Chapter 42: Forbidden Fruit
Working in tandem with Raphael, Gabriel scoured nearly the entirety of the Fourth Heaven; meanwhile, the guard stationed at the gates of the Garden of Eden was reinforced in wave after wave.
It had never occurred to her that the danger she was now so vigilantly guarding against had, in fact, already infiltrated the Garden. Only after her exhaustive search for Lilith yielded no results—and purely as a precautionary measure—did she decide to pay a visit to the human couple residing within Eden.
Although she had intellectually accepted Adam's future destiny—knowing that he would eventually rise above all angels to become the sole sovereign of the Heavenly Realm beneath the Divine Throne—Gabriel still harbored no genuine sense of connection or familiarity with humanity.
Maintaining a strict separation between duty and personal inclination—this was the boundary she had drawn for herself. Within these confines, she could fulfill her duties as an Archangel: never contravening the Divine Will, and safeguarding the fragile human race. Beyond that, however, she harbored no desire to cultivate any close personal ties with humans.
To varying degrees, the other angels shared this same sentiment.
Thus, when Adam caught sight of the radiant angel slowly emerging from the groves to the east, he stood frozen in disbelief for a moment.
It was the first time he had seen an angel since entering the Garden.
"Eve!" he called out to his wife, his voice trembling slightly with nervousness, urging her to gather the finest fruits the Garden had to offer to serve their distinguished guest.
Observing her husband's flustered demeanor—and gazing at the Archangel who, as the distance closed between them, appeared ever more holy and dignified—Eve felt a faint pang of unease in her heart.
She was the only woman in the world—and destined to be the most beautiful woman of the future; God had blessed her, endowing her with a graceful figure and a voice of crystalline clarity.
Adam was utterly entranced by her, yet never had he lost his composure quite like this over her.
For she did not possess the radiant brilliance of an angel.
Silently marveling at the allure of the divine, she nonetheless obeyed her husband's wishes and turned to prepare the refreshments for their guest.
The fruits of the Garden possessed a myriad of distinct flavors; yet, only when harmonized by the hands of the Mother of Humanity did they truly transform into the most delectable of delicacies. Drawing upon her innate gift for beauty, Eve had fashioned a welcoming sanctuary. Rose petals lay scattered across the floor, and the air was thick with the fragrance of nature—a sweet, delicate scent mingling with the aromas of various choice fruit beverages. Upon entering, Gabriel paused, momentarily taken aback.
Her eyes immediately fell upon Eve, who was tilting her head and smiling at her; in that instant, it was as if she were gazing upon the Lilith of old.
Yet, Lilith had been far more lively and spirited; Eve, though beautiful, resembled a statue—graceful, perhaps, but distant.
This was precisely how God had created her—fashioned according to Adam's own aesthetic sensibilities. Reflecting on this, Gabriel no longer felt any surprise.
Moreover, the Lilith of the present day bore scarcely any resemblance to Eve. A flicker of softening emotion crossed Gabriel's eyes as she offered a slight nod of acknowledgment to the Mother of Humanity.
"I shall speak but a few words," she announced. She had not, in fact, intended to step inside this cottage brimming with natural charm; she had merely meant to offer a brief word of instruction to Adam at the threshold before departing. Yet Adam, in no rush to hear her, spoke first.
"Please, do come in and sit awhile in our humble home." Hospitality was a gift unique to the human race; when they extended their warmth, even the most aloof of angels found it impossible to refuse such kindness, imbued as it was with pure goodwill.
"At the very least, please sample these delicacies produced by this very Paradise." Eve approached, bearing a serving of grape juice presented in a hollowed-out fruit rind, and held it out toward Gabriel. She smiled—a smile tinged with a touch of shyness. "I wonder if these offerings will suit an angel's palate?"
"Eve prepared all of this with her own hands," Adam remarked, gazing tenderly at his wife. The palpable aura of happiness entwined between the couple imperceptibly dissolved Gabriel's lingering reservations toward humanity.
They conversed at length; Adam inquired about the events that had transpired before the creation of mankind, and in turn, recounted the circumstances of his own birth.
This first-ever dialogue between an angel and a human being fostered a faint sense of mutual amity between them; before she realized it, Gabriel had taken a seat within the humans' dwelling.
During the repast, they continued to converse as they ate. Adam was in high spirits, his conversation flowing freely; Gabriel, for her part, discovered that he was by no means a dull-witted creature—on the contrary, his sincerity and candor were, she found, quite endearing. "So, you must be especially vigilant in the days ahead." Having eaten their fill, Gabriel once again reiterated the purpose of her visit; this time, her admonition carried a palpable sincerity.
They had to guard against threats both external and internal. If there were no longer any vulnerabilities on the outside, then the "internal" threat could only refer to humanity itself.
Adam nodded, signaling his understanding, though deep down he did not believe any danger truly existed; he simply obeyed his Father's commands, trusting that his Father would protect them.
They chatted about other matters for a while longer, until Eve, sitting nearby, let out a yawn. She had been bored for quite some time; seeing that she could not interject a single word into the conversation between her husband and the angel, she felt a pang of resentment.
Adam never discussed such matters with her; his sweet words and compliments were always reserved for her beauty and charm.
Eve loved hearing such things, yet she also yearned to claim those complex, dry topics for herself. She had intended to learn from the angel, but alas, listening to them had only made her drowsy.
Still, she refused to give up so easily; if things continued this way, the angel might very well steal her husband away.
She clung to Adam's arm with a coquettish air, as if staking her claim of ownership before the angel. Just as she had anticipated, the moment Eve's body pressed against his, Adam's eyes saw nothing else.
Having successfully reclaimed her husband's attention, the irritation in Eve's heart subsided. She happily planted a kiss on Adam's cheek, then turned to the angel, steering the conversation toward topics that piqued her own interest.
"Do angels fall in love?" she asked Gabriel.
"We do," Gabriel replied, gazing at her as one might look at a willful little girl. She saw through Eve's petty machinations, yet regarded her with indulgence.
"Wow!" Eve was momentarily taken aback, then turned her gaze upon the angel with wide-eyed curiosity.
"Do *you*? And how do you express your affection?"
"The love that exists between us requires no physical or emotional exchange."
Angels are beings of purity; they cannot harbor the sort of partial, narrow love that is born of attachment. Gabriel felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she recalled her former self. She looked down at Eve with a gentle gaze—as if observing her from a great height—and in that moment, she seemed to catch a glimpse of the inner world of God Himself. "We all love 'Him,'" she said, making a reverent gesture of prayer. "Our love for Him makes everything simple."
True equality could never exist between God and any of His creations; all she could do was ceaselessly strive to elevate herself—doing her utmost to bridge a distance that, ultimately, could never be fully traversed.
"Therefore, we have no need for such limited methods of interaction." She was referring to Eve's constant physical proximity to Adam—those intimate gestures of affection. True love, she believed, emanated from the heart; it did not reside in outward acts. Yet, the nature of humans differed from that of angels; by their very constitution, they leaned closer to the demonic than to the divine.
This caused Gabriel a measure of concern, though there was little else she could do.
"I must take my leave now, Adam."
The Archangel rose to bid farewell to the human couple. She cast a glance at the innocent yet alluring Eve, sensing a faint flicker of jealousy rising within her.
Such was the manifestation of ignorance in the human spirit. She sighed softly, then turned her attention back to Adam.
"I know that you, like us, 'love' Him; yet your love remains fraught with uncertainty." She cast a pointed glance toward Eve—a subtle, unspoken warning delivered to mankind.
"Do not let temptation sway the judgment of your heart. Abide by God's commandments; submit to the directives He has given you, and nothing shall ever be able to harm you."
Poor, dear humans—whether you stand tall or fall, God has entrusted the power of choice to you alone.
God Himself does not intervene; yet I, for one, still hope that you may long endure within this paradise.
"Reject, then, every temptation to sin."
Adam keenly sensed the hidden meaning beneath the Archangel's words; yet, gazing upon his lovely, sweet-natured wife, he found himself utterly captivated by her once more.
How could such a radiant and pure-hearted Eve harbor any ill intent?
Indeed, Eve harbored no ill intent. She had felt a momentary frustration at her inability to grasp the Archangel's words; yet, upon seeing that Adam wore an equally bewildered expression, she let the matter go with ease.
If even Adam could not understand it, then surely she had no need to understand it either. Moreover, ever since Gabriel's departure, Adam had kept an even closer watch on her—to the point where he was practically inseparable from her.
This was a sweet, albeit happy, burden for Eve; she could only wait until her husband had fallen asleep to gently slip free from his grasp, leaving the small cottage where they shared their bed to make her way to the riverbank, where she would use the cool water to wash away the heat and restlessness of the evening.
Beneath the night sky, she softly hummed a nameless melody. When a woman is alone, she is at her most gentle and graceful; merely gazing at the delicate wildflowers along the riverbank could elicit a joyful laugh from her—a pure, innocent beauty capable of overpowering all forms of evil.
Samael watched the golden-haired woman by the shore, leisurely washing herself in blissful ease, and felt a sudden sense of profound loss. For a fleeting moment, he wavered.
Could he truly bring himself to deceive a human being such as this?
But just as quickly, his thoughts returned to Gabriel—whom he had observed earlier that day. Her holy radiance outshone that of the Mother of Mankind a hundredfold; yet, though he had lurked in the shadows and watched her from start to finish, he had not heard her utter a single syllable regarding him.
'Do not let temptation sway the judgment of your heart; obey God's commands, and submit to the directives He has given you.'
Her heart held room for God alone; it was as if she had completely forgotten the acts by which God had cast him—along with Beelzebub and Asmodeus—into the prison of the Abyss.
It was only after partaking of the Fruit of Knowledge that he had truly come to understand: the angels had lost God's favor.
God no longer cared for the angels; that was why He had bestowed Lilith upon Adam like a mere object.
That was why He had grown distant from the angels over the intervening years.
Even if He had begun summoning them more frequently of late, it was only *after* the birth of these humans—for He now required slaves to construct an unprecedented paradise for His new favorites.
Oh, wretched Gabriel! How much longer would she continue to delude herself, clinging to a glory that hung by a thread?
Only by causing humanity to incur God's wrath and rejection could the angels ever hope to reclaim their original glory.
Creatures like humans ought never to have been brought into existence upon the earth! Heaven belongs to the angels, and Hell to the demons; even without the spirits of old, the mortal realm could—and should—have remained a place shared by both angels and demons! Rage supplanted reason; Samael could no longer contain his fury. As he stirred, the iron chains—reminiscent of a rattlesnake—emitted a low, hissing hum.
"Who's there?" Eve, ever-alert, caught the sound—at once familiar and yet strangely out of place.
"Is it a snake?"
Samael watched with cold eyes as the woman drew ever closer. His field of vision gradually lowered until, at last, nothing but a patch of tall grass filled his view.
The charming Mother of Humanity parted the grass and, beneath the cloak of night, gently lifted the beautiful silver serpent—a creature that seemed to glow with an inner light.
"What a beautiful snake! It was you earlier, wasn't it?" She gazed with delight at the serpent coiled within her palm, admiring its jade-green eyes and the laurel wreath adorning its head.
"You must surely be the king of snakes," she declared. "But tell me—why did you keep following us throughout the day?"
"Eve," he hissed, expelling the word. True to his nature as a Seraphic Archangel, his voice remained imbued with immense authority; yet Eve felt no fear—only profound astonishment.
"You can speak!" Eve exclaimed in awe. "I knew that snakes were the most cunning of all the beasts of the field, but I never imagined you could speak the tongue of men!"
"I always assumed that when God created the animals, He made them all mute," she said, grasping the serpent's long tail as she leaned in to scrutinize this extraordinary creature.
"This is not the tongue of men," Samael retorted, his voice tinged with the displeasure of one who felt deeply insulted. He bit back his anger as he spoke: "This is the language bestowed by God upon His higher creations."
"Please forgive my ignorance," Eve apologized airily. Her eyes, however, remained fixed with excitement upon the silver serpent. "Now, tell me: why are you so different from all the others?"
"Because I ate a certain fruit," the serpent replied to the woman, flicking its tongue. "Just behind that mountain over there—on the level ground right in the center of the garden."
"Oh, I think I know which tree you mean. If it is that tree, God has forbidden us to taste it, or even to touch it." Eve set the serpent down, speaking with a look of regret. "I cannot go there; Adam would never allow it."
"And why is that?"
"Because if we eat of it, we shall surely die."
The shadow of death had not yet fallen upon mankind, yet Eve still shuddered at the mere mention of the word, as if sensing its unknown and terrible nature.
The serpent lifted its head with a look of disdain, gazing at the timid human as it spoke:
"Do you see that I have died from eating it?"
"You ought not to have eaten that fruit!" Eve admonished the serpent. Since humans were forbidden to eat of it, surely the animals—who were subject to human dominion—were likewise forbidden.
"That is the Tree of Knowledge; it enables you to discern the true essence of all things. How, then, could eating it possibly lead to your death?" The serpent shook its head in disagreement, regarding the human with an air of pity.
"Is it conceivable that something even the beasts of the field are free to eat is, for some reason, forbidden to humans?"
"Look at me—I am still alive. Aside from bestowing knowledge, it holds absolutely no harm."
"But..." The serpent's words caused Eve to waver. "What if God were to find out...?"
"Throughout the heavens and the earth, who does not know of God's deep affection for mankind? He has commanded all the beasts to heed your every word; would He truly unleash His wrath upon you over a mere little piece of fruit?" Samael channeled the very nature of a serpent; so successful was his imitation that even the arch of his brow seemed to carry a hint of cunning.
"Once you eat of this fruit, your eyes shall be opened, and you shall become like God Himself. Would that not be a far better state to be in?"
"I do not aspire to be like God; I would be content simply to be like the angels!" Eve replied.
Inwardly, the serpent heaped bitter curses upon this shallow woman—scoffing at her delusional presumption to aspire to the same lofty heights as the angels—yet with its tongue, it continued to beguile her, guiding her step by step toward the very heart of Eden. Then, it quietly slipped away. Eve did not notice its departure, for her gaze had already been captivated by the sight of that golden fruit. It possessed an allure heightened by human fantasy—so much so that she could scarcely tear her gaze away from it.
She walked toward the colossal tree and ran her hand over its rough, gnarled trunk.
"If I possessed knowledge, I could be like that angel—and thereby earn Adam's respect."
She gazed at the fruit hanging within arm's reach—so tantalizingly close, yet just beyond her grasp.
"God forbade us from eating of you, yet He planted you so tantalizingly close to us."
"You are the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil; if we do not know what 'good' is, how can we ever hope to attain it?"
"You are clearly the finest of fruits; the serpent ate of you and suffered no ill effects, yet we are told that if *we* eat, we shall surely die? Was this prohibition established solely for our sake?"
Filled with indignation, she steeled her resolve.
*I cannot be bound by such a decree. If we live in fear of the threat of death, then how can we ever claim true freedom within our hearts?*
She reached out and plucked the fruit; with a gentle tug, it yielded and fell into her hand.
She took a bite and swallowed it whole, barely pausing to chew. She waited a moment—and only when she was certain that she would not immediately perish did she breathe a sigh of relief. Instantly, a sensation of novelty unlike anything she had ever known caused Eve's eyes to light up with wonder.
The joy of discovery and the thrill of transgression intertwined, giving rise to a profound and singular realization.
"This 'death' they speak of is nothing more than shedding the garments of ignorance to don the mantle of wisdom—a true rebirth."
She did not yet fully grasp the nature of wisdom, nor could she discern whether this sudden surge of elation stemmed from the fruit's inherent properties or was merely a figment of her own imagination; she simply continued to eat, devouring the fruit bite after bite with ravenous abandon.
To become a being akin to the angels.
To become a being akin to God Himself.
From that very first bite, a greedy, insatiable desire began to stretch out into infinity.
At last, she licked the sweet juices from between her fingers, her heart and stomach filled with utter satisfaction.
"Ah, O most supreme of trees within this garden! Were it not for you, I would still be languishing in ignorance to this very day." She gazed up at the tree, failing to notice that, even now, the seeds of anxiety had already begun to take root within her soul. "How am I to face Adam? My transformation—it is something I cannot possibly conceal from him."
"If I cannot share the fullness of my joy with him, then what good is this wisdom I have gained?" Eve loved Adam; yet now, woven into that love was a newfound clarity of thought.
"If God were to discover this... He has always favored Adam, always regarding me as nothing more than a rib taken from his side—utterly oblivious to the fact that this rib has now awakened to its own consciousness, and possesses a body entirely its own."
"Even though I now surpass Adam in wisdom, I remain—fundamentally—dependent upon him for my very existence," she reflected with absolute lucidity.
"If God were to learn that I have defied His command—and, deeming me no longer a fitting match for Adam, were to decree my death—what then would become of me?"
In that event, Adam would simply find himself another Eve; after all, he still had so many ribs left.
"I love him so deeply; when I am by his side, I fear neither death nor sorrow. I desire to be with him—forever."