Title: Samael
Character(s): Samael(Lucifer)/Lilith/Adam
Pantheon(s): Christian/Jewish
Rating: PG
Summary: The first temptation, from the POV of the tempter.
Warning(s): Samael is a creepy stalker.



He stood under a vast apple tree, its branches were large and full of fruit. The smell from it was tempting and delicious, just as he knew it would be, when he had first seen it (just as everything the One had created Above and in the Garden was). Like nothing that was Below.

These humans, these two, they had an entire garden to themselves. Not a small one either, like someone would create when they wanted to grow some herbs. No, it was vast. They could have walked for days, weeks even, and not reach the edge (even if they started in its center). They had been given everything, they were the favored creation, and they didn't even realize it. And yet, he (once counted as the greatest amongst the Host) had been cast out of his home, never to be allowed there again. And for what reason? Because he had hared to question the Throne.

And why shouldn't he question? His kind had been created first, and they were full of thought and beauty. Even when they went into their corporeal forms, they were still beautiful. In their thought forms, they would've blinded anyone who wasn't from his plane of existence. But now, only a fraction of his beauty remained, but he still looked enough like someone from Above to fool the eyes of those two.

Their eyes were so weak that they could barely see, only certain waves could even be picked up by them. And their minds were so small that they could only comprehend a fraction of the things that happened around them, and could wrap their minds around the barest amount of the Truth (if that). Their bodies were weak (fragile even), and they could be hurt so very easily. Frankly, he was amazed that they had lasted this long.

His kind was far superior to them, even those who were in his current state (those who had survived the Fall). If they had had experienced anything like what he had, they would never have survived. But he had, as had so many others ... but not all. Some had been broken apart, while others had burned out completely in their burning decent and doomed impact. What had actually happened to those ones, after their burn-out, no one knew. But he had other things to ponder, besides what had happened to those who had disappeared.

Things like, why these weakling creatures were the most favored. Favored above any animal, any star, any angel. But more importantly, above himself. That he could never wrap his head around. He had been the highest of the Host; the one who had the most authority, the most ability. And yet, he was nothing more than a servant to these creatures. How? How was that fair? Especially when he had the ability to destroy them from their fragility, with weapons, with might, or with Knowledge.

How could he be favored less than them? These creatures, who could only look at a masked face of their Creator? Who could only handle a watered down version of the Truth? How could they have taken his favor away from him? He could not understand it in any way. It was like favoring the Pit, after you have experienced the paradise of Above. He may be free in the Pit, but that didn’t mean that he liked it; it was still torture.

And how he would love to torture them; love for them to experience even a fraction of the pain that he felt every day. It wouldn’t ease his own suffering, that much he knew, but their cries would be delicious. And eh would get the smallest amount of joy in the knowledge that they were hurting, too. So, maybe he would get the smallest amount of relief from it.

But what to do? What brand of pain would be the most enjoyable to watch? There were so many to choose from that it was hard to decide what he wanted to do first. Oh, yes, there would be many tortures, and no, they would not end quickly. They would last, last for as long as he was able to make them. And he would enjoy every moment of them, like a child with a bag of sweets so large he was sure to go into a diabetic coma.

Of the two, the female interested him far more than the male did. At least she seemed to look around herself, while the make didn't seem to notice anything that was happening (no matter how near it was). Maybe he would be able to get the male later, if he could get him to look up long enough to notice anything. If he could get the male at the same time, that would be an added bonus, but he wasn't counting on it.

So, instead, he watched the female, looking for an opportunity. He didn't know when, or where, that opportunity might present itself, so he followed her wherever she went, looking for any clue he might get to what the perfect moment would be.

He watched her now, from where he stood under the apple tree, as she washed her long, auburn hair. He didn't understand why she bothered, as it never seemed to get dirty or tangled. But it seemed to sooth her when she did it, so perhaps that was the purpose. And once he realized that, he began thinking back to all of the other times he had seen her washing her hair.

Quite a few of those times, she had just had a quarrel with the male. Silly things, they were, for the most part: what to name an animal or a fruit. Completely pointless in the grand scheme of things, but they had both believed that words had power, and to name a thing is to have power over it. He supposed that they were partially right, but there was only power when you gave it to someone or something. And he had every intention of taking power from her, whether she was aware she was giving it to him, or not.

So, he followed her even more than he had before. There was not a moment when she was ever truly by herself; he was always with her. Watching. Waiting. Weeks passed, and he didn’t feel like there was anything that he had observed that was worth using. He started to become frustrated that he hadn't found just the right moment yet. He knew it was there, would be there, and he had to be ready for it. Once it happened, he couldn't afford to waste time. The window in which he had to exploit the opportunity she gave him would be a small one, and he would have to move quickly to make sure that he made the most of the moment.

Then, it happened. It wasn't anything that he would have expected to be able to use, but once it saw it, he knew it would be perfect. They were arguing again. Arguing over who was going to be on top, while they made love. He was insisting that he should be, because he was stronger, and as such, should be dominant. She thought it shouldn't matter.

And as the scene played out, a sly smile crept over his lips. This was going to be easier than he thought it would be. Easier, by far. So, when they were through (she having thrown him off of her, and leaving in a huff; he sitting on the ground with a stupid expression on his face), he followed after her. She went to the stream to wash her hair, just as he knew that she would.

After it was washed, and she had finished coming it (how he loved to watch that part), he took on his corporeal form, and walked toward her. It didn't take her long before she looked up, and she was startled enough to jump slightly. But he smiled at her, trying to make her feel at ease, as though there was no threat from him. In the back of his mind was a constant nagging thought that he shouldn’t lay it on too thick; he didn’t want her thinking he was made of snake oil.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Samael. What's your name?"

"Lilith," she replied, easily, and without any reservation, as though it hadn't entered her mind that he could be from anywhere but from Above.

Oh, this was going to be far easier than he thought.