Note: This was written for the helpthesouth auction. The winner bidder asked for some Psyche/Eros, so I hope this to their liking.

When Psyche was small, she remembered sitting among her sisters before they grew "mature" for her. Her elder sisters seemed so wise, always hinting at knowing things that good little princesses should not. Gossip and rumors were their favored subjects, but sometimes their discussions were as simple as wishes. Her oldest sister wished for a handsome king for a husband, a household filled with children, and life of luxurious ease. Her second sister longed for a wise adventurer to lead her away from her dull existence as a pampered but neglected middle child.

But they laughed when Psyche admitted that she would settle with a plain man if he would treat her kindly. "So easily pleased," they teased, patting her head.

Now her sisters are silent and ashen as they ride beside her in the procession; she longs to hear their voices cajole and chide her, anything to break the terrible quiet. Before them, their father rides, holding the dainty reigns of her horse. Far behind, their mother wails in her litter, too overcome with grief to even look at her daughter. Psyche truly feels like a sacrifice, a sentiment that only doubles when they weave flowers into her hair as guard clap the shackles on her wrists.

They hurry away from her, refusing to meet her eyes. Their father is little better; Psyche feels his tears fall upon the crown of her head as he brushes his lips to her brow. And then they are gone, and Psyche has been left to die.

One would think that waiting to die would be a nerve racking experience, but somehow Hypnos grants her sleep after hours of exhausting panic, sitting on that cliff. She has strange dreams of flying and then falling, awaking with a start. Her wrists chafe and her head aches, but when she sits up, she finds herself in a courtyard with cliffs climbing high outside the courtyard's wall.

There is a mansion on the other side of the courtyard, only slightly too small to be called a palace. No one is around, so Psyche hesitantly heads toward the entrance of the sprawling home. She must find someone, ask where she is, and somehow convince them to return her to the cliff. She is a sacrifice and the Fates only know what would happen to her family's kingdom should that sacrifice fail.

Still, there is no one. She wanders through the long halls for what feels like hours, calling out to anyone. Night begins to fall and her wrists are nearly raw as she wrings her hands in her panic. The sacrifice is long overdue.

Or maybe I am already dead, she wonders as she takes a seat on the first bench she finds. "Maybe I am dead and lost somewhere in the realm of Hades," she muses, examining her wrists.

Suddenly, a chuckle tears through the silence of the hall. She jumps to her feet in terror, searching for the source. "Hello? Who is there?"

"You are not dead, my princess," the voice informs her, ignoring her questions and startling her again. "You are in my home."

Psyche can do no more but frown. "And where, might I ask, is that? And where are you, sir? Will you not come out to meet me?"

"But I am already here," coos the voice straight into her ear. She nearly trips over the bench trying to scramble backward, prompting another laugh. "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

Fear shortens her patience. "But you do mean to taunt me."

"Only at little. Ah, but look at your poor wrists!" A pair of invisible hands catch her wrists, and try as she might, she cannot pull them free. "Hush, dear Psyche, I only mean to soothe your pain."

Psyche blinks in shock as the shackles that bind her fall open and to the floor. "How… How do you know who I am? And did you open those? And what are you doing to my wrists?"

The angry marks on her wrists fade and the voice chuckles again. "So many questions! Well, no matter—we have plenty of time to answer them."

"I am afraid, sir, we do not."

"How so?"

"I was to be a sacrifice, sir," she answers sternly, at last drawing her now healed hands away. "I must be returned or there will be a great tragedy."

"A sacrifice?" the voice repeats, clearly intrigued. "What were you being sacrificed to?"

"I am to be a bride to a terrible monster, one that even the gods fear." She shudders to remember the oracle's proclamation, but all the same, her path is clear. "Please, I must get back to the cliff."

But the voice only laughs. "A monster? How unflattering! What these oracles say about me, I wonder…"

"…sir?" she begins haltingly. "How do you mean?"

"I mean," the voice replies, unnervingly close to her ear again. "That I am the one who shall be your husband."

He laughs at her startled expression and Psyche feels a warm fingertip slide across the back of her healed wrist. She glances down, the warm laughter ringing in her ears. Finally she looks back up and tries to manage a smile.

She prayed for a kind husband as a child. Perhaps someone had heard her wish after all.