A Mythopoetic Exegesis of the Fatima–Prospero Story #12 From The Book.
FATIMA’S ALCHEMY
Betrayal Trauma, Spiritual Sovereignty, and the High Priestess Code
By Delahrose Roobie Myer
It is rare for an author to step out from behind her myth and speak directly into the marrow of a story. But Fatima’s world is not fiction. It is a fable woven from various lived experiences, an archetype distilled from blood, bone, and biography. Some stories in Fatima’s Alchemy are meant to be encountered as parables; others contain codes that reveal themselves only when illuminated from within.
For readers who have purchased my book and entered Story 12 — Fatima and the Betrayal of Prospero — I felt the pull to reveal the deeper stratum of that tale. This is not commentary. It is the myth beneath the myth.
A mythopoetic exegesis of the Fatima–Prospero story.
I will release more of these exegeses as I am called. Every story in Fatima’s Alchemy carries a deeper architecture, and some are meant to be revealed in their fuller form.
Story 12 - Fatima and the betrayal of Prospero. This Fatima story is not a romance, not a tragedy, not even a “healing journey” in the saccharine spiritual sense.
It is an anatomy of betrayal.
A case study in white-collar predation.
And a field manual for what it means to become a High Priestess in a world that worships charlatans and crucifies integrity.
Her myth is written like all true myths: in the language of blood, property, contracts, and broken promises.
This is not a metaphor, but reality.
This is a metaphor inside reality.
Fatima is not a symbol standing in for “women everywhere.”
She is a woman.
With a name, a body, a bank account, a daughter, a disease, and a legal file.
Only from that level of concreteness does her story become the alchemical text it truly is.
1. The Anatomy of a Predatory Union
Fatima’s union with Prospero was not a shared kingdom.
It was a theft disguised as a partnership.
She brought the genius.
The designs.
The labour.
The soul.
He brought the charm, the access, the lineage, the smile that opens doors.
Together, they built a legacy stamped with both their names.
Awards. Recognition. Wealth.
But beneath the polished facade, a different architecture was at work.
Gaslighting as a strategy.
Withholding love as control.
Rewriting history as sport.
“You are nothing without me.”
This is not an insult; it is programming.
Repeated often enough, it becomes the software that makes a woman override her own knowing.
He slept in her bed, used her body, then whispered, “I do not love you.”
This is not confusion.
It is cruelty as a calculated act.
By the time he was flaunting a younger lover and plotting his exit, the spell was already cast.
The betrayal did not begin when he left.
It began the moment he decided she was raw material to be mined, not a sovereign soul to be met.
2. The Legal Machine as Weapon
The brilliance of white-collar crime is that it uses the system as a blade.
Prospero moved with precision:
• Pressuring the sale of her home at under value
• Forcing the loss of horses, art, jewellery
• Undervaluing assets deliberately
• Using silence, status, and “representatives” to keep his fingerprints clean
He let her carry the exhaustion and the shame while he carried the profit.
The legal system, in theory, exists to balance scales.
In practice, it often serves those who know how to game it:
Men with lineage, influence, and the right last names.
On the courthouse steps, the judge refused to hear the case.
Negotiation replaced justice.
Threat replaced rights.
Her own legal team turned on her, using Prospero’s deceptive bankruptcy as leverage:
“Settle, or you risk prosecution.”
That sentence is the entire indictment of the system.
A woman who preserved the empire's remnants is now threatened by the ruins.
She was not just hurt.
She was cornered.
And then disposable.
This is betrayal trauma on an institutional scale.
3. Betrayal Trauma: The Wound Beneath All Wounds
Fatima is not “just traumatised.”
She is carrying betrayal trauma:
The shattering that occurs when the person you trust, depend on, or love becomes the architect of your destruction.
This is not generic hurt.
It is psychic demolition.
It breaks:
• Your sense of reality
• Your ability to trust your own perception
• Your internal compass around safety, danger, and worth
While the spiritual-lite crowd tells her to “let it go” and “move on,” they reveal what they are:
People who have not sat inside the furnace she has survived.
They downgrade her experience to “normal trauma,” or worse, “mindset issues,” because the depth of what she carries would unravel their tidy narratives about manifestation, karma, and “you chose this.”
Betrayal trauma is not cleaned by affirmations.
It is not bypassed by forced forgiveness.
It must be witnessed, named, and metabolised.
Fatima did not receive that from the world.
So the gods gave her something else.
4. Counting Coup on the Soul
In Native American traditions, Counting Coup marked acts of courage, proximity to death, and honour in battle.
Each act became an invisible tally on the warrior’s spirit.
In Fatima’s myth, this concept is inverted and applied to Prospero.
His coups are not brave.
They are cowardly:
• Publicly gifting jewellery that once belonged to Fatima to his new lover
• Flaunting stolen wealth
• Leveraging the court and legal machinery to erase her contributions
Each move is a dark coup.
Each deception carves a mark into his own soul.
On the outside, he appears victorious:
Wealthy, celebrated, admired, unbothered.
On the inside, a separate accounting is underway.
These scars do not scream.
They rot quietly.
In the silence between events, in the nights when applause fades, the soul reviews its ledger.
Prospero’s “wins” carry interest in a currency the human ego can’t pay:
Integrity, meaning, peace.
Fatima’s losses are visible.
His are hidden.
But hidden does not mean non-existent.
The gods keep different books.
5. The Social Death of the Fallen
Once her property was gone and her status taken, something revealing occurred:
The world stopped seeing her.
People who once praised her work suddenly only saw her current bank balance.
No house.
No circle.
No prestige.
To them: irrelevant.
“Washed up.”
“Unstable.”
Their cruelty wasn’t always loud.
Often, it lived in innuendo, in tone, in subtle exclusions.
They reminded her of her “place” now that she no longer owned assets.
They treated her struggle as an embarrassment, an inconvenience, a stain.
That is how the collective punishes the fallen:
Not with empathy, but with erasure.
Even healers and self-proclaimed sages failed her.
They offered slogans instead of substance.
Grand words, no embodied wisdom.
The spiritual marketplace loves to sell “compassion” while turning its back on actual human pain.
Fatima saw them clearly:
Charlatans dressed as light.
She was exhausted, but she was not blind.
6. The Turning: From Sacrificial Lamb to High Priestess
At her lowest point, Fatima questioned whether life was worth continuing.
Not in melodrama, but in bitter pragmatic clarity:
“How many more plates of ignorance must I eat?
How many more times must I be punished for what was done to me?”
She had been stripped of property, status, security, and belief in human decency.
Her body had carried cancer.
Her nervous system bore years of court-induced terror.
Still, something in her refused to become like them.
This is the crucial pivot.
True power is not positivity.
It is a refusal.
Refusal to adopt the values of those who harmed you.
Refusal to let cruelty make you cruel.
Refusal to let rot recruit you.
The gods responded by igniting her original gifts:
• Seer-vision
• Alchemical resilience
• The ability to stand alone and still hold love in the heart
She had always been a healer for others.
Now she had to turn the medicine inward.
Her life to this point was initiation.
The High Priestess is not appointed.
She is forged.
You do not become High Priestess by reading cards.
You become High Priestess by walking through hell and not losing the thread of your soul.
7. Duality as the True Arena of Power
Fatima’s tale is not “light vs dark.”
It is the dance of both.
She did not bypass rage.
She did not skip grief.
She did not pretend to be “above” it.
She walked through:
• the darkness of betrayal
• the emptiness of abandonment
• the humiliation of social death
• the terror of illness
• the grief of losing her creations
And still chose not to become bitter.
This is not sainthood.
This is the stamina of spirit.
You cannot know light until you’ve been taken apart by darkness.
You cannot wield power safely until you’ve faced what you could become under pressure.
Fatima’s strength is not in “forgiving and forgetting.”
It is in remembering everything and refusing to let it calcify her heart.
She is not naive.
She is not eternally soft.
She is strategic, seasoned, and unafraid to call out rot.
That is why she is dangerous to false healers and unstable empires.
And that is why the world tried so hard to keep her small.
8. The High Priestess Code
By the end of the story, Fatima stands not as a victim or a survivor, but as a High Priestess.
What does that actually mean?
• She has faced systemic and intimate betrayal without becoming a perpetrator herself.
• She has witnessed the hypocrisy of “spiritual” and “successful” people and refused to live by their metrics.
• She understands that true strength sometimes exists in one person standing alone against a corrupted field.
• She knows it is better to burn than to join the rot.
Her gift is not just healing.
It is discernment.
She sees who people are behind the words.
She measures integrity, not performance.
She refuses to dilute her standards to be liked.
And she knows the hardest, most sacred truth of all:
Most people will never understand the depths she’s walked.
They are not meant to.
She is not here for the masses.
She is here for those who recognise their own betrayal trauma, echoed in her story, and choose to rise instead of rot.
9. The Moral and the Metaphor
Moral of the Story
True strength is not escaping darkness, but walking through it without becoming its agent.
Fatima’s journey teaches:
• Duality is not optional.
• You will know love and cruelty, honour and betrayal, creation and destruction.
• The test is not whether you avoid darkness, but whether you can pass through it without trading your soul for safety.
Power is not the absence of suffering.
Power is the refusal to abandon yourself inside it.
Metaphor of the Phoenix
Fatima’s life is alchemical.
Prospero’s empire is pyrotechnic: bright, loud, destined to burn out.
She rises like a phoenix, but not in the Instagram sense.
Her rebirth is scarred, slow, cellular.
Her ashes are:
• lost property
• stolen credit
• social exile
• medical scars
• financial precarity
From those ashes comes something rarer than success, a soul that knows itself.
She becomes living proof that:
Even when everything material is stripped away, there remains a level of power that no man, no judge, no system can touch.
That is the High Priestess' domain.
That is where Fatima stands now.
Not owned.
Not erased.
Not defined by what was taken.
But defined by what refused to die.
Delahrose Roobie Myer
Confidante • Catalyst • Clarifier
Depth • Design • Direction
Author, Fatima’s Alchemy: A Treasure to Behold
Hardcover available via major booksellers
Artwork by LeighAnn - LAD Art LLC
