Extra chapter (because I have been terrible at updating)

As I am beginning to outline more of this story, updates should come a little faster (every couple of days)

Just to clear up a few plot holes I left: The fire is for burning the women's clothing. A bit ritualistic, but in these times they probably would have had fleas and other vermin in their clothing (they are from a small village), and the "tradition" serves the purpose of ridding them of some of their past and making them more vulnerable. The "soldiers" on the other hand, are a bit like a militia. These creepy guys are paid for their efforts & because my timeline is in the middle of the Napoleonic wars, during this period they are just waiting for orders. These militant forces were renowned for terrible behavior, so it is not too much of a stretch of the imagination that this group would come up with something like this for the women of the town forced to host them.

I hope that clears up any queries, if not, feel free to PM me with any questions.

So mote it be,

Peaceinfiction

"I would rather die"

Flashback

"Help, Help! I don't want to die. I'm too young. Come back. Come back. I hate you. Don't leave me, Father! Sisters! Sisters! Come back, Come back. I love you. I'll be good, I promise. Just don't let me die...Please...come *hic* back...I don't want to die." The girl screamed from the mountain top, pale face blotchy with tears.

Psyche's beautiful visage turned haggard with the force of her agony. Turning violent, violet eyes to the heavens she bellowed to the clouds: "Curse you, I curse you all. Ye gods who play the mortals like the strings of a zither. I swear I will not bend. You beasts who would take me before my time. You could never love, or find joy in mortal things..." sobbing, "Why must you turn all against me. Would you now take my life upon this dreary hilltop? If so, take it painlessly, so that I might shuffle off this mortal coil with grace, and not as the abandoned child of my father."

She hung her beautiful, golden head.

The wind teased one of her many braids, untangling the long tresses. Alone on the mountain Psyche could not distinguish dream from reality as she saw her bindings unravel in a joyous delirium, and a breath so soft it could have merely been Zephyrus's breeze whispered sweet nothings to her.

Finally Psyche settled into sleep, full of dreams of wings and marble halls, Olympus in it's majesty.