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And then, he opens his eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

They are golden, like the sun. And for the briefest of moments, before he has time to focus, I see him without him seeing me. And it seems to me then I’m looking not at his eyes, but through them. For just an instant, I leave time and space behind.

I see everything there is in the world: the long grasses in the fields, stirred by the wind’s breath, and the beetle swaying at the grass’s tip. I see the living and the dead, and every star in the sky. I see the beating heart at the center of the earth.

I see futures, so many of them, all the futures that could be. I see him, and myself by his side. I see war, and blood, and love, and rebirth.

And then it’s over. The visions leave my head like a fog clearing and I’m looking at his golden eyes again—which are focused on me now, and full of horror. His arm darts in front of his face, as though to shield me from some hideous thing.

“What are you doing; what have you done? Lookaway,” he growls. “Little fool, look away!”

But I don’t.

“I warned you, Psyche! You swore it.”

“I know who you are,” I say. Because I do. I knew it the moment I saw his face—or if not then, the moment he opened his eyes. I know his name like I know my own.

“Why did you hide yourself from me? All this time…You had me believe you were a monster.”

“I am one, to mortals!” His voice is full of fury. “Now you will suffer, and I will lose you!”

“I don’t understand…”

“The sight of my face…” His words tip between anger and dread. “It brings madness upon them.”

Madness?I don’t know whether to shudder or laugh. One could call what I’ve been feeling “madness,” I suppose, but it is the sweetest madness I have known.

“But look, I am not mad. Whatever curse you think you’ve brought on me, you are wrong.”

He is silent for a moment.

“Perhaps…perhaps if it was dark enough…perhaps it spared you…”

“There is nothing wrong.” I don’t care what he says; even his fear doesn’t make me fearful. Not when I know joy like this. I nudge his hand, trying to uncover his face.

“I am fine. Everything is fine. See?”

But he’s shaking his head.

“You made a vow. It cannot be unsaid.”

“Then I will make a new vow,” I say. “A better one.”

Because I know who it is that lies before me now. It is the god of love himself, and his name bubbles up in me: a well of joy, begging to be spoken.

“Eros,” I murmur.

*

Even though I whisper it, it’s like the world stops. The walls seem to shake with it. I feel the echo, shuddering through the room and reverberating up to the heavens.

Eros.

Eros.

Eros!