Psyche sits beside her husband on the bed, her head leaning against his shoulder and their legs stretched out in front of them and overlapping. The room around them is bright and warm, filled with cushions and white columns and a long low table laden with fruits and wine. There's a bookshelf near the bed, filled with the novels Psyche's been
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Um. You might want to keep in mind, though, if you're reading this thread, that it's...not the happiest song ever.))
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Born a god and having been immortal for his entire existence, Eros didn't have the same understanding that Psyche had of death. Psyche had been mortal, once upon a time, and she had a better grasp of what pain was than Eros, who had only once been wounded (at Psyche's hand with a drop of too-hot oil), and never died. He'd saved her, when she'd fallen into eternal slumber, but he'd never diedSomeone who has never truly been hurt cannot possibly fear it ( ... )
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Laughter danced in his eyes brightly as he stroked her arm gently and prompted her, "If Mr. Teh-ah-time-eh what? Will appreciate having the girl that killed him as his match? Possibly not, but I do think the two of them would be good for each other. And a night of wild sex should do wonders for the Dumbledore-Voldemort situation ( ... )
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