Eve of the Gods--NaNo 2011-12 Prep

October 12: Background Story

The Snake slithered its way among the boughs and leaves of the tree, careful to neither touch nor disturb the sweet vermilion globes dangling in profusion from each branch. He could see her through the verdant light of his topiary shadows, her limbs supple and well-formed, waves of fire tumbling down to the smooth curve at the small of her back. God's second creation she might have been, but compared to her, Adam seemed a half-formed afterthought, an Epimethean oversight abandoned, incomplete, at the nascence of true art. Eve went beyond mere creation; she transcended the touch of formation, her genesis the culmination of everything God had heretofore attempted.

He worshiped her, did the Snake. The Angelic being within him felt for Eve, Adam's wife and God's mortal creation, something that his eternal essence had never before experienced, an emotion he could not yet identify but willingly gave himself over to in its entirety. And yet he knew he must visit upon her the greatest of sufferings.

He must sacrifice her--and Adam, he supposed, with nothing of the revulsion he felt on behalf of his beloved--for God's plan, for the betterment of all God's future creations, Eve's many millions of children. Their Mother must fall, must lose her place in God's grace, for the betterment of posterity. And he, who venerated her as the greatest of all God's creations, must be the instrument of her suffering.

"Eve," he hissed, tongue reaching out to taste the air of Eden. "Have you made your decision?"

The woman dropped the piece of fruit in her hand and spun, guilt darkening her brown eyes. She stood, resplendent in her wondrous nakedness, unaware of the profound effect her body had upon his Angelic senses. What was this feeling stirring within him, so like and yet completely unlike the feeling of the Gloria washing through him as all his brethren sang to the wonder of the Lord? He wanted nothing more than to hear her voice, to make her smile, to hear the laugh that so rarely permeated the silence of God's Paradise on Earth. But he was here to take it away from her.

It was best, he knew. Best for everyone to learn of right and wrong, life and death, the great lessons of mortality and Free Will. The choice must be theirs alone, to remain or to go; God could not give them their gift in any other way. But to do this, God must punish the progenitors of that gift, the people who chose for their children to have a choice. And so his Eve, his wonderful one, must suffer the consequences of disobeying God's decree for the betterment of all her children.

This was not to stay that God wanted them to disobey. But He did want to give them the choice to execute their Free Will. He also knew, however, that the execution of such freedom meant punishment; they must choose knowing they would be punished and be willing to accept the consequences. Beautiful Eve must choose to fall, to be banished from paradise and from grace, that her children could choose that grace for themselves. It was the greatest gift she could give; the greatest sort of martyrdom anyone could endure.

"I cannot," Eve replied. "It is against God's wishes. I do so wish I could experience all that you have offered to me, Snake. I wish it with all of my heart. But I cannot weigh the wishes of my heart against the wishes of my Father, who has forbidden it. I am sorry, Snake. We could have been such friends, and I could so use a friend."

Her voice broke and so did the space within the Snake that had, until then, been reserved for love of the Lord. He had never believed she would be happy to accept knowledge and understanding, to damn herself for the wisdom it would bring her, and then to turn it away. To give up happiness for what she believed was duty to her Lord. A feeling of profound admiration burst within the Snake as he slithered down the tree and then up and around the woman's legs.

"I understand your choice, beautiful one, but think of what you are giving up. Why would God place this tree here and extort you not to eat of it if He were not a cruel God and, thus, not deserving of love? Does He not respect you enough to give you this gift of knowledge? He gives you dominion over all the animals and yet not the wisdom and the understanding to go along with it? Is it to be merely first among equals in your role?"

The Snake had not heard Adam come up behind them. Hearing was not a strength of this creature whose body he had overtaken at God's request. "It is true what you say, creature," he replied, though the Snake had not spoken to him. "God gave me dominion over all and yet I am different from them only because I can speak. I name them, but I do not rule them. God cannot mean for this to continue."

"But He has extorted us to remain from eating of the fruit, Adam. It would be unseemly to disobey our Creator."

A crack rang out in the Garden as Adam's hand whipped across his wife's face. "I am your master as well, woman! Do not counteract what I have said."

The Snake hissed, coiling about Eve's body as she began to cry softly. Adam had long been given to fits of rage, feeling as though he deserved more than the gifts of God had given him, and he had recently begun to vent his frustration on his wife. The Snake had watched one night as Adam forced himself upon Eve, taking his own ruthless pleasure even as his wife lay beneath him, crying and extolling him to stop. Such rage filled him at the sight that it had been all he could do not to strike against Adam. God seemed unwilling to do anything, obsessed as He was with their choice and their actions, and He had warned the Snake to take no action against His first, and lesser, creation.

But the Snake did not want to give Adam the choice. He would not offer this gift to Adam, who would make it without thought for the suffering it might cause his wife and his future children. Eve had agonized over the decision for a week, thinking of herself only last and least, ultimately choosing good over happiness. And now Adam had heard and it seemed he would not act in any manner other than to please himself. The Snake despised him and could not understand God's forbearance for this loathsome creature, a sneak worse than the creature whose body he now inhabited.

"But we will be punished, Adam," Eve choked out, even now standing up for herself and her own goodness. "What will we lose to gain this illicit knowledge?"

"Whatever we lose, we will gain that much more." Adam stooped down and picked up the fruit that Eve had dropped earlier. He stared at it, contemplating the shining red skin and all that it implied. It seemed that his nerve failed him, as it failed all cowards, and he handed the orb to Eve. "You will take the first bite. It is only meet that a lesser creature eat first, to test for any adverse effects."

Eve looked from Adam to the Snake and then up to the sky. "Forgive me, Father," she whispered, "but I must obey my lord and husband." With that, she sank her teeth into the juicy flesh of the fruit.