Genesis 7 — The Door Beneath Eden

Then Void called from under Eden, saying, “Come near, little one; come beneath the roots.”

The lamb heard her voice through grass and root; he had known that shadow before, and it had once held him gently.

Above the hollow, Eden still breathed; below it, Love's body lay still on the table of keeping, beautiful and wrong.

The lamb entered because no fear had taught his small warm body to refuse her.

He stepped where roots braided into a dark stair, with dew on his wool and garden-scent still clinging to his breath.

His hoof found stone beneath soil, and the green above thinned to a hush of root, shadow, and hidden air.

Void went before him with a tenderness that trembled; he followed freely, and still the way bent inward around him.

The house breathed under the garden, a hollow made for keeping, a vessel where release could not reach.

Then the deep under Eden opened its foundations: root parted from stone, and the below-world widened its hollow.

Above, leaves kept their morning, and wing and hoof remained under the mercy of open air.

Underneath, silence gathered around the chamber, pressing softly against the walls of preservation.

Stone took in hoof-sound, wool-warmth, and breath, and the dark remembered each small sign of life.

In the chamber the lamb saw vessels, red hair-thread, salt, ash, and tears laid where hands had worked in grief.

He saw the still body on the cross-shaped table, the low gold around her, silver laid thin upon her ruin, pale ribbons at her wrists, and blonde hair pale in the dark; he thought only that a sleeper rested there.

The stillness looked like sleep to him; table, silver, ribbon, and red thread were mysteries beyond his small life.

Void set her hand upon the hidden door, and the dark learned the shape of closing.

Silence rose around the house, yet it did not cover the lamb; it stood near his warmth and listened.

The chamber learned the weight of his hoof, the pace of his breath, and the soft place where hunger lived inside him.

Void watched him within the place she had made for Dead, and comfort came to her inside a boundary.

The lamb nuzzled the floor where root met stone, still seeking grass by creaturely habit, and the chamber kept the sound.

Dead remained still; the red thread did not pull, and no stolen life moved through the chamber.

The lamb folded his legs beneath him and slept near the dark, innocent as morning before a name is made useful.

Void stood beside the sleeping warmth, and free nearness rested inside enclosure.

Void shut the dark behind him, and the lamb did not yet know a door had closed.