Fruit of Sin

I sat upon my throne in a vast hall of stone. I was meditating, with my heels pulled up under my knees, my hands resting upon them, and my eyes closed. My hair was brown, long and straggly, and it fell forwards in front of my face, as I had my head bowed slightly. It was crowned with a golden circlet which shone in the light of the burning torches, placed at even intervals around the hall. My nose was straight and aquiline, my eyes, though closed, were a deep hazel, and my lips were thin. My cheek bones were well-defined, and my jaw-line was strong, running towards a short, pointed beard of wiry hair. My face gave the impression of a sharply-chiselled sculpture. My skin was weathered and amber, like leather.1

I had been sitting thus for hours, without moving a single muscle or tendon. I beheld a blazing white light in my minds eye. When I had first begun to meditate, many years ago, I had been instructed to focus upon a point of light, preferably a candle-flame. And I had done so. At first, the flame had been very small, and it had been extremely hard to hold it in my minds eye, for the slightest lapse of concentration would send it scattering away into the darkness of my mind, as though snuffed by a sudden gale. But, gradually, as I had persevered, the light had not only grown steadier, but it had grown larger. I had consulted my mentors about this curiosity, only to find that they could offer me no explanation. They had bent their wizened old heads in council, and had decided to observe me for a time.2

And, as the years had settled upon their crooked shoulders like a carpet of autumn leaves, the light inside me grew and grew and grew, until, five decades later it surpassed the brightness of a star, and became ‘pure’ whiteness. And neither was its phosphorescence restricted to my minds eye – for, as it expanded, it began to glow through my very skin, until the flesh became translucent, and was given the appearance of spring water upon which the golden rays of the sun frolicked and played. The elders were amazed. They said that they had never seen anything like it. They said that I was a messiah to the people from the higher powers. I found that I could read minds and heal with a mere touch. The people were awed. They gave me a castle and a throne, and placed a golden circlet upon my head. They served me, and I healed them and meditated and prophesied. But more time passed, and, one by one, the elders died like shrivelled trees which the earth could no longer sustain, and I found that the light inside of me gradually started to dim, and then to cease growing altogether. It stayed at a constant brightness which was slightly lower than the peak it had previously attained. But this did not concern me. I had my castle, and my servants, and my light. I was content. 3

And so, I sat upon my throne within my hall of stone, within my castle upon my hill, and gazed upon my gift, thinking that I had attained absolution. My whole being was filled with a warm glow of accomplishment which bordered on pride. I let this sensation suffuse me and seep into every fibre of my being, and, although I was unaware, it lifted the corners of my lips in a sharp curl which whispered of cruelty. After this sensation had passed, I gradually let my grip on the light slip, and by degrees, became aware of the slow rhythm of my breathing, the boundaries of my physical body and the red-warm, artificial light of the torches burning through my closed eyelids. Once I felt grounded, I moved my elegant, long-fingered hands slightly, feeling the liquid-smooth silk beneath my palms, and felt the slight, cool weight of the crown upon my head. Slowly, I opened my eyes and focused my gaze upon the floor before my pedestal.4

There was a woman standing there, at the bottom of the three broad marble steps. Her hair was lustrous and black, and cascaded in glossy ringlets about her shoulders. Her eyebrows arched sharply, and looked as though they were painted on. Her eyes were a pitch black, like two voids, and from them, obsidians tears trickled slowly down her cheeks, the skin around which was an indigo hue. Her lips were blood-red, and shone in the light like the skin of well-polished apples. Her nose was straight and slightly upturned at the end, where it was speckled slightly with freckles. Her cheek-bones were prominent; her jaw was strong and her chin was slightly pointed. Her throat was long and elegant, like a swan’s, and her breast-bone curved majestically like a polished yew bow. She was elegantly poised and tightly-strung, like a coil ready to spring. Both of her hands were clasped behind her back, throwing her chest forwards and bringing her shoulders into sharp relief. Her breasts were firm and strained against the low-cut, purple corset she wore. Her skin was smooth and honey-coloured, and the tops of her breasts shimmered in the golden light of the flickering torches. 5

Her hips were voluptuous. She had a figure like an hour-glass. She wore black leather trousers below her corset, which clung to her skin and glistered like oil. Her legs were pressed firmly together, highlighting the tightness of her thighs, which tapered into a pair of thick, black boots which climbed to the knee. She was like a statue of a goddess, voluptuous yet firm, corporeal, yet ethereal. And, as I was clairvoyant, I perceived that she shimmered in the air, as though she was only half there. It came to me that my visitor must be from another plane of existence, as no one on this density of reality could have taken me by surprise. A coy smile curled her lips as I thought this, and she gazed mischievously up into my eyes. The gaze of those bottomless pits held me breathless for a moment, but I sealed my soul against them and recovered quickly.6

‘Who are you?’ I demanded. She grinned then, the stark white of her strong, straight teeth flashing against the crimson of her lips. She mock-bowed to me, flourishing a hand and putting one leg in front of the other, presenting me with a shadowy view down her corset. But I was not aroused or amused. I sat sternly upon my throne and cupped my chin with one hand, and bored into her with my eyes. Although she had been staring up at me whilst bowing, my look had no discernable affect upon her. And, as she bowed lower, I caught sight of a pair of velvety-black wings protruding from her shoulder-blades, the feathers of which shimmered in the torchlight like gossamer. She twitched them for me, and a feather drifted loose and floated lackadaisically to the flagstones, upon contact with which it seemed to disintegrate, as though dissolving into another realm.7

My eyes had followed the flight of the feather, but now they focused upon her fathomless eyes again. She straightened, and her grin faded from her lips, although it somehow remained in the shadows of her eyes. Looking at me solemnly yet mirthfully, she addressed me thus: ‘I am Persephone; doomed to dwell in Hell alone; daughter of Zeus and wife of Hades by force, my fate has flowed a winding course, until, upon the birth of your princely soul, the creatures of the underworld gathered whole, and talked at length upon the subject of your light, that was so luminescent in our sight; for human beings are like mere patches of smog, or filthy streams which flow into a greater bog; so insignificant are they - but you were like a burning star which shines against the grey. And so, your allegiance we would gain, to tip the balance of the celestial game, and overthrow the tyrant Jove, who rules so absolutely from above. Thus, I come to present to you a boon, or, as the balance of your soul dictates; your doom.’ 8

While she had spoken, the voids of her eyes had begun to spin, and her voice had taken on a rhythmic, hypnotic quality which had drawn me towards her despite my barrier, so that I was leaning towards her in a pronounced way by the time she had finished. But when she stopped, the spell was broken, and I regained my senses. Chastising myself severely, I strengthened the force of my barrier, and set my mind resolutely not to wonder. I knew that she was unfathomably strong, but I was still confident that I was her match.9

Having finished her speech, she brought forward one of her hands which had until then been behind her back, and, balancing delicately upon her honey-coloured palm, there perched a big, glossy red apple. It was then that I noticed that her nails were black, and that on her middle finger was a silver ring. She stretched her hand and extended the apple so that it rested, poised in space, just below her magnetic eyes, and grinned, so that I was presented with a contrast of black, white and red. But I could see that the apple was not what it appeared to be. It was in fact a vortex, swirling in space. This goddess was offering me the Fruit of Sin.10

A fountain of mirth bubbled its way irrepressibly through my stomach, up my throat and out of my mouth, and I shook with the joy of it for a full five minutes, helpless and crying in front of her, while she stood, poised and silent, with the apple extended and unwavering in her hand. After a while, her eyes stopped staring into mine, and focused upon the apple in a glazed, unfocused kind of way, which I found vaguely unsettling, and which caused my fit of laugher to stutter and stall as abruptly as it had started. It struck me then that she was a fallen Angel; that she was lost, and that she had been kidnapped from the golden abode of the ‘gods’ above, and taken to a world of gloom and sulphur to be the bride of a god whom she had never loved. Suddenly, my heart was filled with compassion, and I arose from my throne, meaning to go to her and hold her tenderly, and refuse the temptation with gentle words.11

Slowly, I walked down the marble steps, my white robes cascading like a frothy waterfall behind me, my steps ponderous and somehow strangely significant, as though the very floor beneath me rippled and hummed. The air seemed charged, and each breath I took came clear and distinct to my own ears. Her eyes switched from the apple and regarded me with a touch of surprise, which she quickly concealed. The apple wavered momentarily, but then regained its perfect balance. I strode towards her gracefully, and, meaning to grasp the back of her neck tenderly, I extended my hands. My heart was filled with understanding and empathy, and I thought myself entirely invulnerable to the effects of the fruit. But, as I lifted my arms and extended my hands, I found that they were drawn inexorably towards the apple instead of the face behind it. Seemingly of their own accord, they clasped themselves gently around its smooth, red skin, and lifted it reverentially from Persephone’s hands. I was powerless; my mouth hung agape and sweat broke out all over my body, which shivered convulsively.12

My traitor hands brought the apple to my open mouth, the teeth of which became infected with their perfidy and bit down savagely into its tender flesh, tearing into the pulp and sucking in the juice. My mouth was flooded with a silvery ichor which tasted indescribably sweet and yet horribly bitter, like cinnamon mixed with tar, or wine mixed with acid. The bite seemed to last for eternity; the flesh of the apple became pulverised in my mouth by degrees, and the juice and pulp trickled slowly and irresistibly down my throat, taking all sanity and reason with it. With a vague sensation of horror, I felt my inner-glow recede and die. But, eventually, I ceased to care. I forgot that I had ever been a symbol of virtue and hope. I looked into the depthless eyes staring into mine, letting my eyes drop to her breasts, her hips, her thighs, and let desire consume me.13

Thrusting my arms savagely out, I embraced the real Fruit of Sin. The apple, now forgotten, slipped from my palms and hit the floor with a dull thud where it lay, innocent and reproachful, with its teeth-shaped wound staring up at us, as its juice flowed like blood onto the floor. It did not dissolve into the flagstones.14