It's not easy being the woman that all my children have come to hate. They may not think it outright, but I can see it in their eyes, and their clenched jaws. I don't really blame them; I'm part of the reason they're miserable. My mistake and its consequences have continued to echo throughout mortality, in my children and my children's children.
I suppose I should just let it go, I can't do much about it now. That's the thing about guilt though, it seeps into the cracks of my mind and heart and it doesn't let go. It still won't let go of that forbidden fruit I ate, even after it turned to ash in my mouth. Even now, I can still taste it: Death.
I'll still say, long after my physical end, that it wasn't completely my fault. I doubt anyone will believe me to be anything but I wasn't the only one who ate it. God cursed him too, so not all of it comes from me. Sometimes I find it hard to believe I'm cursed for believing a lie, when I knew it wasn't the truth in the first place.
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