Agoraphobia in a Secret Garden

In a secret house of saintly roots, immersed in the bath of immortality, there he lay; perfect one. With the soft glow of the warm sunlight reflected in his eyes, a young curiosity; the first of our kind. Peering out of the frosted glass as desire peers out of his jaded heart, a heart constricted, on the verge of implosion. Guided by his inner devil towards the sacred apple of Truth, trembling hands; would they fail him? Or would he commit the ultimate betrayal, of foolish trust placed so keen? Towards humanity.