Psyche felt like her head was going to explode very soon.
Her 'monster' had shown her nothing but tenderness and kindness and spoilt her in all sorts of ways. He had made it certain that if she did not enjoy her day that she was free to leave and indeed, the gate of the beautiful palace was not secured. She had tested it. It had opened with a gentle swing.
But she couldn't find the urge to leave although it was entirely possible to do so. Her mysterious, constantly invisible companion was charming and funny, quietly astute and wonderful company. He sung with a pleasant and high voice, very prettily for a man. He could play a dozen different instruments. He knew a lot about the world and was eager to answer her questions. He could fly it seemed, as she often heard the rustle of feathers and the draft of air as he moved about the palace.
Sometimes he would have to leave on some task or another and he would provide her with any amusement she wished until he returned. Sometimes she would ask for something small, some fresh grapes or a particular cheese she was craving and he would return swiftly, the item in question aloft where she assumed his arms were. His gifts were always charming and thoughtful. They had spoken about the stones that reflected light at the edges of the riverbed and how it was a simple pleasure to stroll down, admiring the light shining from these natural creations. Low and behold the very next day he had brought her some exquisite stones she had never seen before, some gemstone he told her was called an opal. It danced in the sunlight with all of the colours of Iris. She treasured it.
He was a wonderful person to talk to. They could spend hours discussing the most trivial things and Psyche sensed neither of them grew bored.
Her fear of him quickly diminished and then disappeared altogether, to be replaced with a ravenous curiosity. She tried to ask leading questions about whom he was and always her companion would reply – "Sorry, it's safer if you don't know that." Then he would change the subject.
But he was marvellous. He made her laugh with his funny stories. He was intelligent and modest, always curious about her and her life. Evidently he was immortal as she had to explain all sorts of terms that mortals used everyday which he was ignorant of.
Psyche had been living in the palace for a few months before one night, she couldn't sleep and rose in the darkness. She found that there was a small fire lit in one of the rooms and hastened towards it.
The door was shut. She tapped it slowly.
"Yes?" Her companion's voice issued from within.
"May I come in?" Psyche asked.
"Sure. Are you alright?" the man asked, evidently concerned.
Psyche entered and was dismayed to find that her friend was still invisible. She could tell he was in the large armchair nearest to the fire, as the cushions were flattened on it. She dropped into another and cradled her head in her hands, staring at her feet.
"Please," she begged. "We have been here months and I don't even know what to call you. I know that you believe you're keeping me safe and I trust you but…" She clutched her hair in aggravated fists. "You're also driving me crazy."
She gulped, wondering if she'd pushed her luck too far. The Oracle of Delphi had never been wrong – even if her host had angered the great Apollo in the past and the words had been meant to frighten her – the oracle was not allowed to speak untruths. And as kind and gentle and considerate as her host had been, he was a powerful immortal, she was certain of it. She ran nervous fingers through her hair and tossed it back over her shoulder, wondering if it would have been better to keep her mouth shut and continue to endure.
And invisible fingers brushed it back off her neck. She froze still at the soft, deft touch of her companion.
He has hands.
Such wonderful soft, stroking hands played with her hair. She seized his hand and felt his fingers, his slightly callused palm, his silky skin. She pushed the palm against her cheek and felt tears well.
"You're real…" she sobbed. "Oh, gods and goddesses. There were so many nights I'd thought I'd just lost my mind and had started imagining a kind voice. But you're real. Thank Zeus and Hera, you're real."
She clutched his hand desperately, fearful he'd snatch it away. He sighed and she felt his warmth breath on her face. Her right hand tightly gripping his hand to her face, she let her left hand trail up his arm. She traced the muscles and tendons and skin up until she met his elbow, his bicep, his collarbone, his bare shoulder, his throat where she also felt the edge of his hair, his chin, finally to touch the line of his bottom lip. It felt all very human and wonderfully strong.
Psyche let his hand fall away and kept her own fingers tracing the tips of his lips. His warm breath heated her hand; she felt the moisture of his every unsteady breath. She leant in closer, moved her hand and very lightly touched her lips to his invisible ones.
It was brief and very sweet. She felt the electricity between them rise, glow in the heat of the nearby fire and shut her eyes tight to feel him respond.
He did. Suddenly there were arms around her, suddenly his hands roamed over her back in circles, pulling her closer. Suddenly she was against his bare chest and felt every shudder of his quickening gasps as he kissed her back. He tasted like spring, like honey and smelt like wildflowers. His cheek wiped away her tears. His arms held her tight. He captured her hand and tugged it to meet his heartbeat, thudding away in his neck.
They stayed in that embrace for what seemed like forever. Finally she gave a shaky laugh and sat back, opening her eyes.
She still couldn't see him.
Psyche giggled a little bit more. "I thought for a moment that if I showed you how I felt I could finally see you…" She sighed at her own assumptions. His hand danced up to her neck and she leant into it.
"I'm sorry," she heard him utter and to her dismay he sounded heartbroken.
"Don't be upset!" She rested her palm over the top of his hand, caressed it, trying to reassure her mysterious love. "Please. I know that you'd have a good reason for not showing your face… And I need you to know that I believe that no matter what you look like, I will feel the same about you." She smiled and imagined a man staring at her. "You don't have to fear that I will run away when you show yourself. I promise. I will always want to be here with you."
Psyche let her promise hang in the air and continued to hold him to her skin. His touch was wonderful. She felt blessed to have what she did.
"I am so stupid to do this to you," the man replied. Sorrow still dragged heavily in his voice.
"With respect," Psyche asserted. "You haven't done anything to me. This is my fate, you see. I was told to dress as a bride and stay at the top of that hill. Fate decided this, not you. Fate made us feel the way we do."
Her companion spluttered a lovely high trickle of laughter.
"Of all the women in all of the realms…" He sighed. "But you are right, I guess. The Fates dictate all we do. I am just afraid that I am not… Well, you being here with me is not going to end well."
Psyche took his concerns seriously but didn't know what to make of his certainty.
"Why?" she chanced the question.
"Those who the immortals love always suffer for it," his voice was very bitter. "It is an unspoken rule that if you want to live a long, carefree life you should avoid the heart of an immortal. Always, it ends up with the poor mortal…" He broke off, as though the thought was too unpleasant for words.
But Psyche was spinning in a lovely daze at the word 'love'. Did he just admit that he loved her?
"Then I suppose we should enjoy the time given to us," she concluded. "There is always an end for us mortals but it does not mean we have to dread it."
They fell against each other and passionately kissed, touched, played with each other's bodies. Psyche beckoned him to her room and he followed, never letting go of her hand.
As she shut the door there was a strange thrum in the darkness.
"What was that?" she whispered. She turned and to her shock and delight, she could make out the line of his body in the dark. It was very obscured but it was there. He was a man! He was real! He was wonderful and tall and had a handsome outline of muscle and short, light hair. She couldn't see much of his features though.
"I can see you!" she gushed. "Sort of."
She watched him pull her close.
"I think we'll be safe in the dark," he murmured against her ear. "I'm sorry I can't show you my face…"
She silenced him with a kiss and they sunk into the bed together.
Psyche woke late in the morning and discovered her lover gone. She bit back at her confusion and despair. She stood and discovered a note left on the pillow. Eagerly, she unfurled it.
Psyche, it read. My heart has never been as alive as it is today. I have never been more captivated, more hypnotised by the perfection that is your soul, your heart, your mind, your eyes. I am oceans-deep in love with you and shall be until eternity. By the River Styx, I swear to you I will find a means for us to safely be together and I will strive for your happiness every single day you award me your presence. If all I have forever is the sweet sensation of seeing your smile and feeling your affection I will need nothing more. Your loving servant.
A promise on the River Styx? She felt a bit breathless with the weight of such a binding promise to her. But still no name! Psyche's emotions did a dance of delight that is the true unadorned feeling of knowing that she had captivated a man she adored. But it was also tinged with a certain pride that her lover was seeking a way for them to be together. It meant that it truly was a lasting passion they had shared. She felt dizzy and giddy and ecstatic with the realisation that he felt as much for her as she did for him.
She laughed her triumph out into the deserted house. She did not fear being alone today or the next, as long as he came back to her. She rode the pinnacle of her joy and sighed with bliss.
He loves me… The happy reality danced around and around in her head. He really loves me… He loves me… He really loves me…