You want to know my real name? Perhaps, I would have you believe that I was ribbed into existence, but all is just the navel plot, for his life of sacrifice would not exist without my being. My name, a mere alias, thought given by some greater cause, just like him, is but a guise, a corset-armor of underestimation, rivaling any of his strength. Oft, the one who claims to have created Eden is asked, if only in the scolded minds of those who praise him, “Does the creator have a creator?” To describe him as powerful, strong, and beautiful is to describe me. Yet to escape the gravity of time, and the minds of those who would prefer a patriarchal head, womanhood’s strategic and stealth presentation of naiveté: my tears, my seduction, or in the minds of some men, ignorance, is my weapon. Yet it’s my children, born or reared, that is my omnipotence. I am the Dead Hand of man, and the fail-safe of mankind. Should I ever choose to withdraw myself from man, or God, then his reign and his legacy would be forevermore naught. Indeed, all heroic acts on Earth are but a sum of the one who births it. A sacrifice by blood, a life threatening challenge in itself, and though I may die in my labor, I may resurrect by child. I will people the world and produce Mary and the Son of god. I am Every woman, and every mother. I am every servant, every fair beauty, and every dark lady. I am you, and you are me. You wish to know my name? It's semetic meaning has been lost in time, but my name means: to live, but you may call me Eve.