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Eros and Psyché(1817) by Jacques Louis David

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Hearing her refer to her as his wife made her sick down to her very soul. She was wife to a monster who had the voice as sweet as the honey wine poured into her goblet. Was the wine there to make her more pliable to the paws of a monster husband? "Those words are exactly what a beast would say before he devours his meal with a cruel smile and rotting fangs." She stepped further away from the bed, her gown sweeping behind her.

"I shed too many tears that it would overflow the rivers and still you will not release me. I fear you, I cannot love a monster who is devoted to tearing me apart." Her eyes turn to the very swords she watched soldiers wield and wished now she'd hidden a dagger in her gown. "What is the beast name? Please, a name to shout when I draw my last breath."

The Story of Psyche and Eros II

        He placed his hand over his eyes and rubbed his pink lids, but even then could not keep his fingers there to block her image when his love cast eyes demanded her, to watch her standing by the window where the moon illuminated the flowers in her dark, waving hair and on her thin shroud. Even in the darkest of wedding gowns, fit for a widowed bride, she did rival the Goddess of Beauty herself.

Her voice itself hit Eros like an arrow, swift as a stream yet painful with what it carried.

"You have this monster mistaken with a hound of Tartarus, wife." He replied, and though his words were cutting they ended gently on that last word. Wife. As if it was deserving of affection itself. Oh, how he wanted her! What a curse Eros had brought unto himself.

"Come to the bed, sweet maiden, and I promise not to harm you. For what kind of beast eats his bride on their wedding night?"

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How could she celebrate when her entire world would end when the monster gobbled her up? The food and wine became dust in her mouth. Even the gown she wore for tonight was adorned with flowers, all the more to entire her monster of a husband to consume her. She did not mean to insult Aphrodite with her own beauty, but to marry a monster was more than her heart could bear. She trembled as hearing his voice only made her anticipate what he would do to her. Would he tear her inch by inch? Would he make his appetite quick to quench?

"Your...," she stopped, her voice breaking as she struggled to find peace in the smallest part of her. "House pleases me, but it is the thought of dying that makes me weep." She dared not wipe at her eyes, her fingers clenched into fists so tight they turned white. She would fight if she must against this monster and die knowing she fought for her release.

"Please, I beg your forgiveness and wish for a life where it does not end inside your belly."

      When the night fell, Eros came to the lush garden surrounding his home and inside the fire and candles blazed with a determination that sank into his bones. Yet when his feather light feet pressed upon the archway of his chambers, the flames choked and died out to swaying whirls of smoke.

What a crime this God had committed on this day. A crime against the very Goddess who took him in as if like her own child. To steal away from Aphrodite the satisfaction of a rival’s marriage to a monster. Surely, Eros had not been the beast she expected. Surely he would be punished if she knew.

Eros was an opportunistic rebel at his heart. Chaotic, uncontrollable. That was why he ruled his domain and few else dabbled. Why Gods and mortals alike inhaled sharply at his mention.

But Zephyrus had smiled when Eros appeared, and upon his plea, spirited the girl dressed in her funeral gown off of that plain and unto the rose tangled steps of his golden palace. He had hoped she would awake with joy at its wonders, the looming thought of her marriage bed no longer frightening as she was lavished with food and wine and every finery or want she had ever hoped for. Eros had hoped that when he arrived, the beauty known as Psyche would trust in her husband’s kindness on their wedding night.

But whatever spell the God had thought he could cast—upon her or himself, he wasn’t sure—was broken the instant he found her.

For the shuddering of her breath in the darkness alarmed him, and for a brief second Eros thought better of blowing out the lights like he had. Her plea swelled in his heart and left bitterness in his mouth. He wanted to rid of it immediately.

And so he descended away from where she stood by the moonlight, as if frightened of the tears on her pallid cheeks. As if he could not think of how to be indifferent to the redness of her eyes.

Instead he laid upon their marriage bed and tried not to languish in misery for not understanding how He of all beings had not already wooed her.

"Yes, I am the beast,  your husband." He said finally, and felt his wings curl away as if insulted. "Does my home not please you? Does it whisper in the afternoon that I will tear you apart?” 

What an error he had made.

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                                —- is what they called him,      From the curl of his hair to the dimple of his chin.             Born of Chaos is this Primordial being,                the Lover enflaming hearts.      His Passion and Virility strikes in every God and Mortal alike;      Love and Indifference themselves are wound around his golden arrows,          And it is blindly that he chooses to shoot them.

                                          I.  | II. | III. | IV.

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wickederos

"Is that you? Are you my monster husband here to tear me to pieces?," she cried, the tears of the last few hours began to slip down her cheeks. "Please, I beg of you, do not harm me. I beg the forgiveness of Aphrodite. Please." She tried to listen to where his hooves, his tail, or any part of his monstrous form moved, the darkness suffocating her.

"Please."

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Cupid and Psyche in the nuptial bower. 1792-93. Hugh Douglas Hamilton. Irish 1740-1808. oil/canvas.

http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

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Baby, I think you might want to get out…  Fuck that shit! Let’s kill this bastard.

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iseo58: Pakistani Model Nadia Ali

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