Psyche was ready. She was in bed, and rarely talked that night with her husband, who innocently assumed she was tired from entertaining guests. When he had rolled over and fallen asleep, she slipped out of the cool bedsheets.
She was prepared for this. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she lit the candly next to the bed, squeezing her eyes shut.
I have to do this.
One, two three…
She opened her eyes, the candle in one hand, a stone knife in the other…
There in the bed lay a figure so beautiful she almost dropped the knife. The chiseled features made her want to cry. Sinking to the floor, she turned the knife to her chest in shame, but it clattered to the stone floor. She would have stayed there forever, staring at Love, who she now knew truly was Eros, the god of Love, when wax from the candle dripped to his shoulder. Automatically, he jumped up from the bed, wings sprouting from his broad shoulders. With a backwards glance, he looked at her. “You betrayed me,” he said softly. Then he was gone.