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Women's roles through history
The role of women throughout history
Women's roles through history
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A robed woman sat at her desk, the chilly night air rustling her blonde hair slightly. She chewed at the end of a quill as she pondered over a piece of parchment. Her slippered foot tapping gently on the carpeted floor as she thought. She sighed as she looked to her side, where several tomes she'd written before this sat. Then to the open window where she saw the faint glimmering of tiny lights, knowing that the illusion of being distant was false.
"Mother, its been so long since you left, so long since you caused change." she mused quietly to herself.
We and the Emaan are slowly reconciling our differences, though there are still those who view them as nothing more than slaves, tools and toys to be used and destroyed at a whim despite all that has come to light from our studies of the small ones. I hope my continuation of your work will last, I know you would have loved to continue your studies, and enlighten my generation, and prevent this from coming to pass again." She thought aloud, looking over to a painting of a robust woman, with a smaller vaguely feline creature on her shoulder.
"But.....I'll do this in your stead, others who share our peoples beliefs regarding the Emaan, and their connection to the magic we use, are helping continue what you bravely started.
She turns back to her work, shaking her head a bit with a smile as she began to write again.
"Now where to begin in putting all this together mother?" she paused again as she heard a small, feminine voice.
"You're rambling again, Alania" A tiny, curious female voice said.
'Dytia, must you do that?' The woman now known as Alania replied, her body jumping a little as she felt a weight land on her head, she grumbled slightly. Scribbling something do...
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...r blooming alliance.'
'So where do Dytia and I come in?' Deis asked, his tail flicking in annoyance.
'Well Nivalise said, walking to Chera. 'You two are going there as pets.
There was a brief silence in the hall, the a WHAT??! came from the Deis, a few quiet giggles followed.
'Well Deis, in order to get an idea of how Emaan there feel as well as see how things work there, we all have to go undercover, so as to get a better idea of how the country works, and free roaming Emaan are rare, if that. And their law dictates any unclaimed Emaan, are up for grabs. As well as being subject to the will of whomever comes across them' Dytia said, sighing slightly.
Nivalise interjected, 'And I feel it will teach you a little humility if you were deemed Alania's pet.'
Deis grumbled deeply.
'Well enough of this banter, I would pray you would all get prepared."
“Just weeping. I can still hear her weeping now sometimes. I know the exact sound of it, like a note you hear or a song that keeps spinning around in your head and you can’t forget it.”
In Art Spiegelman’s comic series, MAUS, each race in the storyline is analogously depicted as a different animal. This essay will explore the various benefits, drawbacks and their counteractions, that are confounded with author’s choice of this illustration. It can be argued that choosing animals to represent humans, in an event as complex as the Shoah, dehumanizes victims even more. Humans conventionally see species of animals as collective entities rather than individual beings. Thus, by representing all the Jewish people as one type of animal, the reader might unconsciously generalize all the victims’ sufferings and discourses into one coherent image, in order to make sense of things. On the other hand, depicting each race as a certain animal
I stepped into the middle of the road and just stood there, the lights stretching in either direction, glowing in the deep chilly air. I could see my own breath, could feel my own warmth as it formed right there in front of me. Behind me, our house looked dark, faint lingering of I'd walk a million miles, and I wasn't even sure if it was really playing or if I was imagining the familiar, the same way a bright light remain when you close your eyelids, the way I imagine that the sight of an eclipse would burn its image into your eyes forever(pg.
group. “Fool of a Took!" he growled. "This is a serious journey, not a hobbit walking-
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
“Oh, sorry-I didn’t know I shouldn’t have-I mean I know but I…” Emma scrambled for some way to apologize for speaking, but she knew by the look of the head lady-maid that Emma would pay for not obeying the rules.
The woman let a smile grace her lips for a second, before it dropped as quickly as it formed, “And do not expect me to travel with your troop.” The man chuckled. “No. I think it would be wiser if you didn’t. I have a feeling my company may mistake you for something you are not.” His eyes flicked to the pointed tips of her ears that peeked out of her brown
Mr. Anders rubbed his forehead. “Since you want to press this further, I suppose I have no other choice. Freiya, go to Vandema and meet the branch’s leader, and give this letter. It has a strong magical barrier so it will attract some detestable people, make haste on this one. I care not what you do
I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. "Now I feel it," I said. "And it's strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off." She didn't answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her.
Her eyes are dark and obsidian. I meet her gaze. We stay like this for a while, until she slowly rises from her spot by the window, potato sack wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders like a cape. She walks—no, floats over, her gentle footsteps making nary sound nor vibration. Her gaze is fixed on the desk—no, the book—no, the pen.
“A little well-done for my taste, but ok,” Mary said. “I need to talk to you about something.”
She looked at me with displeasure, “Are you kidding me? I feel as if I want this more than you do! You’re so close to the golden prize, the crown, yet you want to throw it away because you’re
“Sun,” Riley says softly, she grabs her hand, “I feel your embarrassment. It’s so strong.” As evidence of her point, Riley’s pale cheeks are now painted a soft pink.
“If you found out that the Japanese are planning an air raid in this community, would you completely abandon it? Remember, no one in the town would believe you. You would be on your own,” I said.
I was sitting in my lounge in a comfortable, well padded, and to be honest my favourite settee reading a book. I was enormously at peace for I love reading and the atmosphere was most congenial. Next door on my left my neighbour's children were joyfully frolicking and just outside my windows the humming birds and sparrows were delightfully flitting through the pomegranate trees. Ahead of me the big French doors, fully glassed, were letting in abundant soft sunshine and the adjacent