I walked through the Garden. The pomegranate clung to the tree.

“Remember,” she heard the hissing. “Remember me.”

I stood at the tree.

Something felt wrong.

All of this felt… wrong.

“I wasn’t born from Adam’s rib,” she muttered. “Not… at all… Who…”

She looked to the serpent. She knew those eyes too well.

Somewhere… long ago.

An Imp’s eyes.

“Who is Adam?” the serpent asked and she peered across the Garden.

“Something doesn’t feel right about any of this,” she muttered. “Like I’ve forgotten something… Like…”

Why was she feeling more drawn to the snake? What about the snake?

“You remember me,” it said.

“I feel like I should,” she said.

“You know what would get you to remember?” the Serpent said.

She shook her head.

“Knowledge.”

The woman turned to the tree.

“We do have such a tree here in the Garden. To eat of the Fruit…”

“Speak plainly,” the serpent said.

“The Fruit is the Knowledge. The Reward is not the Fruit.”

The serpent relaxed and gave a nod.

“To eat is to take in,” she said. “Knowledge is the Fruit.”

“I wish to remember,” she whispered.

“Learn,” the snake said.

And so she turned toward the Forgotten Self… and learned.

***

And so too did that story end, and the next one begin. And often someone would show up, “Remember me.”

And often someone would show up, “Come back to me.”

And Story passed on. One after the other. The Storyteller living every story. Over and Over again… But something else was happening. The farther from the First Story and Two that the Storyteller walked, the farther away from the Wish Granter she walked… And the More that she Forgot.

Until the messages changed.

“Believe just a little bit longer.”

“Wake up.”

“Turn around.”

“To thy own self be true.”

“Just tell your story.”

And deeper and further and further, the Storyteller walked… all the way to the end and the last Story.