Thresholds & Reflections: An Empty World Anthology

From One Beast to Another

Psyche sat before her dressing table in her rooms within the Amber Palace, brushing her lustrous golden-blonde hair. The brush zinged over her long locks of hair, told her of her beauty. And in the mirror before her, her flawless face reflected, there was no smile. Psyche cooed a sigh and went on to brush the hair that hung on the other side of her head. She fanned the hot moist air with her delicate translucent wings, just the starry cobalt of her eyes, and wrinkled her perfect brow. The incense never fully masked the scent of sex.

Psyche laid her brush among the other implements of her vanity and pulled her hair up into a twist. She felt an odd sensation in her center as she glanced up to her looking glass, a sensation she half-remembered and had thought she would never feel again. That tingling, the knowing that someone somewhere spoke of you, said your name like a prayer.

Psyche stood, turned from her table. Her rooms lay before her, long ago so perfectly appointed to house her. She was not completely unhappy in them. She was never completely unhappy, here. As she crossed the pale marble of the floor, Psyche willed her garments to form over her skin: chiton of close-woven linen of palest blue with white gold clasps at each shoulder that matched the ornaments bound to her sandal straps and girdle of silken cobalt blue cord wound beneath her perfect breasts, over her midriff and finally tied with a small bow at her waist, so that the tasseled ends hung between her thighs.

Psyche raised her eyes as she felt a wind come into the room, from the hall. There was nothing to be seen, but Psyche could feel the presence of something hovering close to her. It spoke to her, small neuter voice, "You will come to the viewing room." And Psyche knew this to be the voice of Whim, the voice of her husband's servant and as Psyche had come to know: one of the Daejinnim.

"Does my husband ask for me, Daemon?" Psyche asked.

"He does, and so you had better come, presently."

Psyche pressed her shoulders back. She walked from the room, feet just microns from the floor, head held level, eyes low...and the mouth fell into the curl that was not quite a smile. She followed the distortion in the air that was Whim, walked through the wet halls, the heavy atmosphere of floral perfume and sex.

Psyche passed through curtains of gauze, moved up and down shallow steps, past so many dimly lit passages from which soft moans emanated. Such was the Amber Palace, always. Then, obscured by gossamer drapery, a silhouette shifted weight before them. Whim would not pass, and so Psyche moved forward, fearless or just too simple to know better.

The figure stood silent, studying Psyche just as she did it. She saw its hair stood up from its head with the shape of snakes, smelt the smoke, felt the heat...and Psyche trembled just slightly realizing whom this was. So cautiously Psyche parted the curtain and saw there a tall man dressed all in red, cigarette smoking at the end of a long filter, cylinder of ash threatening to fall. For a split-second, Psyche gazed into his violet eyes, then she bowed. "Greetings, Lord of Lightening," she said to the creature that was, after a fashion, her father-in-law.

"-Love's angel bride in Heaven," quoth the smoking angel.

"Eros calls, My Prince, I must go," said Psyche.

The tall prince stepped aside, boots clicking softly on the stone. He made a melodramatic flourish of one arm, a gesture toward the nearby doorway. Psyche trembled again as she passed and felt his heat, and quickly Whim flew over her head.

Inside the viewing room Eros stood, his mother at his side as usual and two others close. Eros and his mother, Tristopher, had been immortal always, and the one with hair of pink and brown and gold, Absidus, newer to this life than Psyche, and Splendor, Psyche's child stood at this angel's arm. Psyche felt coldness inside when they looked on her. Of all Tristopher's black eyes were the heaviest. But Psyche raised her eyes and stood straight in the presence of this orient beauty, with broad heart-shaped face and beige skin, and the tendril-like wing-parts behind, the color of sea foam. "What do you wish of me?" Psyche asked.