Sophie Archambault
Every mother loving loving mother on every page is dead slaughtered by sons slithering out the womb done in by delivery of darling daughters too good for this world too good for children who must suffer too good for a woman to be so good
loving mothers offed on page one often
leave offspring alone against the offense: hags who hex and queens who kill slippery substitute my-mother-she-slew-me mothers 10-ounce hearts pulverized and pickled on pantry shelves unconscious damsels are made unconscious by conscious efforts of other women victim blaming born of vanity two beauties a crowd if she’s too beautiful her father might love her too much was it a favor to knock her out and let a prince ravage her?