An Evening Across the River Styx

Copyright 2003 by Riene

Christine rose from the tapestry-covered armchair by the fire. Her lovely face was flushed from the heat and Erik smiled involuntarily. "Tired, my love?"

She nodded. "I'm going to take a bath, then go on to bed." He inclined his head in acknowledgement, then returned to the piano. For the last hour she had stayed close to the fire, reading, not wishing to disturb him while he worked on a particularly difficult passage in his latest composition. Erik frowned at it in annoyance then laid down the pen. Perhaps a fresh perspective tomorrow would bring some resolution. He rose and stacked the creamy thick paper covered in musical notation and his flowing black script neatly atop the piano. Erik stretched cat-like, to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders, a tall lean powerful figure, then went to retrieve the book Christine had been reading.

Lover's Tales from Greek Mythology. He turned the slim volume in his hands, frowning slightly. She was such a foolish, romantic child. Didn't she know that especially with the Greeks, nothing ever had a happy ending?

Christine found him there an hour later, sitting in his armchair by the fire, his face absorbed in the book. She walked into the library-cum-music room quietly, watching the play of emotions across his unguarded face. This enigmatic man had captured her heart and her imagination with his mercurial personality and brilliant intellect. Her face softened as she stood, hidden in the shadows. With her he was a tender, compassionate friend as well as her own angel of music. Perhaps someday he would come to accept the love she offered him without reservation, but for now he still had so little trust in and experience with the human race he could not even see the reciprocation of his own feelings. She came to stand behind his chair, deliberately making enough noise so as to not startle him, and leaned upon it.

"Reading my book?"

He frowned. "I don't recognize this one; it's not from my library."

Christine dropped gracefully into her own armchair. "No, I brought it with me. The management is debating doing Hayden's Orfeo ed Euridice next and I wanted to review it, but it's such a depressing story. I'd rather do Cézar Franck's Psyché."

Erik nodded tiredly. "Yes, I was just rereading it. Orpheus was a musician who lost his only love forever through his own foolish actions, though he dared more than any man ever dared to win his love. He was forced to return to the Earth alone, in utter desolation, where he forsook the company of all men, until he was finally set upon and destroyed." He stared into the fire silently, the parallels between the story and his own painful.

"That's why I like Pysché better," Christine said softly.

Erik frowned slightly and turned to look at her. "I'm not familiar with that one," he admitted. "Mythology is not an area I have a great deal of familiarity with."

Her midnight blue eyes lit. "Then it's my turn to be the storyteller tonight," she smiled, and curled up in the chair, tucking her feet underneath the hem of her ruffled pink robe.

"The story of Psyche is more Roman than Greek. Psyche was a beautiful woman, the youngest daughter of a king. She was so lovely that she attracted the attention and anger of Venus, the goddess of love and beauty, for Venus felt jealously toward the young girl. Her sisters married well, but poor Psyche fell in love with no one, nor did anyone fall in love with her. Her family grew disturbed and asked the oracle of Apollo for advice. The god answered that Venus had asked her son Cupid to punish the girl, and that they must take her to a hillside where a horrible winged serpent would come to make her his wife.

"Poor Psyche was terrified at first," Christine continued softly, her eyes never leaving Erik's face. "But a gentle wind, the Zephyr, came and took her far away, across a river to a stately, splendid mansion. Her fears left her, and she felt sure that with the coming of night she would meet the husband and lover she longed for.

"And so it came to pass. Though she could not see the man, for he came to her only in darkness, she loved him, for he was tender and gentle with her, and his voice enthralled her, his hands caressed her lovingly.

Christine sighed sadly. "But of course, the girl was foolish and faithless. She yielded to her sisters who said she must be married to a monster, though her husband begged her to trust her own feelings and not listen to them. One night she slipped from his side and lit a small lamp, to look upon the face of her beloved. Even in the light, she found he was no monster, but a fair young man, the god Cupid himself. Psyche fell to her knees in remorse for her faithless act, and would have plunged a dagger into her own breast, had it not fallen from her hands. Her shaking hands caused the hot oil from the lamp to spill upon his shoulder, which burned and awoke him. 'Love cannot live where there is no trust,' he told her, and he left her alone and desolate, to return to his world.

"Poor Psyche prayed to the gods to help her, but none would risk the wrath of Venus to do so. At last she went to Venus herself to beg forgiveness, to offer herself as a servant, that she might soften the goddess' heart. Venus set her many tasks, which Psyche performed faithfully, yet this did not ease the goddess' anger. Eventually Cupid himself forgave Psyche and stepped forward. He asked Jupiter, the king of the gods, to help the lovers. Jupiter gave Psyche a taste of ambrosia to make her immortal, and they were wed. Love and the Soul sought and found after many trials a love and union which could not be broken."

She fell silent, staring into the fire, blinking back tears in her eyes. Erik drew in a shuddering breath, one hand clenched hard into the arm of the chair. His eyes were black wells of unseeing pain in his frozen face.

Christine knelt in front of Erik's chair, hesitantly placing a hand on his knee and looking up into his face. "Even the god Cupid forgave Psyche her betrayal, Erik," she said softly.

He looked down numbly into her tear-stained face, and raised a hand to brush away her tears. Christine shut her eyes and cradled his hand against her cheek, kissing his palm. "So he did," Erik murmured. "So he did."

Erik freed his hand and took both of hers in his own then stood, raising Christine with him. "Christine, I am so sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Erik," she replied softly. For a long minute they stood, hands entwined, then he brushed her temple gently with his lips. "Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight, Erik."