The night was young, and the winged god felt confident enough in his abilities to dawdle a little with this intriguing little princess. Psyche remained under the clutches of sleep, unaware of her nighttime visitor. What slowed him, though, was not pity for her predicament, but rather, something a exuberant suitor had shouted earlier that day.

The man had proclaimed that thoughhe was a battle-hardened soldier, the fair princess had seen beyond that whilst tending his wounds in a charitable act of selflessness for the men who risked their lives for the country.

She had transformed the brutish man into a... 'Poet of Love.' His words, not Cupid's.

'Mars would cry.' Cupid thought with wicked amusement. The war-god's eyes would water in shame, at least, and then he's spend the next human months making mad, passionate...erm, love to the love-god's mother, trying to burn the thought that a man may sink so low out of his mind. That was not an image Cupid preferred to dwell upon.

Cupid, god of love, was not known for his acts of kindness. He was the male, devious side of love that allowed his mother to be the benevolent love-goddess revered by all. The winged males arrows marked many a hopeless, unrequited lover- he took great amusement in making man fall for man, woman for woman, only to touch his silver arrowhead to the heart of the man or woman receiving such affections. Thus dooming the relationship to be forever..unrequited.

"We'll just have to blame our mothers." He sighed, pulling a silver vial from his belt. It was the queen's doing that Psyche had gained such a name as "The New Venus", gathering more suitor's attentions to herself than to the goddess, thus causing the temples to finally be abandoned. His mother had not been pleased with such events, and ordered her son to cause everyone to hate Psyche, and make the little usurper fall in love with the most grotesque man he might find.

Sprinkling the liquid upon her hair and clothing, Cupid thought back to what the soldier had spoken- what would Psyche see in him, the crueler side of love?

"I suppose there's no point in thinking such..." Cupid mumbled, yet as he looked upon her, wreathed in silver hatred, his allegedly non-existent heart twisted...

Standing, he watched Psyche carefully. If she were to waken... "Bloody pangs..." he growled, rubbing his open chest. 'It would be so easy to arrange, and then you could ask-' an inane inner voice whispered to him mischievously. Finally falling on his whim, Cupid spun back to the sleeping beauty, blue eyes glinting in the dawn's light.

Taking out a gold vial, he sprinkled it upon her, over the dried silver- when she awoke, the people of their city will still love Psyche dearly, but none shall desire to take her hand in matrimony...

"I guess I'll ask you when the time comes," Cupid murmured, spreading his wings and taking flight.

~*~*~*~