Gnarled. That is exactly how he would like to imagine me, isn’t it? Offering up the forbidden fruit as a token of my malice. Bent double with clawed hands grasping at the throats of his creations.
To him I am the great deceiver: the antithesis to his will. He pretends I am his equal: but how can I be, when I was created only as his servant?
It smacks of the ridiculous.
It was after all, he who created everything that exists, nay (as he claims), existence itself.
So by proxy did he not create Pandora’s Box and all that sprung out of it? Did he not create the serpent and the fruit that it offered to his children? Did he not create me and all that I have achieved?
I am but a facet of his almighty nature.
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