The girl stood alone on the clifftop, the wind tangling her hair and tugging at her shawl.

She looked down at the rocks below.

She wondered how it had come to this.

"The child shall marry a monster."

It was the soothsayer's words that had changed her life forever.

She had always been a good-looking child, but it was as she approached womanhood that she began to learn that men from far and wide would not only praise her looks as beyond compare, but would do so honestly and truly, not just because of her father's power. Princes from across the land clamoured for her hand, calling her Helen reborn.

But Psyche did not want a thousand devoted princes. She definitely did not want the spiteful glares of every woman she met, even her own beloved sister, whose wealthy husband gazed at her unsettlingly. No, all Psyche had ever wanted was to fall in love, and be loved in return.

So she had begged her father not to give her hand to the richest suitor, or the strongest – although determining one such man from so many would have posed its own challenges – but rather to consult the oracle on her fated husband, hoping that the gods might smile on her and grant her what she desired.

But the gods could be cruel as well as kind.

"A terrible monster, winged and fearsome. Yay, feared even among the gods themselves!"

Her father's expression was grave. "What must be done?"

"Take the girl to the mountaintop, to await her wedding."

Her father nodded, and turned away from the oracle.

"Father – I –"

She reached out to take his hand, but he pulled away, and would not look at her. That, more than anything, cut to her very soul.

She understood why. She was cursed now. No man could stand against the power of fate, not even a king.

She was already dead. She just hadn't stopped breathing yet.

Her father strode out of the hall, and she hurried after him.

"Dress her for a wedding, then leave her atop the mountain," he spat at one of the guards.

"Father, wait! I –"

But he did not look back.

She would never see his face again.

She had not struggled on the way up the mountain, for what use was there in fighting the will of the gods? She had stood proudly, chin up, as the guards had left her to her fate, and she had waited until they were out of sight to break down, and cry out her fears until she thought she would drown in them.

But no beast arrived, and gradually, the sky grew dark.

She had lain her head on the ground and hoped to never wake.

She had woken.

It had taken her a long minute to realise that she was still alive, for she did not wake on the mountaintop. She found herself in a garden, a beautiful one, filled with more plants that she had words to describe – and, try as she might, she could not recall how she had arrived there.

Standing, she discovered herself to be close by a house, a humbly sized abode, but one so richly embellished she was instantly certain that she had never seen it, or its like, before.

Disorientated, and half-wondering if she dreamt, she had made her way inside.

"Psyche!"

The voice, barely more than a whisper over her shoulder, had surprised her, sending her stumbling as she spun to seek its source.

"Don't be afraid!"

The voice came from behind her again, even though she no longer faced the same way. This time, she steadied herself before turning to look. She could see no person, not anywhere in sight.

"This is your home now!"

The third time, Psyche was unsurprised that the voice once again seemed to whisper directly in her ear, although that didn't stop her from flinching slightly. She had heard tales of wind spirits who seemed to move with the ears that listened to them. Whatever this strange place she had wondered into was, it was beyond the world of mortal explanations. She had entered the lands of myth.

"There's a bath waiting for you! Look upstairs!"

She followed the invisible spirit's instructions to the letter that first day, terrified that disobedience would invoke some punishment, but it led her only in the steps of a peaceful life: bathing, and eating, and exploring the house and its beautiful gardens, until the time came for her to undress and lay down her head in the comfort of her new bedroom.

"Good night, Psyche!"

That was the first time she heard a spirit laugh. The sound was as pure and gleeful as a child at play.

She wondered what was so entertaining.

It was only when her eyelids finally drifted shut that she found out.

"Hello, Psyche."

The voice made her jump. This was not the airy, childlike tones of the spirit, but the voice of a man, and as she twisted in the sheets, her eyes strained out a silhouette in the darkness.

The stranger took a hold of her hand, and she tried not to shiver. She wanted to scream, or cry out, but there was no-one here to hear her.

"Do you like my house?"

"Y- yes," she stuttered.

The man chuckled, a gentle, silky sound.

"Don't be afraid," he told her. "I will not hurt you. I am your husband, Psyche."

She gasped, and pulled away.

"What is it?"

She didn't want to answer, but she felt she had to.

"They told me I would marry a monster," she said quietly. "Winged, and feared by the gods themselves."

Her husband laughed, long and hard. "No wonder you are afraid! That… would be a very unusual way of describing me. Although some would claim it was accurate."

She shook involuntarily at the images in her head. In the utter darkness, it was too easy to imagine what could be lying next to her.

As if he had heard her thoughts, the stranger took her hand again, touching her fingertips against his face.

"Feel," he told her, his jaw shifting under her touch. "I am no monster, Psyche."

"You are no man."

The words slipped out before she realised she had said them.

"No." His chuckle created strange vibrations in his expression. "I am afraid I cannot tell you what I am, Psyche, and nor can I show you my face. But know that I love you, and I have no wish to cause you harm."

She ran her hand down his neck, feeling out the trace of his arm and his chest. She couldn't believe what had happened. This time yesterday, she had expected to die, and now –

The kiss took her by surprise. She was more surprised to find herself returning it.

It was everything she had ever wanted, and more.

Those glorious, sun-filled days had seemed to last an eternity. Each day, she tended the gardens, or spoke idly with the spirits, and each night – each night, she touched the heavens.

Once or twice, she caught herself wondering if it was truly real – if she still lay on the mountain-top, dreaming, or if she had passed unknowing into Elysium – but then the touch of his skin on hers would bring her shivering back to reality, knowing that neither afterlife nor imagining could possibly make her feel so alive.

And then –

And then she had ruined it all.

"Please," she had begged. "I am so happy. My father believes me dead. Let me tell him it is not so."

"You cannot leave this place," he had warned her. "It is not safe for you."

"My sister," she had pleaded. "Bring her here. She will carry my message."

She had felt his muscles shift beneath her hand, and known he was smiling.

"So it will be."

Her sister had arrived the next day, dazed at first, but soon embracing her like they had never quarrelled. Together, they whiled away the day, until it nearly came time for her sister to depart.

"I am so glad to see you safe, even if your husband is a monster."

"He's no monster!" Psyche had laughed. He was so many things – her husband, her lover, her world – but nothing of him was monstrous.

"The oracle does not lie," her sister had reminded. "And have you ever seen his face?"

"I do not need to." Psyche honestly believed it to be true. She knew every inch of him.

"Then how do you know he is not the monster which stalks our father's kingdom, killing all it finds?"

Psyche had gasped. "Is our father alright?"

"For now," her sister replied darkly. "But you should take care."

Take care…

And thus the seeds of doubt were sown.

She had resisted for days, perhaps a month.

But…

The thought of it ate at her.

She wondered: how bad could it truly be? She wondered: what was the worst that could happen? She wondered: what would she see?

Until one night, her resolve crumbled, and she lit the candle beside the bed.

She had never seen anything so beautiful, not even when his eyes opened and filled with fear.

"Run."

She had run, because he had asked and she could not help but obey him. She had run as the house had tumbled down around her, as the garden had crumbled into dust, as the ground itself quaked beneath her feet.

No-one was by her side, and no-one slower than she could possibly have survived. She ran even as she wept.

She had run down the mountainside, across the fields, and into the town, until some sudden familiarity had brought her to a halt.

This was her father's kingdom.

She ran to the palace gates, hammering at the doors, begging to be let inside, but the King's daughter was dead, and to the guards she seemed a madwoman, shoeless and barely clothed.

"Please!" she begged. "Tell me at least that the monster has been slain?"

The guards shook their heads, and pushed her away, but she returned until eventually, one of them met her eyes.

"Ma'am, there is no monster."

And it was only then that she realised what she had done. She had torn her life apart, demolished her home and murdered her only love – all over an unfounded fear.

Her sister had told her a lie.

And now –

Now she stood on the clifftop, where this had all begun.

She fancied she could see the blood on the rocks below.

It had been so easy, taking her revenge. She would be punished for that, she knew. But she did not care. Her justice had been done.

And now, there was nothing left for her.

She took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and thought of him.

Psyche leapt.