One child, indeed, she bore; then, puffed with the fancy that she had created her, would have me fall down and worship her! Finding, however, that I would but love and honour, never obey and worship her, she poured out her blood to escape me, fled to the army of the aliens, and soon had so ensnared the heart of the great Shadow, that he became her slave, wrought her will, and made her queen of Hell.

How it is with her now, she best knows, but I know also.

The one child of her body she fears and hates, and would kill, asserting a right, which is a lie, over what God sent through her into His new world.

Of creating, she knows no more than the crystal that takes its allotted shape, or the worm that makes two worms when it is cloven asunder.

Vilest of God's creatures, she lives by the blood and lives and souls of men.