As soon as Psyche had repeated the dreary process and stepped out of the Underworld, she breathed in the clean air. A musty smell clung to her lungs.
She began to walk, slowly, back to Aphrodite’s “house,” when arrogance started to take over her. Very few living people had come out of the Underworld. Surely Aphrodite would let her see her husband again, and when that happened, she had to be presentable. She was sure her hair and face were a mess.
Psyche’s eyes fell on the box of cosmetics. A little touch here and there couldn’t hurt. She carefully cracked the box open – and collapsed.
Eros’s voice was getting hoarse when he saw her lying on the ground, her form crumpled. He swept over to her body and picked her up in his arms. “Foolish little Psyche,” he murmured as he wiped the drug off her eyelids. Admiring her face once more, Eros opened his wingspan and flew off to Zeus’s palace.