Conversation with the Shadows: The Universe Engine, #1

By Zeno Dasa

          David Blackthorn, a preacher from Meridian Mississippi, finds himself having a conversation with the Angel of Death after suffering from a heart attack while attending a potluck for his conjuration. As David awaits Death's judgment, they strike up a conversation that explores concepts ranging from God to the universe. The soul of David's deceased mother appears to save David from Death's judgment, only to be cast into the fires of Hell.

 

          What follows is David's adventure as he attempts to save his mother from her torment. He faces numerous demons, uncovers the esoteric history of God, the inner workings of the universe, discovers that there are, in fact, many gods, and comes to face the fact that his trip into the Underworld may just be a choice between a life he cannot refuse or damning all of humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Epignos
• Release date: Oct 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215952924

Book preview

Chapter One, The Arrival.

Ihave been a preacher for many years serving the people of Meridian, Mississippi. My family made their way here to Meridian back when the railroad came through and never left. Unfortunately, the Blackthorn family wasn't altogether too concerned with procreating. I grew up watching them pass until it was only my father and I that carried the blood and name of Blackthorn. My mother’s side of the family came in with the trains and left with the planes, or at least that’s how my mother explained it to me.

I can say during my time in Meridian I have seen many amazing things. I have seen moments when God’s glory shines brightly in the actions of humanity, but I have also seen darkness consume the hearts of men. It always reminded me that there was a sort of balance. I look back on all I have learned as a preacher here in Meridian, and I have come to an understanding that shadows can’t exist without light, that they are defined by the light

No matter how strongly you feel the presence of God within, conveying the good lord's wisdom can be quite the struggle sometimes when writing sermons, I would eat a whole package of wintergreen mints like they’d somehow help infuse my sermons with the presence of the lord, but all they did was give me a stomachache.

Today is no different. Ideas fill my head, surfacing barely before quickly fleeing, leaving my skull with a bewildering itch. My collar feels like it’s beginning to tighten out of frustration as my time runs out. I have only fifteen minutes to write a speech as my congregation gathers in the next room for tonight's potluck.

My desk is swarmed with an onslaught of crinkled papers fighting to hide coffee stains on weathered wood. The disorderly mess reminds me of my room as a boy, and how my mother would give me that look each time she saw it. She used to tell me that my thoughts were too poetic for the common ear, but to the lord they were praises unto him. She always said that the Bible is the lord's poetry because it was written to move the heart so that the mind could follow. I truly miss hearing her voice, but now's not the time to be thinking about that David. I don’t need to be seen by the masses with red eyes again, because the allergy story only works so many times.

Thank you, mama, I say, struggling to choke back tears.

I do this every time I try to write a speech. I get all worked up trying to find the perfect wording only to end up putting down the paper and speaking from the poetic rhythm of my heart. I place my hands on the double swinging doors that connect my office to the back of the podium's stage whispering, here we go.

The doors slowly swing open, groaning at my arrival and drawing the attention of every living soul to my entrance. Feelings of nervousness prey up the corners of my mouth as all the eyes in the room fixate on me. The children who’d grown into a restless mob before I made my appearance, sigh in relief. Piercing gazes make my body feel like molten lead is filling up my chest. The experience makes me so nervous I miss one of the steps up to the podium, nearly tumbling headfirst into the sharp wood of the podium’s edge.

Miss Ruby, would you remind me to buy some of those baby proofing plastic pieces for the podium corners? If I keep tempting them, I’m sure one day they're gonna win, I speak, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Yes, Reverend Blackthorn. I’ll remind you first thing in the morning, Miss Ruby remarks, tilting her head in acknowledgement.

Thank you, Miss Ruby.

Thank you to all those who brought something tonight. Sharing what you can spare has always been looked upon highly by the lord. Seeing you all here tonight reminds me of something Jesus once said, I mutter softly as my vision blurs slightly. I must have stressed myself out a little too much over this sermon.

I gather my composure as best as I can, and I attempt to speak again. Jesus once, once said... damn it. Under the weight of so many watching eyes while delivering my sermon, I fail to notice that my right arm is numb. But the pressure in my chest, oh I feel that just fine. My knees knock loudly on the wooden floor of the stage as I manage to awkwardly catch myself on the podium. Trying my hardest, I look up only to see the world around me spinning faster and faster with each breath I take. My heart sounds like it’s beating on the back of my skull, trying to force its way in as I start to lose consciousness. Darkness creeps over my vision, but not before I notice a tall figure, burning bright in the corner of the room, just before I lose consciousness.

Being unconscious wasn’t anything new to my family. I would often come home from playing at a friend's house when I was a boy to find my father passed out drunk on the living room sofa. Being the one unconscious, however, is definitely something I don’t want to get used to. No matter how hard I try to move, I can't. My eyes didn't want to open and trying to speak just made my lungs feel like they were going to burst. All I can do is listen. I can hear everything happening around me like I was submerged underwater. Muffled voices, speaking in urgent tones surround me, but it all quickly fades into silence. I begin to drift off into that silence, kind of like how you can drift off in thought when an old friend just keeps on talking. It feels nice just drifting in silence with no one to answer to. I feel like I can forget about all the stress in the world, that I can catch my breath and finally just relax. 

The noise of wind whistling through the trees wakes me from my drifting. I stare at my right hand, clenching it into a fist then spreading my fingers wide as I open my hand. I’m lying in bed as this tingling sensation in my hand is washed away with the flow of warm blood as if it’s the first time my body has ever known the presence of its warmth. I'm sure I had a heart attack, or was it a stroke? Nonetheless, I didn’t smell any toast burning, so I feel kind of oddly disappointed. I can’t remember where I read it, but I remember reading that when having a heart attack, it's not uncommon to smell burnt toast. I always liked to think I would smell toast because Jesus was making breakfast for me to welcome me back home, but somehow managed to burn the toast. Picturing Jesus burning toast always made me feel like it’s possible to be christ like if he could manage to burn the toast. I’m odd like that I suppose, humanizing Jesus so I can feel closer to him in my own way. 

A man in a white coat briskly walks into the room with a smile on his face. I focus on him as my other senses catch up. I’m sure he is the doctor, here to tell me, ’hey David that was close, maybe you should stop eating the food people bring you all the time.’ Whenever I receive food as a thank you or a kind gesture, it’s always sweets. I guess that's what I get for helping out the kind elderly widows in my congregation. 

Mr. Blackthorn, you're awake. You had us worried there for a bit, the doctor says, approaching the foot of my bed with a clipboard in hand.

That's great doc, but may I ask what happened exactly? I say while struggling to sit up in my bed.

Well, from what the paramedics could tell when they arrived to answer Miss Ruby’s emergency call, you’d collapsed from stress induced angina, the doctor states, flipping through the pages on his clipboard.

A what, doc? Leave it to a doctor to use their fancy words instead of plain English. I guess it makes all those years spent in school and the crippling student loan debt feel like they mean something.

You had a heart attack, Mr. Blackthorn, and a strange one at that. The doctor's eyebrows raise a bit while reading over the papers on his clipboard.

Doc, I didn't know there was such a thing as a strange heart attack. I always thought it was one of those things where you either have one or you don’t. I'm sure the doctor can detect the subtle hints of sarcasm in my voice.

Well, after looking you over we didn’t find any physical damage typical to heart attack victims. In cases like this it is standard procedure to run a blood panel to check for drug abuse that could have contributed to the heart attack. Your panels came back clean as a whistle - in fact, they came back with excellent results, the doctor notes, flipping to the last page on his clipboard.

Even though I do much appreciate being called excellent, could you elaborate a bit on the facts, doc? I voice, grunting while struggling to adjust the pillow in the small of my back.

Take it easy Mr. Blackthorn, the doctor says, walking to the side of my bed placing his hand on my chest.

Your blood panel came back showing high levels of cortisol, which is normal for someone under great stress. Although, I did find something so odd that I had the lab run the test three times just to make sure. Your hormone levels reflect that of a man in his twenties. Being a man of your age, I thought we had mixed up the lab results, the doctor scoffs.

Well good sir, I'll tell you this, being fifty two years old has never stopped me from putting a boot print on the back side of the unruly, or the devil himself for a matter of fact. Don’t let the gray hairs hide the charm of this blue-eyed boy, doctor. I'm usually a little more reserved than this, but I can’t help but feel good. I will even say I feel a little more alive than usual after all that has happened today.

The doctor smiles yet again in response to my words, heading for the door. Mr. Blackthorn, you have had a long day. Get some rest and we’ll see about getting you out of here in the morning.

Don’t take care of me too well now, because I might never leave, doc. I smile as I say those words, knowing that when morning comes, I will be free to go. The doctor made it seem as if keeping me overnight was just a procedure. That there is no real cause for alarm because heart attack was just more fancy jargon for an old man's panic attack.

Oh Mr. Blackthorn I have to ask you one more thing, the doctor says, turning around in the doorway to face me.

Shoot, doc, I ain’t going anywhere, I utter while loosening the bed sheets.

Do you have any history of neural conditions in your family, Mr. Blackthorn? I only ask because when the paramedics found you beside the podium, your eyes were wide open like you were watching something. As they moved you through the church to take you outside to the ambulance, your eyes stayed fixed on the far-right corner of the church. Once they got you outside, you blacked out completely.

Well, doc, I’m not aware of any such conditions in the family, but that does raise concern with me. I would greatly appreciate it if we could look into that before I go. My voice shakes as I speak.

Not a problem, Mr. Blackthorn. I’ll look into it first thing in the morning. If I don’t find anything of concern you will be cleared and you can leave at your own convenience, the doctor says, turning to walk back out the door.

Feeling a bit macabre, my mind goes back to that tall figure I saw in the corner of the church as I fell. I can’t shake the feeling that I had known the figure somehow. That I knew that it was there watching me, waiting. Nonetheless I can’t put too much stock into what I thought I had seen and felt, because I was under duress.

After all that has happened, I’m feeling quite restless, even though moments ago, I felt invigorated just knowing that I was still alive. I sit up to get out of bed and I notice the sound of my boots striking the floor. That’s funny, I thought, the doctors must have really thought I was faking or high because they didn’t even bother to undress me. I'm no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that's what they do when someone gets rushed in here like I was.

The whistling wind outside picks up, drawing my attention to the window in my room. I look at the flickering digital clock, it reads three fifteen as I pass it on my way to the windows. My breath fogs the glass as the cool December fights to get in through the windowpane.

I step closer to the window to get a better look of what’s outside, only to hear a crunch beneath my feet. I turn my back to the window and look down to see a single bone under my boot. Instantly I wonder, how could a single bone get here, let alone what, or who it belongs to. Lost in thought, trying to explain the odd event, I feel a cold wind whip across my back. How did the window get open without a sound? My heart starts to race as a fearful presence creeps over me. What ifs flood my mind, feeding the fear, and anxiety building deep within myself. The pinnacle of fear chokes my lungs off from their much needed oxygen. David! Just calm down. Take a breath and close that damn window because the only thing scary here is how much you have let yourself get worked up before even trying to look for a reason behind what you're experiencing.

I turn to close the window, only to find it was never open. Maybe I’m not feeling as well as I thought. Maybe the doctor was right and I’m experiencing something neural.

I tightly grasp the window ledge, trying to calm myself down. My mind floods with concern for my health and questions of my own sanity. Breathing deeply, my heart starts to ease. The worry recedes, bringing me back closer to a state of calm. I’m ok. I thought of letting go of the window ledge, but that's when I hear heavy breathing behind me.

I turn to face the sound, suddenly plunged into a world of fear; not because I discovered the source of the breathing, but because when I turn the world begins to change. Reality warps, then fades away like rotting bark on a dead tree, crumbling to reveal what lies underneath. A world corroded by time and ruled by decay. After turning around fully, I’m standing on a massive pile of jagged bones, surrounded by a darkness pregnant with echoing with whispers. My heart pounds like a jackrabbit, and my knees can barely hold my weight. I fight the temptation to curl up on the ground and shut my eyes tight, in the vain hope it will all disappear. 

The moon glows with a faint crimson light, bleeding into the darkness of the sky. I look down at the dimly lit skeletal remains feeling utterly lost. My confusion at finding myself in this other-worldly darkness washes over me, like a blanket welcoming home a lost child. I feel an odd sense of peace, telling me to let go and drift into the darkness. I know if I listen to the strange feeling that nothing could harm me anymore. 

Deep in my emotional conundrum, the earth begins to shake, pulling me out of my daze. Lightning flashes violently across the sky, followed by the booming voice of thunder. The earth splits open, gushing torrents of arctic air, chilling me to my soul. Worn skeletal hands reach from the abyss calling my name, inviting me to make the darkness my home. My body becomes paralyzed at the thought that they might rise up and come for me. But what terrifies me even more is that I feel like I belong to them.

Before I have a moment to react to anything taking place before me, the darkness of the sky dissipates. A soft blue light pierces the chaos, reaching out to me with its warmth. It warms my chilled skin, making me feel safe, like I can maybe trust it. The more I bask in the light, the louder I can hear what sounds like singing come from within it. I hear songs promising me safety within their love. I feel myself torn between the light and dark, confused for I longed to become one with both. The power of choice fell heavy upon my shoulders, leaving my heart racing with indecision. Caught between feelings of fear, longing, and despair I hear a voice whisper into my ear from behind me, Face me for I grow tired of you hiding here. 

I turn to face the voice, shaking, only to find myself looking out the window of my hospital room again, like nothing happened. I spin around, searching the room for the hellish scene that lay behind me mere seconds ago, but I find nothing. It’s like it never happened. The dim moonlight cascades over my hospital bed, down across the cold gray floor, just as before. Am I losing it? Was I just in a waking nightmare, possibly brought on by the meds the hospital gave me? It couldn’t have been because all they did was run a blood panel as I slept. Regardless of what brought on the nightmarish vision, I wish I can just forget it even happened. I’m not even sure it really happened at all.      

I look over at the clock again, and to my surprise, I notice the time still reads three fifteen. I rub my eyes thinking maybe they were just out of focus, but it changes nothing - the clock reads even more clearly, three fifteen. Oh boy, that feeling of dread is definitely hanging over me now. I have the strangest sense that the whole situation is experiencing me rather than me experiencing it.

I rest on the windows ledge, looking around the room for a good while before letting out a small chuckle. I’m a damned fool for letting myself get so worked up. Tonight has simply been a crazy night, and I just need to get some rest. I stagger my way back to the hospital bed, grasping at the bed sheets. I wrap myself up cocooning myself in them to feel some sense of safety like I did as a child. Even in my comfort, I find myself fighting back a dull sense of worry. My mind conjures the tall figure I saw before blacking out, like he’s still watching me. I also can’t shake the feeling that everything I’m experiencing isn't even my own, like all the emotions I’m feeling are coming from someone else. 

I sit up in bed, looking around the room, trying to push aside these feelings. My mind begins turning my strong feelings of dis-ease into poetic lines, as it so often does when I have strong feelings. The tide of fear recedes from the shoreline of my existence, granting me a glimmer of hope though far off in the distance. But just as suddenly, doubt washes over me again as the dark waters rush back to claim my feeling of safety. Will I find my strength, or will the dark waters claim me?    

I get out of bed and walk over to the window, searching for the light of the moon. The moon dances behind the trees and the rolling cover of the clouds, reminding me that even in the darkness light can be found. This thought gives me some comfort, putting my poor heart at rest. As I watch the moon’s light weave in and out of the clouds, I notice something out of place. Amongst the trees I see something move, something tall. I squint my eyes a bit to get a closer look, my breath once again fogging the glass as I lean in. Terror strikes my heart like a lightning rod and I stumble backward into my hospital bed. A face appeared in the fogged glass, smiling a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Failing to catch myself, I hit the floor with a loud thud.

If I truly didn’t have a heart attack earlier, I am bound to have one before the end of the night. I push myself up onto my hands and knees even though my mind screams to stay down, it's safer to curl up and cower. But my heart declares push on and stand up. Mama always said my heart has enough love for a whole kingdom, and that one day it will give me strength my mind lacked. I think to myself, that maybe she was right... or maybe it's just going to get me into more trouble than I’m already in.

I stand up slowly, weak and breathing heavily. Anxiety swells rapidly, deep in my gut. I watch my breath twist into wisps, floating into the darkness of the room. The room grows more frigid with each breath I take. The air becomes heavy with the smell of copper tarnish, like blood, but more musty. What I feel now is beyond fear; what I feel is drowning me. Overwhelmed, I do the one thing I can think of - I cry out, oh God. 

No need to call out to God for he already knows I'm here. Ripostes an unearthly voice from the darkness in the corner of the room. 

I want to scream, but my lungs just wouldn’t have it. I scuttle into the corner right next to the window, hoping the faint light will keep whatever it is away from me. What it is, I’m unsure, but whatever it is I can hear it breathing from the shadows. My body freezes with terror as a looming figure steps into the pale moonlight, revealing a translucent face, skin stretched tight over its skeletal features. 

Call to God and I shall answer for I am now your keeper. Run and I shall claim you. Close your eyes to forget me and I shall open them. Test me and feel my wrath for I come to claim that which is mine, for I am the end which all life meets. I am Death.

That voice, that God forsaken voice is the same one I heard before. Is my sanity crumbling? Is my faith nothing more than a false sense of security, or is this really happening? If so, why? I wasn’t dead.

"This is real, David. I can see the thoughts stirring behind your eyes. Your mind fumbles to find answers to that which it does not understand. Time and time again, mortal man after mortal man, I have seen this struggle to make sense of my arrival. Let me make this plain

Yesterday morning you woke up feeling well rested as you prepared your speech for the congregation that would be at your six thirty potluck. The spirit as you knew it felt especially strong that day, but was it because you felt close to God, or was it because you were close to me? After what felt like a morning of inspiration from God himself you came to find yourself in that tiny office, haunted by the ghosts of your past. Some ghosts whispered that devoting your life to God was just. Others whispered doubt that your service would grant you penance for the actions of your past. Why listen to such whispers when you can never know the truth except in the release of death?"

Nothing can tame the terror of hearing my name spoken by Death. I feel violated by the thought that every moment I spent alone, Death was actually watching from the shadows. It seems impossible that I once found comfort in being alone in my own home. 

David, you died next to that podium under the pressure of whispering ghosts and unfinished speeches. My will alone stand between your life and your death. Come, for now it's time to take the longest walk you will ever know, for you walk as the companion of Death. 

Wait, no! My voice cracks.

All I have done with my life, everything I have tried to make up for... it had to add up to something. I devoted my life to God and...

Enough with your foolish attempts to win me over with service to God! You know nothing of what it means to serve. Death’s eyes blaze with fire, sending smoke circling into the air.

Pressing my back tight into the corner of the room, I try to distance myself from the wrath of Death. My body shivering against the cold wall as it holds me in place. I didn’t want to speak. I didn’t even want to look in Death’s direction, fearing what can happen next. All I want at this moment is to close my eyes so that I can open them to see daylight and leave this all behind. It does me no good, for when I open them Death remains, staring at me with a look of disgust. 

Look at me David. LOOK AT ME! Death’s voice echos, rattling the walls.

Death’s cold hand clutches my head, turning my face to look at him. I want to keep my eyes shut, but Death has other plans. My eyes open, slowly, as if by force, to see Death giving me half a smile. Death runs his boney fingers down my face as he pulls his hand away. I find relief in the absence of his grip, not that it's saying much because Death still stands before me.

I will tell you about service David, I will tell you about devotion. I was once allowed in the presence of God before the existence of man. In order for the divine plan to play out according to God’s will, the souls of mortal men had to be guided as they transitioned from one plain of existence to another. To take this task was to forsake the presence of God, for the messenger of death would become tainted by the sins of the souls that were delivered. I loved you all so much that I took upon myself the mantle of Death, but the years of deliverance have left the bitter taste of your sins ingrained upon my tongue.

Death’s rage subsides after speaking. He looks out the window as if lost in a memory, eyes now black and glazed over. I want to know more but I’m too afraid to ask, so instead I join him in gazing out the window from my corner of the room.

I know you would like to think you’re cut from the tapestry of God. That would be true if it was the rag God used to wipe the filth of humanity off his feet. I know that you feel you have sought the truth of God in your life David, so prove it. Remove yourself from that corner that you cower in like an insect and take a seat, Death declares pointing to a metal chair beside my hospital bed.   

Following the wall with my back, I make my way to the chair Death pointed to. I wasn’t sure of Death’s intentions at this point. Is he playing games with me? Is he tormenting me? I pray to God that I am just losing my mind, and all this is just an illusion forged from old age. Once I make it to the chair, I sit for a while just staring at Death, studying all his physical features and noticing every wrinkle in his dusty, tattered robe. What did I have to lose? I always said I would go down kicking and screaming if given the chance, so I stand up from my chair. 

I’m not going to feed into some sick game that serves no purpose. I’m not going to empower something I have yet to understand. For all I know you are the devil at work, good sir!

When I speak these words, the darkness in the room comes to life. The shadows consume the light until all I can see is the chair behind me. The world I know fades with the receding light, and there is nothing I can do about it. My metal chair is the only hope I have left that I can hold onto.

Take your seat, David, for it is your only salvation. Air whips around the room, building momentum. A powerful gust strikes me in the chest, knocking me back into the chair.

I control the world as you know it now, David. If I desire to play foul games, you will play. If I decide to burn the world around you, you will watch it burn. I am your fate, David. Death’s gaze pierces through the darkness, resting upon my eyes. His words resound, colliding into me like waves crashing against a rocky shore.

I’ll play, I mutter roughly. The reality of the situation has been made clear to me. If there is truly any hope of walking away from this. I will have to play along.

I have some questions before I play, so I may understand the nature of the game that I’m playing. I'm not calling you a cheater sir, but every game has its rules. I try my darndest to speak with reverence. It wasn’t easy, but I can say it was sincere.

Splendid, David! That is the first thing to come out of your mouth all night that shows any sign of intelligence. I will entertain your questions, but as we enjoy such conversation you must entertain my questions as well. Oh, and David, for the record, I’m not asking. The smile accompanying Death’s words is haunting. 

His words leave me feeling empty inside. I feel like I’m a rat in a maze with no end and no way out, with no point but to please the maze's creator. I know I have to play along, that I didn’t have a choice. 

David, you’re not the first to play this game. You can tell a lot about a man based on the questions he asks. With this being said, you get ten questions to ask me as long as they don’t violate any convents that I have made. What will it be David? What knowledge do you covet in your dyeing hour?

I am suddenly overwhelmed by all the questions I could ask, with all the knowledge I could gain. But for what purpose? Do I try to cheat Death as I search out esoteric knowledge that might give me the upper hand, somehow? Do I try to make sense of my life and give my death meaning? Or maybe I just play the game for the sake of playing, see if fate shows up, and just hope it isn’t as crazy as Death is.

Chapter Two, The Questions.

In the silence, my thoughts chaotically swim around in my head, colliding until they settle into a moment of clarity. I find my first question - will it grant me resolve or release? I lick my lips as I muster up the courage to ask my first question.

Death, how did you come to be the being that stands before me now? I speak, trembling, awaiting Death’s response.

Very original! You seek to know my origin as if it will give you an advantage in knowing my story, or at the very least a way to tug on my heart strings. That I may sympathize with you later when you bare to me your heart and soul. Death replies, bellowing out in laughter.

"Where better to begin than at the beginning of it all?- After God finished creating all that you know, he placed man on this earth with his equal, woman. God named the first man Adam, and gave him a gift. That gift is the power of destruction, for destruction is necessary for the process of creation.

God created the first woman, but she refused to let God name her, but instead named herself Lilith. God gave her a gift as well, the gift of life. Lilith thought this gift made her better than any man and refused to see Adam as her equal. Because of her actions, God cast Lilith out of the garden of Eden to toil and that she might come to know hardship. Lilith yearned for the companionship of someone equal to her and found it in the arms of the archangel Samael.

Together Lilith and Samael used the gift of life to give birth to the first Nephilim. God saw the Nephilim and the hatred in their hearts instilled by Lilith. God punished Lilith and her children by taking away their ability to create life, leaving them impotent and barren. Samael would be stripped of his status and reduced to an immortal man for the sins he committed. 

God took a rib from Adam and used it to create Eve. Eve, equal to Adam, desired his love for they were a part of each other. God trusted in Eve’s love and gave her the gift of life.

Eden flourished from God’s will alone, providing all that Adam and Eve would ever need. In the center of Eden grew the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The tree was beautiful and only one other tree in existence would ever challenge its beauty. Eve saw the tree bear fruit and asked God’s permission to eat of the sacred tree. God instructed Eve to never eat of the tree for it contained great knowledge, and that knowledge would be the downfall of humanity.

Samael, thinking he is wise, approached Eve in the form of a serpent, calling himself Satan. Eve knew nothing of Satan, for only Lucifer was deemed evil by God. Satan instructed Eve to eat of the apple, for it would give her the knowledge God possessed, making her a goddess in her own right. Eve partook of the tree and rushed to Adam’s side to share with him the knowledge she had gained.

After Adam