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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Soft purple and pink clouds roll over the pearly sidewalk as I stroll toward the Hall of Amarology. 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 Amarology, the taller it grows. 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 Amara 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 swing open slowly. 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. His hollow eyes stare down at me as his heart tipped arrow aims down, threatening to pin me to the floor. There's something between his brows that feels more menacing than what it's supposed to be.
I hunker down, shielding my face from the dead statue as I pass by it.
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 up 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.
"Um, I don't know. Actually I don't know what book I'm looking for exactly." I lean so that I can be more eye level with her.
The elderly pixie looks over the rim of her glasses at me. Her wither face doesn't change from the unamused scowl. "Without a title and author, I can't help you."
