Cupid

I had no memory of how I had arrived. One moment I was walking home after a rainy Tuesday, the city lights blurring into puddles, and the next—whoosh—I was suspended above a place that felt both impossibly vast and intimately familiar. The sky was an endless canvas of rose‑gold, and the horizon pulsed with the soft glow of a thousand unseen constellations.All around me, celestial beings floated like living constellations. These were the goddesses of love, each embodying a different shade of affection. There was Aphros, whose laughter tinkled like wind chimes and whose eyes were the color of sunrise over a lavender field. Elaria, draped in a gown woven from moonbeams, whispered promises of eternal companionship. Maribel, the hearth‑goddess, offered warm embraces that felt like a blanket on a winter night. Their presence was a choir, each note resonating with the purest version of love I had ever imagined.But the most striking figure was Cupid, not the mischievous cherub of folklore, but a radiant goddess with wings of rose‑colored silk and a quiver that glowed like sunrise on a dewy meadow. She descended on a beam of light, her arrows humming softly as they left her bow. When she landed beside me, the clouds beneath her feet rippled, sending tiny cascades of sparkling dew into the air.