Welcome back to Musings of an Arthritic Artist! First off, I'd like to wish all of my readers a happy Valentine's Day!
Today's post is going to be another Short Story Show-and-Tell, a Musings feature where I share a short story I've written. This is the second one I've done. This story is shorter than my first one.
I wrote this short story in November 2021, so it's fairly recent. In honor of Valentine's Day, a day celebrating love, I've decided to share a story titled 'NĆØas AgĆ pis,' which is Greek for 'Young Love' (NĆØas AgĆ pis is the anglicized form; in Greek it's actually Ī½ĪĪ±Ļ Ī±Ī³Ī¬ĻĪ·Ļ).
I'm not going to get into the details of this story until the end of the post after I've shared it with you because I don't want to spoil anyone for what happens.
With the introduction aside, sit back, relax, and enjoy my story!
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| King, Alexandria. Musings of an Arthritic Artist. 2021. |
NĆØas AgĆ pis (Young Love)
by Alexandria K (2021 [18 years old])
I was born the youngest of three daughters. When people began to worship me instead of the goddess of beauty, I was whisked away by a westward wind. I suppose the gods had a hand in it. Perhaps I've angered them, though it isn't like I encouraged anyone to worship me; they did that of their own volition.
I don't remember how long the journey took, though I do remember ascending into the clouds. I arrived at the home of a man. A man whom I now call my husband. A man who gives me everything I could ever ask for, except one thing: I'm not allowed to see him.
In the amount of time we've grown closer, I've tried to convince him numerous times.
"Please?" I used to ask. "Just one look? One peek?"
"I'm sorry," my husband always replies. "That's the only thing I cannot give you."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you." He always sounds heartbroken when he says this, as if the mere sight of him will make me leave.
I've given up asking. I don't bother anymore. Even though I can never see him, I trust him. If he wanted to hurt me, he would've already. No. He loves me, of that I'm sure. It doesn't matter if I'm not permitted to gaze upon him. I've seen his heart, and that's good enough for me.
The morning my sisters come, I'm surprised. They walk into the house, and I observe them; the way they gape at the lofty ceiling, the way their eyes widen. The three of us sit in the sitting room. As I sit and relax, I force myself to not scoff at their shocked behavior. My sisters aren't the only people who think I live in an impoverished shack. I love my sisters, but they anger me sometimes.
"How's your marriage going?" Azelia asks. "Is he still not allowing you to see him?"
I shake my head. "He's still secretive about his appearance. As always."
Azelia hands me a dagger. I run my finger across the blade, not thinking about its sharpness until it's too late. There's a sharp sting in my finger. I set the blade down, pressing the hand I just injured to my leg, refusing to wince in pain. I don't want my sisters to laugh at my stupidity.
"What is this for?" I ask, picking the blade up with my other hand. I examine it. Its hilt is white and adorned with small pearls.
"Stabbing your husband," Azelia replies, nonchalant and condescending, as if I'm the most idiotic person in existence. I'm really glad I didn't mention that I cut my finger.
I stare at the blade. "I don't know." Something about this feels off to me, and I don't think it's just because it'd be a betrayal of the highest degree.
"Father says he's a dragon-like monster," Cosima says. "We don't know that," I answer. "He treats me well."
"Why else would he forbid you from looking at him?" Cosima's eyes are full of sympathy. "He's using you, sister. He's manipulating you. What husband doesn't allow you to gaze upon his face?"
I don't answer. Truthfully, I don't know what to say. I've never really thought much about it. Sure, it confused and saddened me for the first few months, but I've grown used to it. So what if he doesn't let me see him? Maybe he's self-conscious. Perhaps he's deformed and believes I wouldn't love him anymore if I saw him. Not that it would matter to me if he was visibly the ugliest man in the world. Inside, he's the most beautiful man I've ever met.
"Stab him tonight," Azelia continues.
"I'm pregnant with our child," I say. "Why would I do such a horrible thing?"
"Just think about it," Cosima says. "We're just trying to look out for you. We're trying to protect you."
My sisters leave an hour later, and I've never been more grateful for the silence. I retreat to my room. It's empty. Typically, Erastes doesn't come home until after midnight. By that time, I'm usually asleep. Instead, I lie awake in my bed.
I don't know how long I lie there, though I know it's been many hours. Erastes comes into my room. He often does to make sure I'm okay. Just before he leaves, I call for him.
"Why am I not allowed to see you, Erastes?" I ask.
He sighs. "We've been over this," he says.
I sit up, staring at his shadowed form. I can't make out any details. I can't even tell if he has limbs. "And yet, you never give a valid explanation."
"You cannot see me." Erastes's voice is firm.
My husband departs the room, leaving me alone in the dark. I glance to the left at my bedside table, which hides the dagger my sisters gave me. I don't listen to them.
I won't stab my husband tonight.
It's been a few days since my sisters came. I've been grappling with their words since. I'm alone in mine and Erastes's house, with only the West Wind nearby. The fetus inside my stomach kicks me. My child must be getting larger. I smile at the thought.
The dagger is still hidden in my room. I've become increasingly curious about who my husband is. My stomach feels tight, though I'm sure it's not because of the baby growing inside me.
Once night falls, I lie down early. I stay awake all night. Surely my husband must be asleep by now. I decide to carry out the plan my sisters devised. I cannot stand wondering any longer. I must know if my husband is a monster or not.
When I walk into my husband's room, it's dark. The dagger I received is clasped firmly in my right hand, an oil lamp in my left. I hide my hands behind my back even though I don't think Erastes is awake. I carefully, slowly draw back the curtains around the bed, nearly dropping the dagger when I see the face of my husband, illuminated by lamplight.
His face is as perfect as a sculpture, his skin seemingly as smooth as marble. He's naked, and he isn't dragon-like at all. Minus his snow white wings, he looks just like me. He looks peaceful in his sleep. Unfortunately, that peacefulness doesn't last long.
I'm so caught off-guard by the beauty of him that I don't notice the quiver he has beside his bed. My arm grazes one of the arrows, and I recoil, grabbing my arm. There's a small line of blood trickling down my arm from the arrow scratching across. I accidentally bump into the nightstand while trying to move away from the quiver. In my panic, the lamp in my hand tilts, spilling hot oil. The oil spills onto Erastes's bare chest.
His eyes open abruptly. His eyes meet mine, his widening. They dart to the dagger I'm still holding. Realization dawns on him.
"How could you?" he asks, voice full of disbelief. "After everything we've been through, I thought you were the one person I could trust. I can't believe you." He stares at me, his eyes full of shock, anger, and a hidden sadness. "You betrayed my trust, Psykhi," he says.
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "My sisters, they--" I cut myself off. I can't fully blame my sisters for this. This final choice was my own, not theirs.
My husband's tone is full of disappointment. "I trusted you," he repeats. "I loved you. I provided you shelter. I provided you food. I gave you everything you wanted, and this is how you repay me? By betraying my trust? By doing the one thing I asked you not to?" He glances at the dagger in my hand. "By killing me?"
I shake my head. "I wasn't going to--" I cut myself off again. Lies won't help anyone. I have to take responsibility. I sigh. "I was going to stab you," I admit. "I was going to kill you." But only if you were a monster, are the words I don't say.
My husband's shoulders sink.
I stare at Erastes as he flies away, and that's when the truth fully dawns on me. My husband is Eros, the god of love. I call out after him, but he's gone.
© Alexandria K. 2021
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So that's my story. Now that we've reached the end of it, this story is my retelling of the Eros (Cupid) and Psyche myth from Greek mythology.
I couldn't find anything online about Psyche's sisters, so I named them Azelia and Cosima myself. Technically, the name Azelia is of Hebrew origin, however it was influence by a Greek word (azelos), meaning 'not jealous.' I thought the name sounded pretty, and it also served as irony, as Psyche's sisters are incredibly jealous of her in the original myth. Cosima is a Greek name meaning 'order' and 'beauty'.
Most of the Greek gods/goddesses have epithets, but I couldn't find anything for Eros. I didn't want to give away his name automatically as, one, this story is from Psyche's POV, so it wouldn't make sense, and two, I didn't want to give away the twist to those who may be unfamiliar with the myth. Therefore, the name Eros gives Psyche in my version is Erastes, which is a Greek name that means 'beloved,' which I thought was very fitting.
In this story I also elected to use Psykhi's Greek spelling instead of the more common Psyche, as I prefer the Greek (anglicized Greek) spelling. As for the language, I am aware it is modern and informal. This was intentional.
I included some Greek mythological symbolism in this story. In the original myth, Aphrodite gets jealous of Psykhi and sends her son, Eros, to shoot Psykhi with an arrow that'll make her fall in love with something hideous.
This plan backfires when Eros scratches himself with an arrow intended to make any living thing fall in love with the first thing it sees. Eros falls in love with Psykhi, disobeying his mother's orders.
In my story, the dagger Psykhi gets from her sisters has some of Aphrodite's symbols on the hilt, white and pearls. This is intended to be Aphrodite's plan to show her son that Psykhi isn't trustworthy.
I don't think this happens in the original myth, but it was an element I decided to add because I wanted to add my own spin to it. After all, half the fun of writing a retelling is to add your own elements into the story. That's what makes it different. That and the writing style.
That's it for this post! I hope you enjoyed it! I intend to share more of my writing later, but for now:
See you Thursday,
Lexi Kš
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