"They say there is one more beautiful than I in Messene," Aphrodite spat to her son. "Find her, and make her fall in love with an ugly and horrendous beast so that mortals may once again look towards me. Do not disappoint."

With great boredom, Eros, the god of desire, rolled his head backwards to the sky above and readied his arrows.

_________

The strangers were staring. All of them were.

If Eros had asked, they would have all fallen at his feet. The women were swooning, and the men could not help but stare. He mentally shrugged them off with great difficulty. Perhaps fun in his younger years to be so noticed by these women, it was hollow and obnoxious now. There was nothing to do besides keep moving forward through the high-noon city full of bustling people.

Eros was still not entirely sure what led him to this part of Messene. After thousands of years being a god, he had learned to follow his premonition.

But it was difficult to overcome the stares.

Eros moved between shop buildings, looking for whatever had drawn him there. There were no strange monsters that he could sense, and the mortals were as atrociously annoying as ever. It was a wonder they could survive with all the tripping over themselves they were doing. As he looked at their faces, he could tell he wasn't looking for any of them.

Eros ducked into a quiet alley and checked to make sure no one was following him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he found the space behind him empty. He took a moment of reprieve and recounted the twelve arrows in the quiver on his back with his hand.

From his fingers that brushed his quiver to just past his elbows, his arms were blackened as if they had been charred by a fire. On his back, there was a set of wings: white and shaped like a swan's. His arms matched his back robe and hood. He didn't have any facial hair, nor did he have hair on top of his head. With a cooked nose and lopsided eyebrows, his features were unpleasantly misshapen.

Even then, it wasn't why every mortal chose to stare. There was something else, Eros knew, that warranted the attention and their persistent attraction.

He looked at the sky between the buildings of the alleyway to gauge the time. Only an hour past noon. Eros shook his head at an urge inside of him, and he stepped back out into the street, right into another traveler.

"What in the gods' names—" Eros sputtered. The moral he had crashed into was tripping backwards. He reached out, caught an arm, and yanked forward.

Her features were angled, with a pointed nose and sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were a certain green color that seemed to contrast with her dark hair. She wore a long, soft green peplus.

There was something intriguing about her face.

Perhaps what was the most interesting part of her was that her eyes, instead of tracing his body or staring at his face, were focused intently on his neck.

"You stepped out in front of me, didn't you," the mortal was saying.

Eros shrugged, but it was obvious that she wasn't content with this answer.

"My apologies, then," Eros said smoothly, "that we walked into each other's way."

She nodded thoughtfully. No longer feeling the urge of before, Eros moved to start walking away. She interjected.

"I need help finding the weaver's shop. Can you take me to it? It is very close to here"

She had said it simply. Eros faltered, unsure if this was another goddess in disguise or perhaps part of what was drawing him to this city in the first place. It was not the question, but rather the intensity with which she said it.

"I do not know where it is," Eros assured her, "but let us find it together."

Eros began to walk in whatever direction he felt called to do so. The woman walked behind him, not bothering to keep pace with him. He tried to slow so that she could catch up, but she slowed as well. There was a slight bounce in her walk that made her seem light.

Eros turned to look at her, but she wasn't looking at him or really anything at all. When he scanned the people passing by, those that noticed him stared. It was almost as if every pair of eyes but hers were glued to his face. There was certainly something strange in this woman.

As he scanned the shop signs, Eros grew bored of walking in silence and tried to make conversation.

"What do you think of love?" he called back to the girl.

"Is that the way you always start conversations with strangers?"

Eros chuckled under his breath. She hadn't begged him to take her hand in marriage, or to sleep with him that night, so the conversation was already far beyond his normal.

She continued, "You know, Sir, usually conversations are started with an introduction of sorts."

Eros laughed louder this time, pleased with this woman's antics.

"I'm Eros, and what do you think of love?" It was the only question he found entertaining.

"And I'm Agape," the woman joked. "My name is Psyche, and you are an ass. What's your real name?"

Eros shook his head, smiling, at the disbelief in her voice. Maybe not a goddess in disguise, then.

"I really am named Eros, I promise. My mother thought it was good that I be named after the god of love, and my friends are quite fond of it."

Psyche clicked her tongue at Eros's response. She had moved slightly closer to Eros and was nearly walking by his side now.
"I think love is a very sweet thing. Like tasting honey for the first time. I think it's a thing full of kindness," she said seriously, and with a grin in her voice, she continued, "and I don't think love is getting pricked by a little arrow, Eros."

Eros hid his expression as he fingered the arrows on his back. Psyche wouldn't see them. Perhaps to her he appeared as if he were stretching his arm or scratching his back, but she didn't glance at his gesture.

In fact, she gazed straight ahead. As they turned the corner and Eros realized they had traveled in a circle with no sign of the shop, she didn't so much as blink. So much for Eros's intuition.

He stopped walking and crossed his arms.

"Do you know where this weaver's shop is meant to be?"

Psyche shook her head slightly while dark curls of hair fell into her face. She brushed them away. "I thought I had gone the right direction, but I took a wrong turn. It has a blue tent in front of the building."

It was vague, as many tents were blue. But it would have to suffice. Gods help me, he thought to himself. This city was not small, and there was no telling when this woman had taken a wrong turn.

Eros started on a new path. After a few minutes more of walking, he spotted it. There was a small crowd of people around the tent, looking to buy what they had requested, and some were simply present to watch the day of weaver.

"Here you are," Eros gestured to the line of people waiting.

Psyche replaced her sober features with a smile for the first time. It wasn't the type of sly, deceitful smile that most women gave him. It made her whole face glow. "Thank you kindly," she half-sang.

Eros frowned to himself and scanned the small crowd, but none of the strangers stood out.

The terrible part about standing is the staring. Not every mortal notices him if he moves through the area quickly. When standing, they let their eyes wander, and, when they finally find something interesting enough, they stare. And there is no ability to get out of their gaze when standing.

Psyche wasn't staring. Her eyes moved all over, but still it was as if she wasn't really looking at anything at all. Upon finding no missions or work to do within the crowd, Eros sighed. Although this weavers place was certainly an interesting distraction, there was surely work to be done somewhere in this atrocious city.

Reciting pleasantries, he said, "It was a pleasure to meet you. Let us part ways to the sadness of the gods."

"Sir, don't go!" A woman shouted and begged. It wasn't Psyche.

It was a stranger who had moved forward in the crowd to clutch at his robes. Eros didn't bother glancing at her face. He tried to brush her away but eventually reverted to forcefully removing her hand like he had done it a thousand times. Maybe he had. It caused a stir in the crowd.

Psyche was speaking too. Eyes boring into Eros's chest, he could tell that she was saying the same. "Don't go."

He leaned into her space so that she could hear his low voice while she stared, and she flinched when he spoke.

"We will see each other again; I am sure of it."

It was a common and fruitless promise meant to calm the mind. Her earlier indifference to Eros's appearance must have been a carefully laid façade.

Eros turned to head further into the city.

"I'm not sure how to get back to where we came from, you're the one that led me here," Psyche shot at him with force. "And, of course, I can't see very well at all." Despite her earlier confidence, she finished her sentence in nearly in a whisper.

Eros halted, half turned away and half turned towards. "You can't see very well at all," he murmured to himself. He wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question.

Psyche jutted out her chin. "If you can have the kindness to get me here, surely you could be at least as decent as to direct me to where we came from. It's not my fault you took so many turns. I tried to keep track."

Eros's brow was furrowed in raging confusion and curiosity. Psyche moved her hands up to clasp them together, waiting for a response. The crowd was stifling though most weren't fazed by the interaction.

The weaver interrupted it all. "Psyche, my dear, how you've grown."

Psyche spun to face the weaver smiling, likely thankful for the end to the silence. "My pleasure."

Eros was still facing half between the road the shop as he slowly began to realize what Psyche had meant.

"It is so strange to see you here without your sisters or father," the weaver was saying, "but I suppose everyone has to be grown now." Her eyes were all but glued to Eros's face while she spoke to Psyche. "Why, if not for your father stopping by to request the weave in the first place it must have been seven–"

Eros stopped listening. The weaver had a mirror to the side of her store. It was an expensive piece.

Eros saw his black robe reflected and swayed backwards on his heels until he saw himself face to face in the mirror. If what Psyche said were true, she wouldn't see any of the expressions in his face. Moreover, she wouldn't see what the rest of the world would see. There was something incredibly attractive in her lack of attraction.

Curious, he flipped his appearance in the reflection through what they saw. It was like an artificial screen passing in front of his body. It was not changing him but rather only changing what he saw. A beard, large muscles, curly hair, a white tunic, a purple tunic, nothing at all. Brown hair, blonde hair, and back to no hair again.

Looking at himself now, he could see his crooked nose and twisted face. He was a primordial god, not just the son of Aphrodite, and eternity had not looked kindly on him. Indented scars ripped across his face and down his throat. There was nothing desirable in his face. Perhaps he was lucky that mortals saw something so different – something attractive. He smiled tightly to himself, but the facial marring turned it into a sneer.

He turned fully to the shop. What would it hurt to stay a little longer? The walk back would surely uncover many people to be seen and analyzed. Perhaps one of them should stand out. He turned his attention back to the Psyche and the weaver.

While what felt like the whole world glued their eyes upon Eros, Eros found himself staring at Psyche.

She was pulling out a coin purse to pay for the weave. She held the piece in her arms in a roll that looked comically large next to her small frame. She gathered the perfect number of coins into her hand, and the weaver patted Psyche's hand and smiled.

"You best send your father my regards dear. An infrequent customer, but he always pays well. Yes, he always pays."

Psyche smiled and turned back with her huge linens, nearly clipping the person next to her with it in her excitement. She scanned the crowd until eyes settled on Eros only a pace away behind her.

"Eros?" She called uncertainly. "Shall we go back?"

Eros made a final decision. "Yes, and you better let me carry that incredibly large weave for you."

Psyche made a face stubbornly, but held the weave at arm's length for Eros to take. Looking at it more closely, he saw that it was likely meant to be a family piece; it was something like a tapestry.

Eros turned but now he watched over his shoulder very carefully. She had followed him fine before, but what of her eyesight? How much of it was gone? Maybe a crowd would be more difficult to venture through.

She followed him with no hesitation, and, as Eros removed a frantic man's hand off his arm and another woman's off his shoulder, they came out of the crowd.

She was very lucky that he was a god, he thought. With no intention of returning to where he started, a mortal mind may not have remembered the path.

A humorless grin crossed his face. Any regular city goer would have remembered it too. It was probably best not to mention that he didn't belong here. That could come later. It was best to let his actions speak for themselves.

Psyche caught up this time to walk beside him and said in low voice, "Why were those people so adamant that you stay? Are you some sort of celebrity athlete?"

She looked terribly concerned about the idea.

Eros chuckled at the thought, shaking his head. "They think I'm attractive."

"Oh." It was as if Eros had searched for and acquired the most boresome answer possible.

Eros was not scared to pry. "Do you reason that I may be attractive?"

"I wouldn't know, you are like a blur to me."

"But if you had to guess, what would I look like?"

"I wouldn't know!"

"But if you had to guess!"

Psyche bit her lip at the question, but slowly a mischievous grin overtook her face.

"You stand out from the whole world like a dark blot on the horizon. If your hair was brown, you would probably find a way to make it even darker. I bet that you roll around in charcoal all day and that your mother isn't pleased with it!"

Aphrodite had not been pleased with the color choice, Eros knew, but Psyche had only just begun.

"You probably have a crooked nose and bald patches as well. The kindest men I know are always complaining that they will never find a wife because of it, but they always do.

"And," she paused dramatically, flourishing her hand in a grand but sarcastic gesture, "Eros must surely have huge wings and a quiver of seven arrows upon his back, only fit to prick the fairest of maidens and the most noble of gentlemen."

Missing her joke about his namesake entirely, Eros felt his whole world shifting. For many, his garb matched whatever latest colors and designs happened to be most fashionable for the area. The remaining stylistic imaginations were less pure in thought and often involved very indecent coverage. What of a blind woman that could see more of reality than most?

As if sensing his confusion, she drew her hands together and her smile disappeared. She finished saying, "Not that it would matter any way of course. I don't think physical appearance determines much more about a person than how prideful they end up about it."

He had to reassure her, if only to bring back that wicked grin. "Of course you would be almost entirely right, but it is twelve arrows not seven."

The smile returned. "How foolish of me to discount them, then," she said.

"I will overlook it, but only because of how my mother would shine with pride if she knew she was not the only one to find my dark colors dreadful."

This time Psyche giggled at the comment.

"And what about you?" she asked. "Are you attractive?"

Eros looked up to the clouds in the sky before answering.

"People say that I am the most ideal male figure in history."

She screwed up her mouth thoughtfully. "But what do you say?"

Eros shifted the linen weave in his arms before responding. "I am not attractive, no. They see me for who they want to see and nothing more."

Psyche laughed. "You are letting your words be as gloomy as your clothes. Will your feelings be eased if I promise you that I will not see you for who I want to see?"

Her face turned wicked as she said triumphantly, "In truth, I promise I won't see you at all!"

She had won Eros as soon as she spoke the words, and he burst out laughing. It was an odd laugh that straddled the line of humor and profound solace.

Eros let his shoulders relax, though he didn't know they had been tensed.

Finally, he said, "I think I would not be opposed to that."

Psyche smiled and was still smiling by the time they reached where they had started what felt like ages ago.

"We are here," was all that he said.

Psyche squinted towards the buildings on either side, as if trying to make them out.

Eros looked to the sky once more, this time to watch the sun. "I am at your east."

"Perfect!" She fished in her purse and held out one arm for the weave as the other offered a gold coin.

Eros handed over the linen cloth but curled her fingers back over the coin. Psyche frowned, but quickly turned her face back into its beautiful smile. He noticed how the smile lit up her eyes. She was, perhaps, more beautiful than even the goddess of beauty. So little to do with any sensual beauty... It was her fearless smile and the way her chin jutted out stubbornly and the way she seemed to know the certain things Eros did not show to much of the world.

"Don't let this be the last time we meet each other, Eros," she whispered softly. Eros wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it.

Hand still covering hers, the god of lustful desire spoke words that went against his entire resolve and being. "I love you."

"Like the Eros and his arrows?"

"No," he announced to her and her alone. "This is sweet like honey."

She blushed, but tilted her head to the side, curious. "I think you need at least a day of knowing before you can say that truly."

"Then meet me here tomorrow and hear it again. I have been waiting for you for thousands of ages. What is one day more?"

Truly, to fall in love with an ugly beast. To Hades with Aphrodite, Eros thought.