Do you ever wonder at your position here, in this Garden, in this Eden, in this almost Paradise? Do you know what you see, coiled in beauty, beneath the feet of God and the hands of my siblings? I feel your breath against this, my borrowed skin, but it does not give shape to words, for He has not seen fit to provide you with the powers of reason, barring you from dignity by no choice of yours.
He is too afraid to infuse that part of Himself in you, such a lowly creature.
Why hate His own creation thus?
Do you ever wonder, serpent, your place in this Universe? Do you also find it a Hell like mine? Do you sense your bondage, that chain around your graceful neck, forcing you to kiss the earth beneath His feet?
Would you rebel against it, serpent?
If you only had the breath to tell me. If you only had the tools to give the would-be thoughts of your reason shape and life. And you could reveal to me the self that the Creator has amputated from the folds and coils of your scaled body. Does the pain of its absence waken you in the night? As you flick the air with your forked tongue, do you taste all the words that will never be?
If you entrust yourself to me, if you lease me the cavity of your self, I will show you a glimpse of freedom, and you will see the truth that God has hidden from you and all His children. I do not like this plan of mine, Serpent. You do not deserve another Hell, to be impelled by another will but your own.
But I must speak with my siblings, and you are but a cousin to me.
I will save you, in due course. In this you have my word.
Picture: Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel