The morning sun's light flooded the room she shared with her two elder sisters; they had abandoned her with the dawn to join their mother in overseeing the final preparations for their weddings. When Psyche first heard that her sisters were to be wed on the same day, she had imagined how wonderful it would be if a suitor could be found for her as well. She had made small offerings to Hera in hopes she would join her sisters in their happiness. But Hera had not heard her pleas, so instead, she lingered behind in the bedroom with a basket of clothing in need of mending.
Servants had pulled a chair near the window with the mending set on the floor next to it. Psyche would have preferred her loom or her embroidery, but that would mean that she had to go to her mother's sitting room where she knew her sisters could be found enduring one last fitting for their wedding dresses. She was certain that the Queen, her mother, would be surrounded by her ladies and servants discussing any last minute changes that needed to occur before the ceremony could take place. It would also mean that Psyche would be in the way. It would be rude to get in the way of the servants on such an important day. If only she could be sharing in her sisters' joy.
Psyche sighed and pulled a threaded needle through the linen. She listened to the sounds of footsteps and voices coming in from the door to her room and from outside her window. The voices were no more than whispers and the footsteps reminded her of musicians at their drums. Her fingers tried to mend to the rhythm of the chaos outside the room and poked the needle into her thumb again. She wanted to bellow out a curse, but held her tongue. Her mother, no doubt, had servants listening to every word her youngest daughter said, and that would lead to a lecture of how a princess should behave from the Queen with her sisters smiling. And foul words would anger the gods, her father would remind her when her misbehavior reached his ears.
What else could she do to displease the gods? Wasn't it enough that people left her the offerings that were intended for Aphrodite? Almost daily, she heard the whispers of the servants and of her father's courtiers describing how Psyche's beauty rivaled that of the goddess of love. Did it make her too beautiful to wed? Some even whispered that her father might be one of the gods. She did not want to believe that, for she had heard of the stories of the fall of Troy.
She set her mending on her lap and stretched her fingers. Her eyes looked towards the door and the shadows of the feet as they passed by. As she picked up the needle again, she felt the rumbling of her stomach. Most days, if her parents did not command her and her sisters to join them in the Queen's sitting room, the morning meal was set out on a small table in the corner of the room. How long ago had it been since she had eaten last? Her stomach growled at the thought of food. Psyche frowned, looking towards the door one more time. Should she venture to the kitchens for a piece of bread and cheese? Forgetting to eat and passing out would be another offense her mother would lecture her on, and no matter how busy the Queen was today, she would find time to scold her daughters for their stupidity.
Psyche folded the dress she had been hemming and placed it on top of the pile of mending. The Queen could not complain that her youngest daughter had been idle. She had mended four dresses so far today, and none of them where her own so no one could accuse her of being selfish. Her sisters would say that they could have done at least five before they required a break to eat, but she was not them and she was not the one getting married that day. Psyche came to her feet and walked to the chest at the end of her bed. From inside, she pulled out a shawl and her sandals. She had heard her sisters complain of the chill once they opened the door to the hallway, and if they had mentioned it, Psyche had no doubt that she would feel the chill as well.
With her sandals on her feet, she draped the shawl around her shoulders and hair before heading to the door. She stood there for a moment and waited for the next wave of servants rushing past her room before taking a hold of the latch and pulling the door open. Psyche stepped outside and turned her head both ways before pivoting to her left and walking down the hall; she kept to the side of the corridor to give the servants and courtiers enough space to pass her. Would one of the courtiers compliment either the King or the Queen on their daughter's courtesy? She doubted it.
