Sample Play: Eros and Psyche Part II

Eros and Psyche:

Absence Makes the Heart Go Yonder

CAST

Eros/Voice The Young God of Love

Psyche A Beautiful Mortal Princess

Aphrodite Goddess of Love and Beauty

Zephyr The West Wind

Zeus Lord of Olympus

Reed A Talking Reed

Ant Queen Leader of an Ant Colony

Charon Aged Ferryman of the Underworld

Hades Lord of the Underworld

Persephone Queen of the Underworld

Narrator: Vibrant flashes of midnight lightning illuminated the form of a tortured young god winging his way through the dim sky. Finding his destination, he made his way into the golden portals of Mount Olympus. The flight had done little to take his mind off what he had just lost, and his shoulder still throbbed where his love had let fall the tiniest bit of wax. Making his way to his humble chamber, he paused for a moment. A light was blazing within.

Aphrodite: (coldly) Come in, my son.

Narrator: His mother was there—curled up on a mound of cushions—waiting for his return.

Eros: (blankly) Hello, Mother.

Aphrodite: (miffed) Hello, Mother? Is that all you have to say for yourself? You’ve been a busy boy…and I think it’s about time you came clean—tell me, what have you been up to?

Eros: Look! Now is not the time!

Narrator: She sprang from the couch and flew hotly into his face.

Aphrodite: (angrily) Now is the perfect time. Perhaps you would like to tell me what you’ve been doing for the last six months! What do you have tucked away in the mountains for yourself?

Eros: (angrily) I don’t want to talk about it!

Aphrodite: Oh, we are going to talk about it, young man! When I give you an order, I expect you to keep it!

Eros: (yelling) Yes! I disobeyed you, Mother! There! Are you happy? You told me to ruin her life, but I couldn’t. I fell in love with her. Go ahead! Tell me what a mistake that was. (softening) I already know.

Narrator: Through his sudden reply, she perceived his grief, and a look of joy surged over the Love Goddess’ face, but remembering her motherly duties, her features quickly dissolved into a look of utmost sorrow.

Aphrodite: (fake pity) My baby boy! Come to your mother. Did that evil girl break your heart?

Eros: (spitefully) What do you know about love?

Aphrodite: Me? What would I know about it? (laughs) I invented love, my son.

Eros: (quietly) No, you didn’t. You only perverted it.

Aphrodite: (angrily) How dare you! Don’t take your teenage frustrations out on me, you brat. You just got a taste of your own medicine. How many times have you set a man’s heart ablaze for a woman you knew he would never have?

Eros: (sadly) Never again. I didn’t know what pain I caused.

Aphrodite: Ha! Love makes people so bloody noble. Go ahead! Sulk! When this pity party is over, let me know. There’s work to be done. Life will go on.

Narrator: She angrily gathered her robes and stalked from his room; Eros fell down wearily upon his couch.

Leagues below, through the eddies of time and space, Psyche sat alone upon the mountaintop—weeping. It was there that her old helper, Zephyr the West Wind, found her once again.

Zephyr: (clears throat) My lady.

Narrator: She took her hands from her face and looked up to the slightly-transparent little man floating above her.

Zephyr: (soothingly) Hush now. All is not lost.

Psyche: (through sobs) What shall I do? He is gone! He doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ve ruined everything!

Zephyr: Did you ever wonder why he kept himself a secret from you?

Psyche: He is a god, and I am a mortal.

Zephyr: That may be a part of it, but remember who his immortal mother is: Aphrodite. There is no other goddess capable of more spite than she. He was protecting you from her. She sent him to ruin you, you know. But because of his love, he could not.

Psyche: That may be, but it does me no good now.

Zephyr: You let me carry you once before. Allow me to again. Let me take you to her.

Psyche: (surprised) To the goddess?

Zephyr: Who else? Plead your case to her. Grovel at her feet. Aphrodite is so full of vanity—she will give you her blessing if she feels she has triumphed over you.

Psyche: Will she allow me to see her son?

Zephyr: If we succeed, it shall be as if none of this had ever happened.

Psyche: (cheerfully) Oh, thank you, Zephyr. You have given me hope. You must care for Eros very much.

Zephyr: (shrugging) Eh. I do this for you, girl. I can’t stand to see a beautiful maiden cry. Now, come.

Psyche: Like this? I’m a mess. I can’t go before Aphrodite like this.

Zephyr: Trust me. The worse you look, the better she will like you.

Narrator: Saying nothing more, he scooped her up in his arms and began to soar high into the clouds. She clung tightly to him, as the world disappeared below—shrouded in white.

Psyche: I have never been to Mount Olympus.

Zephyr: Neither have I. Just watch your step. The Olympians are a spiteful bunch.

Narrator: A wispy curtain was pulled away before them, and there a mountain appeared—floating among the clouds. Psyche gasped, and Zephyr flew her in closer—and sat her down within a hanging garden.

Zephyr: Stay here. I will go before you and announce you.

Narrator: The wind god flew into the palace, and it was quiet for a while. A sudden clanging drew the girl’s attention and a shaken Zephyr rocketed back into sight.

Zephyr: She’s a bit angry with me for bringing you here, but she will see you. Good luck, my dear.

Psyche: Thank you!

Narrator: Turning to face the corridor, she faltered—at its end sat the most fearsome mother-in-law the world had ever seen—a powerful goddess, bent on her destruction. And here was she, mortal Psyche, coming to beg her forgiveness and that of her son.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Aphrodite: Come, my girl. Don’t dilly-dally in doorways. I can’t stand anyone who dilly-dallies.

Narrator: The otherworldly chamber was hung with draperies that shimmered and changed color, and on a raised platform in its midst sat the imperious Aphrodite—a cool smile of satisfaction on her lips.

Aphrodite: So…you have come to grovel.

Psyche: I…well, yes, your majesty.

Narrator: The goddess paused.

Aphrodite: I’m waiting.

Narrator: Psyche sank impotently to the floor and stretched herself out upon it.

Psyche: Oh immortal creator of Love and Beauty…I come to beg your pardon—

Aphrodite: (angrily) I should think so, you little tramp. Taking advantage of darling boy like that! Using your so-called good looks to lure him in! Don’t think for an instant I didn’t know what your little game was.

Psyche: Forgive me, your majesty.

Aphrodite: Why should I? Causing a rift between me and my only son—well, my only immortal one anyway. You nearly killed him with that nasty burn. Right now, he has taken to bed…we hope he will survive it.

Psyche: (frightened) Is he well? I didn’t mean to—

Aphrodite: Silence! And keep groveling until I tell you to stop. As I was saying, the pain that this situation has caused me must be atoned for. What shall you do for me?

Psyche: I will do any—

Aphrodite: (yelling) Did I say you could speak? (quieter) Now, I have devised three tasks. If you complete these three tasks, I will consider forgiving you. They are dangerous tasks, and ones of great importance. If you fail at any, you may never see my son again. Do you accept these tasks? (pause) Why do you not answer?

Psyche: You told me not to.

Aphrodite: Don’t be stupid. Of course, I want you to answer.

Psyche: I accept.

Aphrodite: (happily) Marvelous! Marvelous! I hoped that you would. Why not begin immediately? You may rise. No more groveling. You have work to do.

Narrator: Psyche rose, and the Goddess of Love gleefully clapped her hands. There was a flash of light in the air. The girl looked about her and realized they were no longer on Mount Olympus, but on a barren plain.

Aphrodite: Psyche, dear. Here is your task.

Narrator: The goddess pointed to an enormous pile of seeds at her feet.

Aphrodite: Within this pile is every kind of seed: flax, wheat, poppy, millet…and— silly me—I mixed them all up. I will return at nightfall, and by the time I return, you must have sorted all these seeds. Not even one may be misplaced. If you succeed at this task, you shall move onto the next.

Psyche: (weakly) But this is impossible.

Aphrodite: My, you are a smart one. Well, you better get started—there are seeds to sort. Farewell! (gleeful laugh)

Narrator: Psyche knelt beside the pile of seeds. This would be what would keep her from the greatest love of her life? Part of her wanted to quit—give up—concede defeat, but another part refused. Anything was possible.

Narrator: Several hours later, the noon sun beat down on the cursed plain. Psyche had been hunched over the pile now forever—her back ached, her eyes burned with pain, and the tiny seeds continued to fall through her fingers. She had managed to separate a small pile from the larger, but this had taken her half the day. In her mind she could already hear Aphrodite laughing.

Psyche: Oh, Eros. Why did I doubt you?

Narrator: Determination settled back into her—her lip strengthened—and with a renewed furvor, she returned diligently to her task. To her dismay, she noticed a new color of seeds in the pile below her—black, tiny ones she had not made out before.

Psyche: Oh, gods! How many of these have I missed up until now. Is Aphrodite adding more as I go? That must be her plan. What a cheat! (pause) But wait! They’re moving! Moving seeds?

Narrator: And indeed, it did seem that the pile had come alive with a thousand mobile specks. The girl hastily pulled her hand from the heap—but there, perched upon the end of her finger was a lone mite. It began to speak to her.

Ant Queen: (tiny voice) Handsome maiden! We have heard of your sorrow. The West Wind has told us of your misfortune, and we ants have come to help.

Narrator: Sure enough—looking beyond the speaker, she saw the army of ants industriously carrying seed after seed from the mix.

Psyche: (overjoyed) Thank you! I don’t know how I deserve such a favor.

Ant Queen: You do this task out of love, and there is no greater cause.

Psyche: The Goddess who put me to this task will return at nightfall. Will you be done by then?

Ant Queen: Of course, my dear. We ants never take a break. We love to work—it is our function!

Psyche: How shall I ever repay you?

Ant Queen: There is no need! We only help because we can.

Narrator: Returning the Ant Queen to her hill of workers, Psyche watched in wonder as the pile slowly diminished into many smaller mounds. The sun was setting as the final loads were being carried to their appropriate destination.

Psyche felt the tickling of the Queen upon her hand once again and raised her to her level.

Ant Queen: Our day’s work is done.

Psyche: I shall never forget this. I will never look down on those smaller than I—today you accomplished something that a giant creature like me never could.

Ant Queen: You have learned your lesson well then! Good luck, Princess Psyche.

Narrator: Once on the ground, the Queen lead her victorious troops away in a single-file line—singing an ant song of victory.

It was then that the orange rim of the sun finally disappeared behind the bleak horizon. No soon had this happened, than a murky fog encircled the startled girl.

Stepping forth from the mist, appeared the snarling Aphrodite.

Aphrodite: (angry) Impossible! You could not have done this on your own!

Psyche: (stubbornly) I didn’t say I did. The smallest creatures of the world have helped me. You never said anything about getting assistance.

Narrator: The Love Goddess opened her mouth to speak, but found her words stolen away. She closed her mouth with a snap.

Aphrodite: So that’s your game, is it? Well, Missy, the next two tasks will be so arduous that they’ll make your head spin.

Psyche: I am ready. Bring them on.

Aphrodite: (laugh) Ha! Cocky to the last.

Narrator: The mists around them grew thicker, and its cold, gray fingers grasped Psyche. She felt herself being pulled away through the air.

When the swirls subsided, she was standing on the edge of a meadow with a swift stream running through its midst. On the opposite hill, a herd of golden sheep were grazing.

Aphrodite placed a hand upon her shoulder, and her venomous voice hissed in her ear.

Aphrodite: (quietly) You know, you’re really starting to impress me. I thought you would have given up by now.

Psyche: Never.

Aphrodite: My task is a simple one. See those sheep there? I desire some of their wool. Nothing sleeps better than a bed filled with golden wool. Fetch some for me.

Narrator: The Princess looked to the cruel goddess with a look of unbelief.

Psyche: Is that it?

Aphrodite: Cross my heart.

Psyche: Very well.

Narrator: Psyche pulled up the hem of her tunic and quickly forded the stream. The golden sheep continued to graze—not knowing or not caring that she was approaching. Searching on all sides for some sign of a trap, Psyche continued forward. The nearest sheep was grazing listlessly on a clump of lush grass.

She reached forward to grasp its wool.

(hellish bleat)

With startling agility the creature turned, and barring its razor-sharp teeth lunged for the girl’s outstretched hand.

Psyche: (screams) Ah!

Narrator: She snatched it back—centimeters to spare—and turning upon her heel, dashed madly back across the stream to safety.

Heaving desperate breaths, she turned to see the sheep return to its peaceful grazing. It was then that she noticed the bones—lying inconspicuously among the tall grass.

The malicious laughing of Aphrodite floated to her ear.

Aphrodite: Did I fail to mention—Psyche, dear—that those are man-eating sheep. (evil laugh)

Psyche: (angrily) You—you…

Aphrodite: A deal’s a deal. Goodbye, Love. Try to not to die. It would be quite embarrassing to be killed by such cuddly creatures.

Narrator: As the form of Aphrodite dissipated once again, Psyche knew this was exactly the goddess’ plan. Her mind was reeling. How long had it been since she had eaten or drank? She felt weak.

She padded her way to the edge of the stream, and began to lower her cupped hands below the surface.

Voice: (anxiously) Don’t do it!

Narrator: The Princess paused. Had she heard that—or had her wits finally left her?

Voice: There is always hope.

Psyche: Excuse me?

Voice: Don’t do it. You can still beat her. Whatever you do—don’t drown yourself. It’ll solve nothing.

Psyche: I wasn’t going to. I was just going to get a drink.

Voice: Well, that’s a relief. I’ve seen plenty of fools try to get some of that golden wool. They either get their jugular bit through by a ravenous bit of mutton—or give up and kill themselves right in this stream. It’s so dramatic.

Narrator: Psyche continued to search for the source of the voice.

Psyche: Where are you?

Voice: I’m here. Right beside you.

Narrator: Near her face, a reed was swaying slightly in the breeze.

Reed: Yes, you’re not imagining it. A reed is talking to you.

Psyche: Well, you may not believe this, but it’s not the strangest thing to happen yet.

Reed: Really? You can’t believe how good it is to hear that. Most people just stare at me like they’ve just seen a god.

Psyche: (sadly) Hmmm. I guess most people don’t see one of those very often.

Reed: Since you’re not going to kill yourself, let me give you some more advice. You seem like a nice girl, and I doubt you’ve got any selfish motive for wanting that wool. I don’t usually do this, but I’ll tell you how to get you some. But, first, you have to promise not to tell anyone you actually got it.

Psyche: No problem.

Reed: The last thing I want is a thousand people traipsing around on my bank and offing themselves in the shallows. One dead body can stink this place up for weeks.

Here’s the trick: those sheep are nasty creatures. They can skeletize a grown man in sixty seconds. Trying to get close enough to touch them is by far the stupidest way to approach it. What you do is wait for the sheep to come down for their daily drink. You know sheep—they have one brain between the whole herd. When they come to the water all together there’s always a ton of their fleece that gets caught on those briars over there—probably enough to satisfy your immortal friend. Wait until they’re gone, grab it, and you’re good.

Psyche: I never would have thought of that! That’s brilliant!

Reed: I am the only talking reed for a reason.

Narrator: And so Psyche took the advice of her new friend. The sheep came to the water soon enough, and after they had gone, numerous tiny tufts were left in the riverside brambles. The girl collected these quickly.

Psyche: Thanks, Reed. I’ll never forget this. (loudly) Aphrodite! Aphrodite! I have completed your task!

Narrator: The atmosphere crackled, and a glaring goddess appeared. Psyche stretched out her hands—filled of golden clumps. Scowling, Aphrodite slapped the wool from the girl’s grip.

Aphrodite: (coldly) Fool! This is not about fleece—or seeds—or love. This is about you and me.

Narrator: The Olympian maid began to grow—her pristine features became transparent, and the ugliness of jealous rage shone forth from her contorted countenance.

Aphrodite: (deep with hatred) I will destroy you if it’s the last thing I do! You will never have my son!

Narrator: Bending violently to the ground, she ripped the reed up by its stalk and snapped it in half.

Aphrodite: Do you think I’m stupid? I know that you have had help.

Narrator: She flung the pieces of the reed in the maiden’s face.

Aphrodite: (calming) That is why—for your final task—I will send you to a place where no one would dare help you—even if they could.

Narrator: Psyche felt her heart grow cold.

Aphrodite: This stream flows many miles—toward those mountains—there is its mouth. Behind those waters lies a cave—an entrance—to death.

Psyche: (breathlessly) Hades.

Aphrodite: If you a truly willing to die for love, you will journey into the Underworld—down to the depths where Persephone sits. You will take this box.

Narrator: An ornately carved box appeared in Psyche’s cold hands.

Aphrodite: Tell her to put some of her beauty in this box and return it to me.

Narrator: There was a stillness in the air as these words resounded home.

Psyche: If this is done, will you allow me your son?

Aphrodite: (coldly) I swear it by the Styx. But I trust I will never see your face again.

Psyche: But the Underworld is so deep—only a few have been—

Aphrodite: A deal is a deal, Psyche dear. There is always one surefire route into Hades.

Narrator: Aphrodite’s eyes flashed as she drew her slender finger across her throat.

Aphrodite: Don’t rule it out…just yet.

Narrator: And then she was gone. Psyche was alone. Far away, the black hills loomed like stormclouds on the horizon. She looked blankly down to the box in her hand.

To her own surprise, she felt her feet start a weary plod.

The Underworld was a place where few had dared to travel. Even the bravest of men quaked at the horrors it held. But Psyche—a defenseless maiden—continued to walk.

Time passed. Before her now was the black pool—an ebony cave behind it lead into nothingness. Ignoring this terror, the girl eased into the shallows. Numbing cold took the feeling from her limbs.

As she started to take the dark plunge into the depths, a stir of wind caught her hair, and turning she saw floating on the surface of the pool—among the ripples—a cake. And upon it, slightly indented into its tender crust, a small coin.

She looked heavenward.

Psyche: Thank you, Zephyr.

Narrator: She took them into her hand.

It cannot be told how terrifying and deep the Land of Hades runs. Nightmare terrors lurking on every side—fear a constant companion and goad. As the light of the world disappeared, a new light appeared—a sickly light—the light of the grave—and it drew Psyche ever downward on a doomed path.

Not long on her journey, she perceived rabid snarling ahead. The Guard of Hell lurked just ahead—the beast of legend—Cerberus.

Psyche: Thank you, Zephyr—for this cake. I hope it may be useful.

Narrator: Three grotesque heads lifted as the maiden rounded the corner. Drool dripped from insatiable jaws, and powerful limbs jerked quickly to rip her apart.

(hellish growl)

Never thinking it would actually succeed, she took the coin and placing it safely in her mouth, threw the cake. It bounced a meter away. The three muzzles turned, and in an instant were upon it.

Psyche dashed quickly by.

A dark river came next—flat and motionless. Transparent human shells lined the banks and did not turn when they felt a living thing walking amongst. Beached upon the bank was the shallow craft of Charon—and the immortal boatman himself stood inside it—leaning on his crooked staff.

Charon: (hissing) Life has passed the Gates of Death. Tell me, foolish maiden. What do you seek below?

Psyche: I seek Death and his queen.

Charon: Then I shall ferry you—provided you can pay the price.

Narrator: She drew closer, and the boatman reached a gnarled hand to her lips. Her mouth opened—his sandy fingers found the single coin held there.

He beckoned her aboard and poled the craft away from the shore.

The boat did not dip nor bob—but floated as if on nothing.

With a thud it hit the other side.

Charon: You are doomed. I am the only way across this river—one that an escape must ford. And you have given me your only coin. Unwise girl, you are lost.

Narrator: Psyche turned her back to these words. They were not new to her. They had been echoing in her head since her descent.

A black palace lay ahead—clawing its way up from the rock. Whispers surrounded her and flew before her—crying her to their king.

When she came at last to stand before the Lord and Lady of Death, they sat unmoved.

Hades: (unemotionally) Tell me, mortal. Why did you risk such a journey to our realm?

Narrator: The Ruler of the Underworld and his queen sat on twin thrones—their faces made of the same stone.

Psyche: Love. Love has brought me here.

Hades: Love. Love has no place in Death. Here love is dried up.

Psyche: I have brought it here with me—in my heart.

Hades: You are mistaken. When the body dies, love dies with it. You have entered this place, and you may never leave.

Narrator: Under the stony glance of Hades, Psyche felt her soul weakening. She turned frantically to Queen Persephone.

Psyche: (pleading) Please, my Queen. Help me. Give me some of your beauty. Surely your heart has not frozen in this deep place. Some love must live there.

Hades: Do not trouble yourself with her. She is as immovable as the earth.

Psyche: (frantically) Please! You were once young! You were once in love! Remember it now! Remember the Spring! Forget this wintery place—only for a moment!

Narrator: The eyes of Persephone remained unchanged.

Hades: (forcefully) We tire of your whining! She will give you none of her beauty.

Narrator: At that moment the hand of the Queen—a hand that seemed as if it had been carved into her lap—suddenly raised.

Persephone: Please, Husband. Let me keep my own counsel on what I will and will not do.

Hades: I…I…

Persephone: Girl—I will grant this request—for Love. Take this beauty—I hope it will do more for you than it has for me—a prisoner here in this cavernous cell. Now—Go—and Love.

Narrator: The pale light of the Underworld faded—and Psyche felt herself grow warm again. She was no longer in that dismal place, but standing on the banks she had so recently left.

In her hand she still clutched a jeweled box.

Psyche: (surprised laugh) I can’t believe it.

Narrator: Bringing a triumphant hand to her lips, she began to call for the return of her adversary. But then a sudden, appalling thought entered her mind.

Psyche: Did it really happen? Or I have I been standing here the entire time—out of my mind?

Narrator: The closed lid of the box cut off all proof from her sight.

Psyche: (to herself) What if she comes, and I open this to only air? Could this all be part of her trick? A hallucination? How could I have gone into Hades?

Narrator: I would be simple enough to prove—to herself. With trembling fingers, she began to inch the lid of her treasure open.

A shriek escaped it—accompanied by a blue gust of vapor—as the Beauty of Persephone fled from the box—free from its prison. Psyche slammed it down as quickly as she could, but she was too late—it was already gone.

She fell to her knees—defeated—and her face pitched forward to the grass. She knew no more.

Voice: (faraway) Psyche! Psyche!

Narrator: It was a faraway voice—echoing like rain on a roof.

A face materialized before her—golden skin, the bluest eyes. It was a face she did not dare to believe.

Eros: Psyche! Come back to me!

Narrator: It was him. He was actually cradling her in his arms.

Psyche: (weakly) I…I…tried so hard.

Eros: (joyfully) You succeeded! You did it. You showed how much you truly loved me. Oh, Psyche, I knew you did.

Psyche: But the beauty—I opened the box.

Narrator: She raised up—they were still in the valley. The empty treasure chest beside her.

Eros: Forget that! You did something much greater than that.

Psyche: But your mother?

Eros: Nevermind her. I was foolish to hide you away from her—and you’ve had to pay the price. But I’m going to make it all up to you—starting now.

Psyche: How—I…

Narrator: The Love God lifted her—and kept lifting—she became weightless in his arms. Higher and higher—through shreds of noonday clouds.

When they reached their destination, it was a place she had been before—long ago. But it was in a larger hall of that grand palace on Mount Olympus—and sitting upon an enormous throne of immeasurably size sat the Lord of the Gods himself.

Eros: (emotionally) Zeus! I ask your help. I hold in my arms the woman that I love.

Narrator: Zeus stared at the two lovers somewhat uninterestedly.

Zeus: I see that.

Eros: But, O Zeus, she is a mortal, and I am a god. My mother would never agree to our marriage.

Zeus: A god fooling around with a mortal is one thing—but marriage? It’s most irregular.

Narrator: A pink poof appeared in the midst of the proceeding, and an irate sniffing sound—much like choking was heard.

Aphrodite: (raging) Never! NEVER! NEVER!

Narrator: Zeus angrily wafted Aphrodite’s fluorescent fumes away from his face.

Zeus: I take it that you disapprove of this marriage, Sister?

Narrator: The Love Goddess stared wildly at her son and pointed a rasping claw.

Aphrodite: This ingrate! This boy! Has gone against his mother’s wishes—and carried on an affair with this hideous hussy of a girl! (incredulous laugh) Carrying on with a mortal! Who has heard of such immorality?

Zeus: (annoyed) I have for one. Perhaps you have forgotten that I have had a few… trysts with Earthwomen.

Aphrodite: (stumbling over herself) Well…that’s different. You’re…Zeus.

Zeus: And—let’s see. There was someone else who has been known to “go slumming” with the mortals. Oh, yes. I remember—you, my dear sister.

Aphrodite: (shocked) I never…

Zeus: (slyly) Perhaps we should call up a Mr. Anchises—or a Mr. Adonis perhaps. Do these names ring a bell?

Aphrodite: I was young and stupid! Who hasn’t made a few dumb mistakes?

Zeus: My point exactly.

Aphrodite: (fuming) The fact remains: a mortal cannot marry a god!

Narrator: There was a pause as the goddess hammered this truth home.

Zeus: Precisely right, Aphrodite. A mortal cannot marry a god.

Aphrodite: See! I told you, you little maggots!

Zeus: That is why I shall just have to make Psyche a goddess.

Aphrodite: WHAT?

Narrator: The two young lovers leaped at this pronouncement.

Eros: Thank you, Zeus! Oh thank you! I shall never forget this!

Zeus: Aphrodite, before you, you have the most valiant of earthly women. This child has braved task after task and even descended into the Underworld to receive your approval. If you cannot give her yours, I shall give her mine.

Aphrodite: But…But…

Zeus: Hebe! Come here at once! Bring the Cup of Ambrosia.

Narrator: The Love Goddess watched numbly as the Cupbearer of the Gods brought forth the holy vessel.

Zeus: Come, my child.

Narrator: Psyche—reluctantly leaving the embrace of her love—stepped forward to receive the draught. The cup was put to her lips, and as the heavenly liquid warmed her throat everlasting life rushed through her.

Aphrodite watched with disgust as a silvery illumination began to encase the beautiful maiden.

When this had finished, Zeus smiled triumphantly.

Zeus: So, my two lovebirds. You have been equally matched. Eros—the Greatest of Hearts—and Psyche—the Strongest of Souls. Live together in happiness forever. And that’s an order.

Narrator: In a whirlwind of passion, the two embraced—their divine essences mingling in a divine crescendo of adoration.

Zeus turned a sly glance on his heaving sister.

Zeus: Come now, Aphrodite. Be a good sport. You’ll soften in time. Soon the place will be crawling with children. And—think—who else will be the apple of those youngsters eyes other than their beloved old Grandma?

Aphrodite: (insane) Grandma? (ear-piercing shriek) Ahhhhhhhh!

Zeus: (sigh)

Narrator: Uninterrupted in their bliss, Eros and Psyche stared into one another’s eyes—barely daring it to be true.

Eros: For ever?

Psyche: Forever.