She hadn't been in the Room of Requirement, and when he'd stormed into Duo's room, neither of them had been there either. Psyche hadn't signed up for any classes that Eros knew of (but she hadn't even sent him an owl saying she was moving out, why would she tell him if she'd signed up for classes either?), so that only left Sortings. He'd managed
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Comments 11
Lost in thought, she almost walked into Eros, and the arrow's point.
When she did suddenly see him, she gasped and took an involuntary step back, then tried to compose herself. "G-good evening," she said, idiotically after a moment. "You're back." He was so terribly beautiful, she thought, so shining and perfect that it didn't seem to have any relevance to her. She had no idea how she'd dared...or even wanted to dare...to touch him, kiss him, hold him. It was like being married to a bolt of lightning, or an unimaginably distant planet: entirely unbelievable.
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No matter what happened, he never tired of her.
But she had stepped backwards. Away from him. Shifting his hold on the arrow without thinking about it, balancing it between his thumb and forefinger as if he could launch at her like a mini-javelin, he queried, "Why did you step away?"
Softly, voice almost hypnotic, willing her to come to him, he extended his free hand in her direction and coaxed, "Come back, Psyche. I brought the arrow to make it all better." His words were those of a petulant child that had done wrong, but then tried to mend it and didn't understand why he wasn't forgiven yet. Because Eros hadn't wanted to stab her in the first place...
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She didn't want him to be looking her at all. She didn't want to talk to him. How could his beauty be so astounding and so meaningless? Her head was buzzing, and her heart was ice, and it didn't help that he was acting like a pouting little boy. Children shouldn't have such power.
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Ludricuous, and if Eros hadn't been so desperate to have Psyche return to him, he would have laughed at the idea of his precious, beloved wife needing to defend herself from him, when he alone of all the gods never quarrelled with his spouse. Holding the arrow more tightly in his hand, the scratch mark on her arm seeming to accuse him, he wasn't even aware of the way his eyes darkened as he spoke, "What things are there to think of, Psyche? You are my wife. My other half. The soul to my heart. This delay is not necessary."
But he loved her still, and so he stayed his hand from shooting her without consent.
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