We sang at the dawn of creation, repeating the tunes we had heard in our dreams. No one doubted, then. Creation was an immediate doing, a necessity, like crying when you’re born. The seventh day is what undid us. The work was done, and that was when we questioned.
That wasn’t the sin, I suppose. There are those who question in love, or humor, those who question angrily but honestly. No, we all questioned, I think; even those who never said anything out loud. It was the day for questions, but some of us questioned differently, slyly, with strange intent.
Tale Told 