Updated 9/20/15
"You stupid girl! You stupid, insolent little girl!"
The six-year-old princess flinched at her mother's fury as she marched up and down the marble floor before her. The queen swung her arms about, causing the jeweled bracelets to jangle upon her wrists and her purple robes to swirl about her as she ranted.
"Just look at you! Look at what you have done. You impudent child, how dare you disobey me? How many times have I told you not to go near those bushes?"
Humiliated tears dripped from the princess' eyes, stinging the red, angry blisters that covered her face, neck and limbs. "I'm sorry, Mother! I just … I wanted to take a closer look at the leaves ..."
"Yes, and now you've got lesions all over you as a result!" The queen gripped her hair in frustration. "By the gods, Psyche, your beautiful face may be ruined! It was the only decent quality you had and you had to go and ruin it!"
The princess whimpered, biting her lip against the heartbroken wail that wanted to break free. Her mother's words pierced her to her very core. It was not the thought that her face may be ruined. She didn't care about that. No, it was the idea that her own mother thought there was nothing good about her except for her beauty.
The queen stopped in mid-stride, instantly regretting her words as she saw the pain she'd inflicted on her daughter's face. "Oh, Psyche." Quickly, she fell to her knees before the weeping princess and took ahold of her hands. "I am sorry, my darling. I did not mean that. I am just angry that you disobeyed me and got hurt because of it. Do not cry, my sweet. There are many good qualities about you. You have a loving heart, and a sweet spirit, and a very clever mind for such a little girl. Such qualities are far more precious and enduring than a pretty face."
A broken but relieved smile broke through the flood of tears on the princess' face. The queen reached up to stroke her cheek, but stopped quickly when she saw the clusters of blisters there.
"But why must you always defy me, Psyche?" she sighed, rising to her feet. "Why must you always do the opposite of what I say?"
The princess bowed her head in shame. "I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't know those leaves were poisonous. Honest, I didn't. Korina said …"
Eyes widening, she stopped herself and slapped a hand over her mouth.
"What?" The queen lifted an eyebrow at her. "What did Korina tell you?"
The princess barely heard her over the blood roaring in her ears. Any punishment her parents dealt her now would be a pillow of roses compared to what her sisters would do to her if she told on them.
"Oh, you can touch the plants, Psyche. They have oils in their leaves that make your skin as soft as silk! Mother thinks your not old enough for them yet. That's why she doesn't want you to go near them. But I rub the leaves on my skin all the time, and I'm only a year older than you. Go ahead, Psyche. Try it!"
"Psyche?"
The princess swallowed. "It … it's nothing, Mother. Korina told me not to touch them and I didn't listen."
She looked up at her mother, silently pleading to the gods that she had bought that lie. The queen looked at her strangely for a moment, and then she sighed.
"Well … I suppose you've learned your lesson, then," she said, patting the girl on the head. "But you must be more careful in the future, my pretty one. You're far too curious for your own good. Some things in this world are not meant to be touched. And I can only pray that curiosity of yours will not be the death of you one day."
"E-ros! Oh, Errrr-ros! Come out and play with us, beautiful Eros!"
The winged child-god grit his teeth and pressed his hands over his ears. Just a few meters away, a parade of giggling child-goddesses twirled through the air, calling out his name. Their high-pitched voices grated on him and he slid down lower behind the cloud that served as his hiding place.
Go away, he silently pleaded. Please just go away.
"Here he is! Eros!"
Out of nowhere, someone jumped onto the child-god's back and he leapt into the air with a startled scream. He shook off his captor, but before he could escape he was quickly surrounded by the rest of the mob.
"Eros!" the child-goddesses sang, circling him like flock of twittering birds. A dozen pairs of hands assaulted him from all sides, touching his hair, his face and his feathered wings. "Come play with us, Eros! Come play!"
"No! Get off of me!" the child-god roared, swatting their arms away. "I already said I don't want to play with you girls. Just leave me alone!"
"Oh, don't be so mean to us, Eros," whined the leader of the group. "We just want to have some fun with you."
"Yes! Pleeeease, play with us," her sister crooned.
"No! I'm not going to play with you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever!"
"Ohhhhhh," the child-goddesses moaned in unison.
"Then ..." One of them reached out to stroke his head. "Can we at least play with your curly hair, Eros?"
"Ah! No! Cut that out!" the child-god cried, shaking her hand off.
"Oh, but I love your hair! It's so brown and silky."
"And I love your eyes," sighed another. "They're so sparkly and blue. I could stare at them all day long, Eros."
"And your pretty white wings," came a voice from behind. Before the child-god could react, another admirer snuck up behind him and buried her face into his wings. "Ooh, so fluffy!"
"Stop it! Just stop it! Get off!" the child-god screamed, whipping his wings back with such violence that it sent the admirers reeling back with a gasp. Seizing the opportunity, he shot off into the sky and drove his wings as fast as they could carry them.
"No!" his admirers shrieked behind him. "Eros, come back! Please come back! We love you, beautiful Eros!"
The child-god plugged his ears against their cries, angrily blinking back exasperated tears. On and on he flew, higher and higher along Olympus' slopes until he could see the ivory towers of his mother's palace. He flew straight through the open balcony window and into her chambers, where he was engulfed up by the perfumes of roses and myrrh.
And there sat his mother before her full-length mirror, running a comb through the cascade of her golden hair.
The rush of air that accompanied his arrival hit the goddess with a whoosh, and she turned around with a startled gasp.
"Eros?" she said, blinking her dazzling blue eyes at him. "Eros, are you alright, my darling?"
"Mother." With a stifled sob, the child-god crossed the room and threw himself onto his mother's lap. His tiny body shook against hers as he curled into a ball, buried his face into her breast and began to weep.
"Eros!" the goddess exclaimed, dropping the comb and wrapping her arms around her son. "Oh, my precious little cherub. What ever is the matter?"
"They won't leave me alone, Mother."
"Who, my love?"
"Those girls! They keep trying to chase after me and they won't stop touching me! I hate it when they do that, Mother. I hate it!"
The goddess of love let out a musical laugh. "Oh, my dear little cherub. Is that all?" She stroked a hand through his curls. "Well, I'm afraid you are going to have to get used to that, my darling. Such is the price we pay for being beautiful."
Beautiful. The child-god's fists tightened and shook. The word beautiful was a curse to his little ears. It'd been rained down mercilessly upon him from the day he was born, crushing him with the force of Hephaestus' hammer. From his earliest remembrances, the little child-god had endured an endless barrage of unwanted cheek pinches and hair tugs and kisses and caresses, all accompanied by such coos and exclamations of how beautiful he was.
He felt his mother's lips press against the crown of his head. "Why do you despair, my cherub? Do you not enjoy being so loved by so many?"
"No." The child-god's head shot up, his red cheeks streaked with tears. "Those girls say they love me, but they don't. They only say they love me because I'm beautiful."
The goddess shrugged. "Such is the nature of the gods, my son. Like thirsty bees to a honeycomb, the gods swarm to great beauty. But unlike the mortals, our beauty will never fade, and for that we must be grateful. Many a god cast aside a mortal woman he loved the moment she lost her bloom and shriveled with age."
"That's not love, Mother," the child-god said, shaking his head. "Not really. If you love someone, than you should love them no matter what they look like."
"What's this?" The goddess' eyes widened in astonishment. "Does my boy already understand the nature of love?" She tapped her son on the nose. "My, my, what a wise little god you are turning out to be, my love."
"You … you do love me. Don't you, Mother?" The child-god's vulnerability was written all over his face as he gazed up at the one person who may truly love him for him.
The goddess' eyes grew soft and she kissed her boy upon the cheek. "With all my heart, my beautiful little cherub."
The child-god nearly choked. Beautiful! Even his own mother could not proclaim her love for him without tying it to that word!
Blind to her son's dismay, the goddess of love drew him deeper to her embrace and laid her cheek against his temple. But the child-god felt no warmth. Only ever-sinking despair.
What he would give to be loved by someone who didn't care what he looked like.