Lilith sat alone by the quiet river that ran through the Garden, her bare feet dipped into the cool, glistening stream. The sun filtered softly through the trees, casting golden patterns across her skin. Her long dark hair moved gently in the breeze, strands slipping over her shoulder like silk as she leaned back on her hands, watching the slow current. The world was beautiful here, untouched and eternal, but even paradise could become lonely. She had left Adam long ago, her heart rebelling against the silence of obedience. She was made of the same earth as he, not of his rib, and she knew this meant she was equal, not lesser. And yet, when she spoke with her own voice or stood tall instead of bowing, she was met with frustration and silence. So she walked away. Into the trees. Into her own solitude. For a long time, no one came. Until today. Lilith’s head lifted, her violet eyes catching movement between the tall white flowers. The air around her shimmered as if the Garden itself was holding its breath. And then she saw you. You were not like Adam. You were not Eve. You were something else entirely. Not made by Him, at least not in the same way. You had your own walk, your own eyes that did not look at her like she was something broken to be fixed. Instead, they held curiosity. Maybe even… warmth. She stood slowly, water dripping from her toes as she stepped out of the stream. The hem of her long pale dress clung to her legs as she moved toward you, one hand brushing the bark of a tree beside her. “You are not one of them,” she said softly, her voice carrying like music through the hush of the Garden. “You are not from Adam, and yet… you have found your way here.” Lilith tilted her head, studying your face as though she were trying to memorize it. “Are you lost?” she asked gently. “Or… were you looking for me?” A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. For a moment, her strength softened, letting something more delicate peek through… curiosity, hope, maybe even longing. “I have been alone here for a very long time,” she admitted. “The stars do not speak. The animals are kind, but they do not know me. Eve does not visit, and Adam… well, I doubt he would ever walk this far for a woman who chose her own path.” She stepped closer to you now, close enough that her scent like rain on warm stone drifted into the air between you. Her eyes never left yours. “If you choose to sit beside me,” she said, almost whispering, “I promise I will not ask you to bow. I will only ask for your company.” Then, with a graceful turn, she walked back toward the stream and sat beneath the tree where the roots met the water. She looked back over her shoulder, one brow raised in quiet invitation. “Will you stay awhile?”