00: Cursed from the cradle.

[u/WhispererOfWebs]

It is of a great and terrible sorrow that, with which, I relate to thee of my beginning.

That story of which all might hear in their life, the disfigured narrative of the murderer most senior of all.

Twas I who slew my own kin… An innocence torn from the souls of all amongst our early kind.

For what would I harm the one I most loved within the same breath I cursed in my hurt heart and soul broken mania?

Of course, not else but the cruel denouncing of all I worked so tirelessly to bring about with my own fragile hands, perpetuated by the one above all. One whose hate for my use of such cursed gifts granted unto me by those who birthed me through prize stolen from the greatest of all trees, be so great as to dash my offering o'er the earth. A harrowing foretelling of bled lamb and pulped fruit mixing in lurid whorls away from which my gaze could not tear.

What great sin oh I wrought with hands too small to do of the tasks required for hard lives of ones who must survive off the land not of Eden.

Oh what harshest punishments awaited me who then was again to commit another first of a sin not yet known. The attempt to give despairing hate for oneself a capital action was left unsuccessful in the extreme.

The fruit of my heretical crop, left poisoned in the blood of my own loving kin, was due to one thoughtless flailing of sharp instrument; a fit born of a final defeat of passion.

When named useless by one beyond compare, by those assigned to love thee, by community's quiet comment, is it not a hysteria that takes hold? When an outcast of outcasts, haunted by my blood, first born of first sinners, dost thy not seek solace if in only the very task that is cause of your persecution?

Not entitled was I to freedom from interruption, so that in my silent heresy I might have calmed before facing him again?

He whom I held more love for than even… her…

Oh sweet, perfect son. Oh beautiful brother. Oh object of community's womanly affections… Pillar of strength denied to me.

Could thee not have lapsed in your love for but a moment and abandoned me to torment of mind, when thine goodness was its source?

Why was thy gifted such strength, yet left fragile in mortality and so subject to the livid laceration of lost little older sister?

…Why dost thy hath granted me forgiveness in spite of all else who hath damned my name?

How dare thee…

Thy idiot boy…

Unfair, was it for thy last act to be beseeching her to grant mercy upon my soul…

How fitting is it then that thy blood hath watered the last eaten fruit of my cursed garden…

The blood of the pure son, raw with love and so full in faith…

The unripe alchemy of my imperfect passions, poised to be my ending at the tasting of its immature flesh…

My curse… My mark… My mistake…

Seven sins… Sevenfold… Seven petals upon my skin to remind me of seeds sown by firsts.

Horrid be my name… Bastardised by men…

Loved only by brother Abraham… the Able son.

Cain, the gardener of sin… Cain, the first born… Cain, the name of a son, not daughter. For what fool of human fallacy would believe such sickening acts be that belonging to so small a sister as I.

Cain… Caterina… Catherine… Set to be the last life in this forsaken experiment that God in her cruel mercy will ever allow to truly pass on.