me because they want to add more years to her sentence, which is ridiculous. She was defending herself and that bitch is a meth redneck like seriously, what the fuck?” Isabella said huffing, then the woman with her handed me a couple of photos and I frowned at them because if I didn’t know that this person was a woman I would never tell.

Even though his eyes were fixed on the Arena, his gaze seemed flat. A woman stood in the middle of a closed cage surrounded by bold red iron bars. The woman’s body looks limp, with her hands and feet tied to a pole in the middle of the cell. She covered only with a bra and G-string. Thousands of men surround the cage with a lecherous stare, their lustful eyes glued to her nakedness.

Some conversations require isolation. The woman is waiting in the center of the warehouse. She's smaller than Alessandra expected, and younger. Maybe thirty. Black jeans, dark jacket, a gun visible at her hip like a piece of jewelry or a promise. Her dark hair is pulled back, and her eyes -- when Alessandra gets close enough to see them -- are the color of storm clouds.

The Woman looked at them—she was just an ordinary person now, in pajamas with messy hair, wonder in her eyes. “You’re...you’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” the Woman said, reaching to touch Maya’s cheek. “Thank you for saving us,” Maya said. Her voice was deep and strong now. She could feel everything—her muscles, her heartbeat. “It’s not over,” the Woman said, looking troubled. She pointed up. The white empty space crept closer to the park. Trees faded into pencil sketches. The bench nearby became a flat outline. “The Board doesn’t just want the story,” the Woman realized. “They want the whole world to fit a plan they control. They want everyone to stick to a script. No accidents.

Not at a desk, not posed with deliberation, but sitting in the particular natural way of someone who has been somewhere for a while and is still there — the posture of someone who is in the middle of something rather than at its end or its beginning. Her face was not visible. The silhouette was complete but the features were not — and this, Adaeze understood immediately, was right. This was the right choice. Because the woman in the silhouette was not her specifically. Was not any specific woman. Was the woman in the dark. Every woman in the dark. The woman who was reading messages she was never supposed to see and sitting at a kitchen counter with her hand flat against the cool surface maki

Third Person POV The very next day, the same woman returned. This time, she did not come alone. She walked through the doors with three other women following closely behind her, their eyes wide and cautious, as if they feared the building might disappear the moment they stepped inside. Her name was Linda, though few ever bothered to ask it before. Her husband was so sick that he could no longer work and she survived by taking a meagre job cleaning a merchant’s house, earning five coins a day if luck was kind and the mistress was not in a foul mood.

She opens the door and leads us in. Her house is decorated with natural elements, arranged in interesting ways and colorful tapestries and crystals line shelves and walls. I take a seat on what she refers to as the couch and we talk for a while. About weather, books, boys and girls. She expresses a fondness for the girl who had made my library card and I grin. Same sex mates are rare among us wolves, and that makes them all the more special. "Have you told her that you like her?" I inquire, and Evers' face turns as pink as her hair.