But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die.
- Genesis 3.3, King James Bible
Observe the war of the world. Try to count the drops of blood spilt on the dark earth, dark enough to hide the stains. Observe the war of the world, they say. This is just history.
This is not war. War needs nations and causes, alliances and treaties. It is violence alone. Hunger and anger and not applying a single limit. Children are born into this world and die in it, brutally. They are told that family is sacred, family alone. Everything one else deserves to be ripped apart in the depths of hell's torture chambers. They watch their families die and kill other families because they are told vengeance is the life-blood of this world. Vengeance and hunger. And one day, those children will discover someone hungrier than they are and will die, their skull smashed in. It seems futile, but no one can say that. Fewer have time to even think it. But all of them know it. That in the end, the end will be blood on the ground and nothing more. So the people create a story, to pretend that this isn't in vain, that their war will one day achieve something, anything. So they say the vampiric tree grows out of the blood of millennia. A tree that will bear a fruit bulging with violence, fed on life, breathing power. The forbidden fruit. This is a pretty belief. A belief that corresponds to the people of the time, where the only desire could be to become the ultimate weapon, with enough power to protect your family for eternity.
The problem with myths is that they are both reality and imaginary at the same time. So the fruit was forbidden so no one would have to tear the fragile connection between the two planes of reality. It was forbidden fruit, and then someone ate it and the world changed forever. Observe the worlds and in every one, see that there always is the forbidden. The forbidden is the protector, the guard, the last defender of the imaginary. But in the worlds where the forbidden fruit is eaten, the world falls and paradise ends. Except this world. In this world, the eating of the forbidden fruit leads to a temporary salvation. In this world, the real and the imaginary were allowed to both exist.
Why did this happen? Why?
Perhaps in this world of chaos and violence, the gods took pity and decided that the people could not fall any further, and decided to save them. Despite their disobedience, because of their disobedience. That would be a nice story, wouldn't it? But this is not a nice story. It is the story.
So, in the story where a princess decides to eat the forbidden fruit to save the world, to rule the world, to change the world, the gods play. They watch Kaguya Otsutsuki condemn herself and laugh. They like that she is a woman, because in their other worlds, it is always the woman who brings around the fall of humankind. They do not like it when she brings peace to the world. Peace is not entertaining. So they step backwards and breathe jealousy and envy on the seeds of the fruit and slowly, stepping forwards, watch as she grows into a tyrant. They like to watch the lengths she goes to hold onto her power. They like to watch as her children turn against her, because the gods always have children that turn against them. They rig the game and Kaguya loses. Afterwards, the history classes speak of the Sage of the Six Paths, the creator of ninshu. They write of the heroes that saved the world from a monstrous tyrant. They don't write of children riding on the coat-tails of a woman. They don't sing of the woman named Kaguya – of the only human brave enough to defy the gods.
Where are the gods in this? Laughing, of course, at the fragments of the hollow skin of a woman who once wished peace for everyone. Swapping bets. Smiling. Watched closely, the smiles glint red, turn into anger at the disobedience of this world. Wrapped up in facts and heroes, no human historian remembers that this world is living on stolen goods. No one realises that even the destruction of Kaguya will not satisfy this debt in the lava-hot hearts of the old gods. So the story that follows could have been predicted long ago, in the tides of the oceans, in the swirls of the winds. It does not speak of salvation, it speaks of revenge. Whether destiny is real or not, the gods control it. And really, the imaginary should frighten this world, since that's all they're living off. Magic is only imaginary and yet it is life here, life and work. So why wouldn't the imaginary destiny ordained on them by the malicious gods be real?
Real and terrifying.