AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This story was inspired from a performance by Emilie Autumn, a singer who is famous for her angry, retalitory Victorian-style songs.  The song, "Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches," is a creepy one, and it details what really went on behind the scenes at "women's homes," places where women were thrown when they were unwanted, unmarried, and in some cases, truly overcome with madness.  I have a few links to sources I used for some of the details.  Others are, admittedly, imagined.

Women's History Then And Now - Madness
History To Her Story - Life In A Victorian Lunatic Asylum
Victorian London
Victorian Web

Here are the lyrics to the song.

MISS LUCY HAD SOME LEECHES
Originally performed by Emilie Autumn

Miss Lucy had some leeches
Her leeches liked to suck
And when they drank up all her blood
She didn't give a
Funny when the doctors
Had locked her in her cell
Miss Lucy screamed all night that they
Should go to bloody
Hello to the surgeon
With scalpel old and blunt
He'll tie you to the table
Then he'll mutilate your
Come it's nearly teatime
The lunatics arrive
The keepers bleed them all until
There's no one left a
Lively little rodents
Are eaten up by cats
We're subject to experiments
Like laboratory
Rats I've dropped a teacup
How easily they break
I'm on my hands and knees until
I pay for my mis-
Take off all your clothing
We've only just begun
We have no anesthesia
It's eighteen forty
One thing we should tell you
Before you try again
The tests are all invented by
A lot of filthy
Mentally hysteric
She's failed the exam
Don't bother telling Lucy for
She doesn't give a
Damn that nitrous oxide
For when you can't escape
They say the surgeons oft commit
A murder or a
Razor blades are rusty
And not a lot of fun
So when they try to amputate
Your legs you'd better
Run and fetch the chemist
A patient's feeling sad
Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com
She's been in chains for ages
And she isn't even
Madness is a nuisance
And no one is immune
Your sister, mum or daughter
May become a raving
Lunatics are dangerous
And doctors are obeyed
They also go together just
Like toast and marma-
Ladies are like children
With brains the size of squirrels
Let's give a clitoridectomies
To all the little
Girls are helpless treasures
That daddies must protect
So lie upon the table
For the doctors to in-
speculums are super
And stirrups all the rage
So spread a lady's legs and then put her
Back in to her
Cage of naked crazies
The surgeon's here to bleed
The doctors are all learned men
And some can even
Reading can be risky
For women on the verge
It only did us worlds of good
To poison, leech and
Purging is a penance
Phlebotomy's a chore
No need to sterilize the tools
We never did be-
Fore the night is over
Before you go to bed
They'll take a hammer and a nail
And jam it in your
Headstones in the courtyard
And statues in the park
Are not for the insane
Just leave them rotting in the
D A R K
dark
dark
dark
dark
dark

MISS LUCY HAD SOME LEECHES
Story by Aesciane

1.

Emma had in her possession several months of time in a special hospital - a sanitorium - for so-called lunatics when she heard of Alice's murder.  Her sister had fallen to prostitution as a last resort after her husband had divorced her and literally dumped her in an alleyway.   Of course, this blasted alleyway had to be located in an area where brothels and rowdy saloons were popular among line-crossing rich gentlemen.
Alice's body had been discovered tied together with large pink ribbons at each joint.  The entire thing, speculated the coroner dismissively (since this was simply a woman), had been carried out with an old, blunt scalpel.  The work of a surgeon, perhaps.  A certainly demented one - perhaps he had been employed at a women's institution.
A shiver crawled leisurely down Emma's spine.
Alice had damn near landed at King's Hall (better known as Loon's Hell), thanks to the sisters' meddling parents.  After the husband had left her for a prostutite, Emma's parents had visited King's Hall and had spoken of the scandal.
"You may have some sisterly company, my dear," her mother had said, a cruel smirk lightly playing around her lips.
"Oh, yes?" Emma replied in a light voice, as she was commanded to do by her father's dark stare.
"You haven't received word of your sister Alice's disaster, have you, Emma?"  Her father seemed suspicious.  Alice always sent Emma a letter a month, full of cheery news and gossip.
"No, Father, I have not."
"Edward is divorcing her."
The shock was considerable.  It sank in quickly, to the brutal tune of her father's ah-hems and her mother's sneers.
What truly terrified her at that moment was that her sister did not even have an undershade of the insanity that Emma did.  It was widely known in their family that Emma's moods were unstable, and that she was prone to anger.  Emma was not entirely sure at the time that Alice could withstand the treatments.  When she wrote letters back to her younger sister, who possessed a very delicate constitution, she entirely skipped over explanations of the way the patients were treated at King's Hall.
So when Alice finally received word that her sister had been brutally murdered, her body mutilated and torn apart, Emma's mood went from unstable to uncontrollable.  It was at that point that her parents completely cut off all contact.  They had one more daughter, and two sons.  This satisfied her parents.  All three were sane, stable, and successful.  And none of them ever wrote or came to visit.  This, of course, did not bother anyone but Emma.
She had a single friend at King's Hall, the only one she could find who wasn't truly mad, or had been driven mad by the daily treatments and demeaning activities.  Her name was Roberta, and she was a true beauty - according to her, the only reason why she had been placed at King's Hall.  The only difference between Roberta and the rest of the "crazies" was that she was married, and her husband actually came to see her.  They had several children together, and he even saw fit to bring them to King's Hall to visit.
When Emma brought news of Alice's divorce, Roberta was sympathetic and lent a good ear.  When Emma brought news of Alice's murder, and all the grisly details that accompanied such news, Roberta was truly shocked.  There was no falsity with this woman -she was truly a friend.  In the two hours they had of free time in the afternoon, they spoke well into the night about memories of sisters, memories of sanity, memories of normalcy.
It was during this time that Emma came to understand the unfairness of it all.  It wasn't right, the way women were treated in 1840s society - they were truly pieces of meat, decorations, and discardable.  In women's institutions, the conditions were far less than sanitary, and women were used in useless experiments with no true end.  Clitorendectomies were everyday things, and mutilation and amputation for no reason were utilized.  Emma supposed the doctors assigned to these tasks did such things simply out of boredom, or erdant cruelty.  She didn't know the truth - and she never asked.  She did her best to play the part of good little girl, silent and pliant.  She tried not to let it upset her...  But it did.

2.

"It's strange, to me," Emma said thoughtfully at teatime, a stale scone sitting on a napkin in front of her.  "For Alice was ever the good wife, and ever thinking of ways she could please Edward."
"Ah, but when it comes to divorce these days, men can do as they please, and women become ever more helpless - for there is one single line of work women can take, and you and I both know what that is."  Roberta took a sip of the quite overbrewed tea and hid a grimace.
Edith, a woman of elderly years who was sitting across from them in the day-parlor, stood and spoke.
"But it is surely blasphemy!  Such is not as God intended it to be!"
"But what do you mean, Madame?" enquired Roberta.
"God meant for us to be the weaker sex; this much I know to be true.  But for women to be so disrespected as to be thrown away as nearly all of us here were is truly blasphemy!"  Edith was in a towering rage.  "They will burn - they will all burn - for turning women against themselves, and for making them think it is right to take such disrespect!"
"Edith, please, calm yourself," Emma hissed.  "I do not wish them to take you to the Bathing Room!"
"Blast and damn them, and blast and damn the Bathing Room!  I care not a whit!"  Edith's face was steely and dark, and her eyes flashed.
Emma winced as the Monitor on duty swept a stern eye over their end of the room.  He immediately stalked over and attempted to hush Edith, however, Edith fought, and, as Emma had predicted, several handlers rushed over to assist the Monitor in chaining her up and dragging her off down the hall.  Emma almost felt the door to the Bathing Room slam shut, and heard Edith screeching at the top of her lungs about God-less vagabonds, disrespect and women's rights.
But in the world of 1841, there were no women's rights to speak of.

3.

The post arrived on a long, droll Thursday morning.  Emma was engaged in a study of the Bible, which was one of the only books allowed a woman; the staff admittedly thought she was bettering herself by doing so, but in truth she was looking for passages which could give her clues to the true purpose of the female in the eyes of God.
"Miss Emma, you've a letter, dear," said the Monitor with a bland smile pasted to his face.
"Oh, thank you, sir," said Emma with her false manners flashing magnificently.
Emma accepted the envelope and noticed the familiar writing upon it.  Alice's.
She stared at the envelope for a long time and then took one long fingernail (overdue for a trimming) and slit the envelope down one side.  She tentatively pulled out the fat sheaf of papers inside, and unfolded them carefully; this would be the last letter Alice would write her before her death, and she was receiving it nearly a month after the fact.

My Dearest Emma,

I must prostrate myself now, and to apologize to you, darling, for I have never written anything to you other than truly cheerful and truly bland news.  I do not know that your delicate mind can withstand what I have to tell you, for it is of the nature of urgency and desperation.  I am not entirely certain whether or not this will reach you before my arrival at King's Hall.
Edward is divorcing me.  He has no need to give a reason.  Men, as you should well know by this time, do as they please and do not care a whit for what the woman wants.  He is divorcing me, and he will be bringing me to join you at King's Hall.  I do not know what to think, nor what to expect, and I am, quite frankly, terrified out of my wits.  I have been married to Edward for nearly five years, and I suppose one reason he wishes to divorce me is the fact that I have produced nothing but females, and Edward has only a single need for females, which is breeding, and I have apparently done my share for this man.
But, sister, you must know, I love Edward.  He was always truly kind to me, and always did small favors for me.  Flowers, a piece of jewelry he had seen me linger over in the shops, a handkerchief; things of this manner, small gifts, and small words of kindness and, what I had thought, love.
It is not for me to predict what will happen next.  I am in the bower now, writing this to you, and preparing my chalise for travel.  King's Hall is a good town away and I have heard that the location is somewhat unsavory...  I do not know.  But I do know that I cannot wait to see you, dear sister, for Edward has promised me one boon - he will not send me to a solitary cell.  He will allow me to room with you, and to see you daily.  For this I am extremely grateful.  I do not know what else I have done to deserve the divorce, but whatever it was, I am not sure I even deserve one single kindness from anyone of this household.
I have a single maid left to me; she does everything that I cannot do, and we are both working hard so that Edward does not become angry with me.  He broods in the study all day.  I do not know of what he thinks.
But I do know that when I arrive at King's Hall, life will be a bit easier, for this strain upon our marriage has been there for at least half a year or so...
I cannot say that this is a ridiculous thing, for I do not know preposterous from reasonable, however, the situation has become unbearable and I feel that I truly have failed.  I've failed my husband, but I've also failed my two daughters and our parents.  How dare I be so disrespectable that I caused my husband to desire to be free from me?  I do not know how else to feel.
At least I do not have the fear of being thrown out into the street, and thereby having to find work in some brothel somewhere...  I have heard all the stories, and I do not wish to be caught in that sort of place.  They say that once you enter a place of ill repute, you will die there...  I wish to live some more, and to experience God's green Earth as He intended me to do.
I suppose it is my lot, then, to suffer as Eve did.  However, I have decided to be graceful, and to accept my fate - Eve is said to have scorned hers.
I will speak of this more when I arrive at King's Hall...  I can see that the carriage has come, so I must go and tie on my bonnet and put on my travel cloak.

Yours truly, ever your Sister,

Alice

*story to be continued*

I don't understand the mindset of some girls who look at television shows and see the truth.  They think that to be "officially engaged," you absolutely must have a diamond engagement ring.  I've heard fourteen and sixteen year olds talk about carat weight and what cut they want their rings to be.  I have thought about that, and I do enjoy jewelry, and yes, I do like to go window shopping, but who needs real when there's cubic zirconia, or even moissanite?  Some sort of simulated crystal is better for me, because I'd rather not break my man's bank.  You don't need to spend gobs of money just for something that actually can break or chip (believe me, I know from experience).

The problem I see is that people are losing sight of what love really means.  Love is not a sparkly ring on your finger to flash.  Yes, it's a symbol, but it's not more important than the symbol of the actual wedding ring itself.  It is meant to be closest to your heart.  Your man shouldn't have to go to Cartier, to Tiffany and Co., to prove he really loves you.  If you really think that, then I truly think there's something wrong with you.

I have already told my man that a ring is nice, as long as it's a small one.  I'd rather just seal my marriage with a simple white gold ring on my finger and a kiss.  I know he actually wants to get me one, but I'm not in a huge rush.  It will come, if we really want it.  What we're more focused on these days is making things work in our favor, and making sure our child is born healthy and safe.

I hope that the true meaning of significant other doesn't mean a sparkly thing.  For me it means, better half, The One.

 

And that is beautiful.

I'll admit that since my pregnancy began I've been worrying unnecessarily a lot.  Is this normal?  Is that normal?  Why the hell is my body behaving like this?  Of course, this is on top of all the everyday stress I face around here.  I've had two miscarriages before, both due to being overstressed.  And now I'm having a bit of bleeding.
This scares me.  It's happened before, but it still scares me.  The best thing is that there are no cramps otherwise I would definitely associate that with miscarriage.  Especially knowing that I am most definitely pregnant.
It's been the whole nausea, crazy heartburn when I don't normally have it, freaky cravings (I wanted waffles with two pickles, a scoop of ice cream, hot fudge, spam on top and a side of bacon dipped in ranch dressing yesterday).
Thankfully, I know I am all right.  Everything is fine, baby included.
Stay tuned for more pregnancy follies.

Ninna, nanna, ninna o,             Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye,
questa bimba qui la do',           This little girl who sleeps here,
dorme nell il suonno belli,       Sleeps inside beautiful dreams,
suonno dell il vita buono.         Dreams of the good life.

-Italian lullaby

Joy.

This is the one word I can think of to best describe what I am feeling.

Joy.

My niece is two days old, and I cannot fathom life without her already.  She is a tiny bundle of squiggly, squirmy beauty and joy.  She is a living symbol of the beginning.  This is her beginning, and her mother's beginning, and her father's beginning.  This is a beginning of everything.  How blessed was I to be a part of it!

She goes home today.

Joy.

We have anticipated your arrival for weeks and weeks.  We have gone shopping and bought many bottles, binkies, and tiny little outfits.  Your mama has socks for you that are stacked and packed in every little corner.  We were really excited when we found out you were ready to come into this world.  We packed up your mama and her suitcase, backpack and purse and loaded you up into the truck.
We got your mama settled into a hospital room, and geared up.  We knew we were going to have to wait awhile for you to appear.  We made sure the camera had working batteries, made phone calls, and loaded your mama up on ice chips.  We got to the hospital at about 7:00 in the morning, and you arrived here a little after 4:00 in the afternoon.
You are so super tiny.  Itty bitty nose, and itty bitty feet.  You have pointed ears like your mama, but your face is so much like your daddy's.  You are so delicate - like other babies, but you are so special.  Your daddy wasn't sure he could have babies, but when he and your mama got together, you happened.
I can't wait to see you grow, to see what color your eyes are going to be when they change from the newborn-blue.  I can't wait to see you come home.
I am writing this from the hospital where you were born, today, the fourteenth of January, 2009.  I am so blessed and lucky that I was allowed to be a part of things, that I got to see you come into this world.
I hope when you grow older and look back, and perhaps find this piece, you'll realize that you were in fact a special blessing, and a joy to await, and a joy to welcome.  We love you!

Dear Baby,

You are in my belly, sleeping, barely formed yet, a tiny little coin-sized bug, and yet I dream of you every night and wake up glad.  I know you are developing, growing.  Soon the size of my belly will attest to that.  I am so excited; I can barely wait to meet you.  Your father is so ecstatic.  You can probably hear him talking to you from against my belly.  He has two daughters, but can't see them.  He just wants to have a healthy family.  He's already helping me eat better.  You already have a big, warm, loving family.  We can be a little crazy and dysfunctional, but we are protective and loving and gentle.  You have uncles an aunts and cousins and a grandma.  All they want is to protect and provide for you.  My situation has been getting lots better.  By the time you are born, we will be ready and waiting for you.  You will have everything you will ever need or want.  In the future, if I have to starve to feed you, then so be it.  But for now I will continue to care for you while you are a part of me.  I can almost imagine what you'll look like.  Your father and I both have blue eyes...  So maybe you'll have beautiful, deep blue eyes.  You'll be a big baby, that's for sure.  And you'll be super attractive and a flirt.  You'll be loud and obnoxious and some days you'll drive us nuts.  But I'm nervous, too.  I've been a babysitter, but never a mother.  I just hope I turn out to be a good, fai rparent and that I never have to hear you tell me you hate me.  Until  you get here, I'll be anxiously waiting on the edge of my seat.  I can't wait to hold you and kiss you, to look into your eyes, to love you.
Hold on a moment.
I just thought of something.
I ALREADY love you.
With all my heart.

Hello, my superhero - my best friend, my savior, my Super Twinkie Boy.  How have we ever gotten along without each other?  Our friends joked around about us being married since we met and got to know each other.  We've seen each other through every little thing (drama, band, show choir), and every big thing (your mother's death, my boyfriend's death, my abusive ex-boyfriend's tirades), and I doubt I'd ever have weathered the storm without you.
Things have changed since we graduated three years ago.  You're going to become a famous entertainer (settled between acting or dancing or singing yet, baby?), and I've gotten married and am expecting a baby (congratulations, Uncle Bonkers!!).  All these crazy changes only mean that we are moving forward, and doesn't change my fondness for you.  So here's Memory Lane - take my hand, love, let's stroll!
Memory #1:  The time you insisted on dressing me up in a poufy blue prom dress and walking me through the mall.  We got so many strange looks, but you didn't care.  You didn't tell me that you were surprising me by taking me to our sophomore homecoming dance!!
Memory #2:  One night, I was waiting for you to instant message me, and I had my cell phone browser open to AIM, and you IMed me saying "princess look out ur window."  I looked out of my bedroom window and saw your car parked there.  I freaked out and ran to the door to find you standing there with a bouquet of white roses, calla lilies, and peonies with a spray of baby's breath and snowdrops.  I had completely forgotten it was Valentine's Day.
Memory #3:  The day I found out my "little sister" had passed away, you called immediately following the newscast about it.  You came over and spent several hours holed up in my basement hangout, talking with me and reliving some wonderful memories and making me laugh...  I love you for that.
Memory #4:  A superplanned day with the gang got postponed indefinitely, so you picked me up and we spent all day in Starbucks IMing each other...  Hahahaha.
Memory #5:  The day you walked in on my abusive ex-boyfriend beating me up on the floor, pulled him off me by the neck, and commenced to giving him a taste of his own medicine.  Once you punched his lights out and ran over to take care of me while calling the police, you noticed he had cut me so you wrapped my arm in a Hello Kitty T-shirt...  I found it funny later.
Memory #6:  The times you "illegally" fed me Pepsi when you knew how hyper it made me.  Usually you brought me a few two-liters of it during really difficult times, which I of course shared with you, and we shared a LOT of random inside jokes and laughed so hard we both cried tears of mirth.
Memory #7:  The day we were sitting in the school cafeteria in an open period drinking cappucinos and I compared you to Twinkies and started calling you my Twinkie Boy, and then nicknamed the rest of our "Hostess Gang."  For two weeks after that there would be endless giggling when I dropped your new nickname.
Memory #8:  All I have to say is...  This...  My sexy boyfriend can beat up your sexy boyfriend...  I thought you LIKED fairies...
Memory #9:  Randomly running into you at various locations and, even when we didn't have the time, spending over an hour together wherever it was, just talking.  Besides all those times we were in our respective cars and driving past each other, and then realizing we were going to the same place...  Totally inadvertently!
Memory #10:  I'M CONSTIPATED, POOP HEAD!!!
Memory #11:  Trailer trash Chinese proverbs.
Memory #12:  Every school dance, you saved the last one for me...  We always had at least one slow dance together, always did crazy spazoid dances.
Memory #13:  Banana Man, Spice Up Your Life, Vengababes From Outer Space, Perfect Exceeder, Feeling Good, Let The Record Show, Bag It Up, Crazy Frog, Witch Doctor, Sha La La, Elle L'a Ella, Libertine...  Alll the crazy dance routines we've done as dance partners over the years...  I just remember very well how much we danced, and how many times we collapsed on the dance floor, breathless with laughter and exhaustion.
Whatever the next few years bring in memories, I will always be grateful for your love and friendship.
Happy New Year, J Bonkers Super Twinkie.
I love you.

I told you the truth.  I told you that I love you.  It's the truth.  We've passed all these years without these words.  We've spent eight years simply being friends.  It amuses me to think that all of our mutual friends knew I was amorous before I did.  We passed the time in coffee shops; I was so very surprised that you had not figured out the reasons for which I stared at you in rapture whilst you sat reading a book.
I took special care to conceal my feelings for you, especially after you specifically sought me out to tell me something almost unbelievable - that you are gay, that you are in love with my scuzzy, abusive ex-boyfriend, the one you physically pulled off of me and dealt with after witnessing a nasty bout of kicking and manhandling.  You and I both know he is straight and in jail for the rest of his life, and even if he were interested in you, he would treat you the exact same way that he insisted on treating me.
It's also as if you can't leave the past alone.  You love rehashing both the bad memories and the good.  After all the anger and hurt my abusive ex caused, you couldn't quit "remembering" the details that you should have realized would've identified him as extensively abusive; you should have understood how uncomfortable it made me.
But even so, I love you.  Maybe my true love is my fiance, but you'll always be my best friend, my Super Twinkie.  With you I talked, danced, laughed and cried my eyes out.  We endured everything together, and I will always love you dearly, for being my everything from seventh grade on.
For goodness sake, your nieces and your nephew are my godchildren, and they call me Auntie!  And all the rest of my godchildren call you Uncle Bonkers...  Those are some of my best memories, and they all begin and end with you.
Thank you for being there.  Thank you for all of my nicknames.  Thank you for the random little presents at midnight during drama sleepovers (two-liters of Pepsi, anyone?).  Thank you for believing in me at the times no one else would.  Most of all, thank you for knowing me better than I know myself - most times for the better - most times you saved my life.
I love you, my Twinkie.

It's strange catching up with her older sister.  They look so much alike that I almost feel as if I've stepped back in time, several years back, two or three weeks before the fire.  If my best friends knew I was seeing her older sister, they wouldn't believe it.

The year I graduated, she was supposed to come celebrate prom with me.  She was a sophomore, I was a senior.  I was meant to take her boyfriend, and my dance partner was meant to take her, and then we were to switch dates once safely inside the doors.

The fire changed all our plans.  I took her boyfriend, and my dance partner was alone.  Of course, we all danced together, but it wasn't the same.

The only things that cross my mind now when I think or talk about her is my best memory of her - a hero in her own right.  She saved my sanity on quite a few occasions.  She made me laugh until I cried with mirth.  In return she had my complete confidence and love.  Everyone who knew her agreed that she was a hero - every day.

In the early morning haze of the fire, she and her brother took their disabled sibling to safety.  Somewhere along the way, they were trapped in the rubble and poisoned by the smoke.

She died,  but she died a true hero, having successfully saved her disabled sibling from death.  And we all remember everything else she was - lover of all, protector of loved ones, a precious commodity to the human race.  We all loved her the way she was - and she did the same for all of us.

Her older sister was pregnant when she died, and named her little son after her younger brother.  We all believe that, no matter where life takes him, he will grow up with the heroic spirit of his aunt and uncle, and will save many lives with his laughter and love as he continues his young journey through life.

We have all encountered the Singing Soul, each and every one of us. It has trapped each of us into conversation; a slow, sweet sort of summer talk, the kind old folks labor to carry on while sitting precariously on porch swings. The Singing Soul dwells undeniably in those erstwhile citizens of Earth who take delight in the simple pleasures of each day - music blaring, leaves changing colors. I've lost count of these people. They have each touched me in their special way. One by singing and dancing my sadness into a broad smile that wouldn't go away; One whom never let a single moment go by without a wonderful smile, or a joke. It seems their sole purpose in life is to ensure that their friends and family have a blossoming, bright smile on their faces at all times.

I remember hearing tell of the original Singing Soul. In the legend, passed around from person to person, She was a piece of the soul of Eve, the first (or second, as according to the legends of Lilith) woman to grace and bleed upon God's Little Living Planet. She was so very alive in the Garden of Eden - dancing and singing - until Eve ate the Apple and a piece of her soul was trapped in a large stone in the orchard and sentenced to do an eternity of penance for the sin of Greed.

But the Soul Herself is a vessel of fancy - She dances as if en pointe to touch each person - man or woman, She is not picky - and imbues them all with a sense of beauty, wisdom, and belonging. These people never want for friends... Or company, for that matter.

It's said that Eve herself, or her ghost, can be seen on the night of the temptation, holding an apple, bitten into and filled with blood. She is always near the Singing Stone - where the piece of her soul, her happiness, was chained. It is said that God never makes mistakes, but if mistakes are unavoidable, how could od have been excluded? Those who have met, and heard, the Singing Soul contradict this, saying that God never made a worse mistake than when he separated the First Mother from her true self - and her happiness.