Callista isn't exactly the best in the business. When it comes to being a cupid, she struggles, and her snarky little lovebird pixie assistant isn't any help. She's already in hot water with her boss and has to make her monthly quota by the cupids'...
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Agreement number one: I fucked up.
Agreement number two: I must fix said fuck up.
Agreement number three: Mr. Son is moving in with me until I have found a way to reverse the love arrow and completed the reversal.
I didn't agree with the last one, but a certain pixie did for me. Plus, the man utterly refused to leave, which motivates me to come to the ethereal. The place between sleep and consciousness with mortals' dreams.
Soft purple and pink clouds roll over the pearly sidewalk as I stroll toward the Hall of Amorology. I fluff the feathers on my wings, making them look softer and more beautiful. Sadly here, looks get you everywhere. You get what you asked for without question. Also, I'm pretty sure mess-ups are written up as pranks and then laughed off.
The closer I get to the Hall of Amorology, the taller it seems to grow. The ivory outside strikes me down, making me feel the size of a fairy. I spent my formative years here, just scraping by with each Amora class I took. The disappointed looks from my mentors still haunt me, making my feet feel like they're filling with lead.
You are beautiful. You are confident. You are kind. You are a kick-ass cupid.
I jog up the golden steps that lead to the pink marble doors. Tiny carved baby cherubs lift their bows, allowing the doors to slowly swing open. It's a bit dramatic.
The hall is filled with young cupids flying and going about their studies. I get a few weird looks as I stroll across the open floor and circle the giant statue of Eros, the original cupid.
You're smart. You're sexy. You're witty.
It takes a deep breath to get through the entrance hall and the library. The vast room is loaded with bookshelves that reach the top of the three-story ceiling. The lovely smell of dusty books wraps around me and lures me within the mahogany folds.
I spent so much time in this room pouring over scrolls and books. Mostly fictional romance stories when I should have been studying or target practicing. The cherubs painted on the ceiling were my companions as I read love stories written throughout history, some real, some fictional. There is one thing humans can do right, and that's love.
They might royally fuck it too, but they are a well of emotion they can tap into and give to others as I've never seen before. Those stories are what made me want to go into being a field worker. I wanted to be a part of that in some small way.
I walk up to the gold and marble help desk where pixies zoom about their business. On the countertop sits an elderly pixie with her snow-white hair piled on top of her head as she scans over small bits of parchment in her hand.
"Excuse me," I smile down at her. "I'm looking for a book."
"Title, and author," the quick retort from her sets me off guard.
