That night, Psyche was led almost reluctantly by the invisible servants’ soothing voices to her bedchamber. She had no idea what to expect.
Shivering despite her woolen shift, she slipped into bed and watched as the candle was blown out by a transparent breath on invisible lips. Shrinking deeper beneath the sheets, she mumbled “thank you” to the servants.
Psyche waited. She waited for maybe an hour. The sun was completely down when she had finally convinced herself it was all a hoax. Maybe there was no ferocious beat. The servants were optical illusions.
Suddenly, the entire bed was warmed, as if it had been set on fire. Psyche sensed a presence besides herself. “Who are you?” she said timidly, images of dragons racing around in her head.
“I am Love,” the voice said. “Most feared by mankind, a ferocious beast to those who turn their heads on me.”
Psyche knew she would sleep well.