Some say it's a chromosome problem.

Some say it's a personality disorder.

Some say it's a mental illness.

Some say it's evil.

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Each morning, sipping her coffee, she devises a plan for the day. In the quiet of those early hours she marvels at the question before her. How will she replenish was what spewed yesterday? The coffer must be filled, every day, to feed the behemoth that is her. Again and again and again and again. At any cost. At all cost. The coffer will be filled.

With intention, she snickers softly while dousing her cigarette in the remnant left in her cup. Who will it be today? Who? It can be a tough choice, which one to choose, oh the anticipation of it all! Who will it be today? Which one of her beasts of burden will it be? Which one of her children will she torment today? They all know who it won't be.

Let the masquerade begin!

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Her disguise is that of concern and caring for all her children. A lie covered by her perfectly applied make-up on her face. Each day she crowns her favorite in a golden light while draping the scapegoat in fault and loathing. She purposefully pits them against each other then feigns worry as they rip each other apart (always ensuring the favorite comes out on top).

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Her words buffeting against their souls leave a sting more biting than her slaps to their faces or the brass buckled belt to their backs. Cleverly hidden, no one will ever see the scars of either. Her justifications are always effortless and perfectly timed. Her battle cry is bellowed for all to hear: "I only want to help you" "I only want what's best for you" and the world is convinced.

She tarnishes their accomplishments with congratulations fogged in anger and envy which cannot be perceived by others. She constantly comments about how wonderful other people are for their acts of kindness or a job well done while telling her scapegoat "you are worthless" without uttering those words. They have been trained well. They know that tone of voice and the look that promises great punishment. Her sweet public smile (beloved by all) will become a daunting glower behind closed doors. "What goes on in this house stays in this house" . . . instilling fear began with the first quaff of breast milk.

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She is a puppet-master whose mesmerizing hold is strong and detrimental. She will take full credit for the scapegoat's achievements while, at the same time, criticizing any attempts to take initiative or have creative ideas. The target will never be allowed to do better than the chosen one . . . "who do you think you are?!" Their tears are crocodile - their wounds are bothersome. It's all about HER and HER image. It's all about control . . . even with the golden lit one . . . it's about control.

The scapegoat submits to her puppetry (with shamefully awkward movements jerking to and fro for all the world to see), sings her tune, dances her dance but there is no stopping her brutality . . . let alone winning her over . . . which is always the goal. Feeling confused and good-for-nothing the scapegoat must witness the chosen one showered with undeserved praise and adoration for a lifetime. The internal fight for the scapegoat is grueling and perpetual.

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Self-absorbed, venomous, cold, manipulative, deceitful, callous, violent.

She is vaingloriously cruel.