She was able to delay her family a few short weeks but Psyche's father in particular grew desperate to know his daughter's fate. Fearful for his child's welfare, Psyche's father journeyed south after his day at the market to approach the oracle of Apollo. It had been some weeks since Orpheus had set forth to reclaim his love and unknowingly, Psyche's father caught sight of Apollo's temple at the same moment Eurydice vanished out of the air and Orpheus crumbled.
The sun-god's temple was a glittering gold spectacle on the east and west walls to catch the rays of bright illumination the god sent forth every day. Psyche's father hurried to catch the oracle before twilight. He entered the cool shade of the temple and bowed, murmuring praise to Apollo the mighty. Everywhere he glanced was another mosaic of the fabulous, dazzling god and his benevolence towards the fertile earth.
Psyche's father prayed the god would be as kind to his daughter as he was every day, when he brought forth the light. He had barely produced his offering when an eerie sound met his ears. It seemed to issue from below.
"You wish to know where a husband might be found for your youngest daughter?"
Psyche's father shuddered. It was partly in revelation of the oracle's power to know all and partly at the voice of the oracle herself. It quaked with power beyond his understanding, was astonishingly low for a woman and boomed out an echo that shook the entire temple with a gentle vibration. His legs shook and he knelt in reverence.
"Yes," gasped the wretched man. "If the Fates will allow… I must know…."
"Your lonely child must be dressed as a bride and taken to the top of the steep mountain that overlooks the river," declared the oracle. "Her husband will be no mortal man but a poisonous monster, a creature so formidable that Zeus himself is frightened of it. This is the Fate's decree."
"No." Psyche's father moaned. "No, there must be some mistake… Psyche is innocent. She reveres the gods and goddesses… They can't mean for her to be…"
He was abruptly cut off by the shine of the sun dipping under the horizon. The gleam through the walls was appalling, bright and suddenly he couldn't think as the flash burnt through his eyes and through his head. His words dried up as he shielded himself with his cloak. When that shine finally left him the temple was cold, there was no voice and plead as he did, there was no further advice given to him from the divine. The gods and goddesses had spoken all they would. He wept bitter tears and left.
Hard as it was to walk away with the knowledge of what was to come, Psyche's father found it more difficult to confront his daughter and the rest of the family that night.
"I went to Apollo's temple to seek the oracle…" he began, but his words choked up at Psyche's hopeful expression. With much coughing and sighing and wiping away of his tears, he told the room what had to be done. The resounding silence afterwards was like the hush after an announcement of a funeral. Psyche's father couldn't help it – he rounded on his wife.
"You know what this is? It is punishment. Misplaced, definitely, but nonetheless, Aphrodite is taking her vengeance for our folly. You should have never, ever aspired for our daughter to be worshipped as the goddess! This is your fault!"
His wife just slumped, horrified at her error and what the price of it was. Psyche's sisters wrapped their sibling up in their arms and stroked her hair. Psyche had gone white and still, frozen with fear.
"But it must be done," her father proclaimed in a hollow, defeated voice that all of the women wept to listen to. "It must. The Fates have given us instructions. It will be done on the morrow." Then, sickened at himself but helpless to do anything else, Psyche's father stormed from the room to find wine and drink his sorrows away.
It was a very long night for the family. Psyche's father, stymied in a pit of misery and stupefied by heavy drink, thought back on all the moments he could have stopped his wife's careful schemes to elevate their daughter with bitter regret. The more keen the regret grew, the more he chugged down wine until he was utterly lost in hopelessness.
Psyche's sisters cuddled her, clutched her, whispered hopeful things into her ears. They thought back over good times together and apologised brokenly for their folly in making her something to be revered, offending the goddess. And Psyche, just stunned with horror, forgave them in a trembling voice. Her mother wound the wedding dress up in her arms and shook with silent grief all night long. She didn't approach Psyche until the dawn.
With utter silence, Psyche was dressed by her sisters and her mother. Even with puffy eyes from a sleepless night and still a sickly pale colour, she was lovely. Her gown was exquisite, wrapping up her arms and down her front, curling around every curve and mostly backless, sheer and so light it appeared to float behind her. She had tangled all of her hair up into a bun at the nape of her neck and kept it together with a simple silver pin. Then, as though locked in some horrid nightmare, Psyche was escorted by her family up the great hill overlooking their home. In the corners of her vision she caught glimpses of their village and darted her eyes away. Her chest was tight and painful. Her legs felt incredibly clumsy and weak with nerves.
They climbed to the summit in what felt like a ludicrously short amount of time. The winds were fierce up this high and darted over Psyche's skin. She was soon chilled to the bone.
Her father framed her face with his hands and stared deep into her eyes.
"I… Daddy…"
"Perhaps the monster will be entranced by your beauty," he whispered in a voice husky from all the drinking in the night. His heart was breaking. "Perhaps, seeing how lovely you are, it will protect you all your days. I hope I see you again, my wonderful child."
Then he kissed her with all his might on her forehead and strode away.
"Be quick, woman," he hissed at his wife.
She and the rest of her daughters kissed Psyche, prayed to the deities for her and wailed their lamentations into the winds. But at last, they too saw no other divine intervention and had to wretchedly say their farewells.
Psyche watched them all leave her and tensed. The monster could strike her from any direction and she was completely defenceless, dressed in nothing but her wedding gown. The air around her grew colder and started buffeting her legs. She moaned and fell onto the ground, clutching her stomach, waiting for the wrath of Aphrodite to fall. She struggled with her hysteria. Every twig cracking made her heart leap in her chest with fright.
But then, something odd happened. The grass below her feet started to drop away. Psyche's stomach swooned as she found herself lifted, very deftly and carefully, up into the air. She cried out.
"Easy there," a man replied jovially. "I'm just the delivery boy."
"Who are you?" Psyche squeaked out.
"No need to be so scared, princess. The West Wind has not yet dropped a passenger. Just relax, now."
Zephyrus, the West Wind, bundled the shaking girl up into his arms and they soared higher, ever higher, until the ground lay wide and flat far beneath Psyche's feet. Although it was alarming at first, Psyche leant back into the arms of the god, letting him take her where he willed.
"Are you rescuing me?" she asked timidly.
"You don't need to be scared," he replied. She couldn't see any flesh but she felt the strong arms of the wind encircle her. "Where I'm taking you is comfortable and safe. Just try to enjoy the journey, Psyche."
Psyche grabbed hold of the arms she could feel and let herself be taken into the sky. She laughed at the birds that swooped closer on their journey for a closer look at her, she gasped at the feel of clouds between her toes, and she admired the light shimmering in the great expanse of blue. To look down made her stomach churn, so she didn't, although part of her wondered just how the earth appeared from up so far. Would all of the trees be tiny little circles of green, like the river's pebbles? She couldn't catch enough breath to ask the god more questions and even if she could, he was so loud in his rushing motion, singing past her hears in a rush of air, billowing along in a torrent of roaring noise that would have drowned her out even if she had screamed.
At last Zephyrus slowed.
"There is our destination, princess," he told her. Psyche knew what he meant. On the horizon was a glorious palace, growing larger by the second. It was magnificent, too exquisite to be of mortal design. Was Zephyrus taking her to his residence?
"I'll go down slowly, don't be afraid." Zephyrus altered their path into a very gradual descent. Psyche watched as the ground crept closer, exhilarated and nervous all at once.
Maybe the monster is trapped inside a palace designed by the gods and goddesses, Psyche's terrible fears whispered. So that it can't get out.
Her mind tortured by all sorts of images of gorgons and beasts and titans, Psyche eyed the palace with new trepidation. By the time her feet brushed the ground, her whole body pounded with raw panic.
"My lord?" she quaked. "Where am I?"
But the West Wind didn't give her an answer; invisible to her, she felt him leave her in a gale. She clutched her hands together outside the gates to the palace, trembling. When nothing leapt out at her immediately when she was alone and helpless, she found a tiny spark of courage.
Come on, beast. Where are you? Let's see what you are.
Her pulse was a wild hammering in her ears. She peered through the high iron gates, elaborately decorated with iron doves and iron ivy that wove its way downwards in the bars of the gates. Her courage kept within her enough so she found the fortitude to touch the gates.
They swung inwards without any effort. Psyche peered inside. Empty. Nothing but an wide entrance hall, filled with red and pink roses in silver pots. Gulping, Psyche stepped inside and waited for the monster to pounce or the gates to slam shut behind her, trapping her within. But nothing happened.
Could the oracle have been wrong? Psyche wondered. She'd never have dreamt it possible. But nothing made sense. Where was the monster that was to be her husband? Where was she?
Finally, she moved into the palace itself. It was lovely and full of bright pastel colours. It seemed comfortable too, simply furnished and as though nobody really lived in it at all.
She took a chance and entered what was traditionally the male side of the residence.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you were here already," a pleasant voice stated with some surprise and Psyche detected embarrassment. She froze. It was a man's light voice, not a monster at all.
"Where are you?" she asked through a hissed breath.
"Ah, sorry about this." Psyche watched a chair move by itself as though someone had dragged it backwards and smothered a scream of fear with her hands. "Sorry," he apologised again, aware he'd frightened her. "You won't be able to see me. I'm invisible, for now."
"Why?" Psyche couldn't muster anger and went for merely puzzled.
"Well, here's the thing…" The man sounded embarrassed again. It was unnerving just to hear him but not see a thing. "I, umm… I mean. Look. There may be some… Until we know each other better, Psyche, you won't be able to see me. I'm sorry, but it has to be that way. It's to protect you. And me."
"I'm a prisoner?"
"By all of creation, no!" The voice was earnest. "I just want to have the chance to get to know you, Psyche. I… Well, I have to confess, I saw you talking with Orpheus and was… Fascinated by you. But of course, if you don't want my company after a few days then you're free to leave. I'll get Zephyrus to carry you back."
"The oracle of Apollo said I was to meet my husband here," Psyche stated. "But he's not a mortal man, he's a monster that even Zeus fears."
A gentle, light guffaw of laughter met her bold statement. "Well, the boss-man has been scared at what I can do and yes, I'm not mortal but I'm no monster. Apollo just doesn't like me very much. We had a small disagreement a while back and he's gone out to frighten you. I'm so sorry."
"You're an immortal?" Psyche asked, her heart in her mouth.
"Yes," the man had audible footsteps. "But for now, that's about all you'll know about me. But you must be hungry and thirsty. I have a meal prepared. Shock makes mortals hungry, so I hear."
Psyche spluttered laughter. She was exhausted with confusion and terror but she was tempted to follow the stranger if only to get answers. But she had a healthy amount of self-interest and her feet didn't move.
"Promise me you won't… I won't be hurt," she finished lamely, unable to believe she was trying to order an immortal to spare her. "And I will considering staying."
"Upon the River Styx, I swear no harm will come to you in this household, which is mine and I will cater to your every whim whilst you want to stay," the man swore without hesitation. It was a potent oath. Psyche relaxed after he'd made it.
"Then yes, I'm famished," she admitted.
"This way," the man prompted and she followed the soft sound of his footsteps further inside the lavish house.
What in all of creation have I walked into?