By Mandi Oyster
Cupid nocked an arrow. In one swift motion he lifted his bow while pulling the string back. The feathers tickled his cheek as he sighted his target. He loosed the arrow and felt his heart grow heavier. How long had it been? How many years had he served his sentence?
The ancient Romans believed him to be the son of Venus. He shook his head at the thought, a twisted smile pulling at his lips. How ridiculous. He was once mortal, Roman, just like them.
A woman approached. She reined her horse in and dismounted, walking the distance to the soldiers guarding the gates. Cupid stood among them. “State your purpose,” he said.
“How is it that you can speak to me?”