During that same night Cupid came down from celestial heights, armed with might arrows, to enter Psyche palace bedchamber, ready to deliver a dreadful gift of goddess Venus, the eternal damnation of unrequited love. He arrived like a thief, covered by night, as love often comes. The darkness that Venus coated palace rooms with should have hidden the beauty of Psyche, but Light of Agate drove it away and her face lit with its variegated light was revealed to Cupid. When he saw her, he got dazed, his hands weakened and sight blurred. Bowstring slipped out of his hands, and the arrow that would never miss its aim recoiled and buried itself in Cupids own heart. Now he looks at the arrow that sticks out of his chest, one that brought others grief or happiness, often both. When he looks up again, he sees under the Light of Agate gentle features of Psyche face, and mighty love finds him unprepared and, as he was never tried by such anguish, he receded before heat of fatal love for a mortal of undying beauty.
Now Cupid seems like a timid youth, he dares not show his face before his maiden. Parcae knit destinies seems written by the quill of sature, a taunting and teasing burlesque, humorous before we can see the whole play in its all tragic beauty. Cupid that could make the almighty Jove, cruel Mars and fiery Vesuvius shiver and cry in despairing suffering, now trembles himself, hiding before the eyes of his unexpected beloved, so she wouldn’t mock his boyish figure, fairish curly hair and see depth eyes. He is reduced to a shadow dweller, coming night after night to the chamber of his dearest; he that broke so many hearts never to be mended again, now hides in fear for his own, as it turns out, fragile heart. He watches Psyche in night darkness, painting by his silent glare contours of her face brightened and caressed by Light of Agate that now shone permanently.
During these nights, Psyche was often wakened by the feeling she was being watched. It is not by fear, but some unusual wonder, a cry only she could hear, that she is awakened by. She would even call in darkness, but no answer ever came, and she left lamps in her room lit during the night, but some unperceivable darkness always descended and she couldn’t see the intruder again. Finally, when she would surrender to sleep once more, Cupid could unhindered once more watch from his hideaway. But some sweet auspice made her restless, so she set up a trap. Near her bedside she planted an ordinary, motley lamp, and the Light of Agate she put nigh the window from which she felt often the eyes of the stranger watching her. Now she is feverish and impatient, she cannot sleep but she feigns it in expectations. And soon, Cupid in love perches to her window, lightly as a summer breeze. Infatuated by his love, the god doesn’t see the web of different light, and the shadows around him melt like a veil so Psyche sees a golden boy of godlike beauty, fairish curly hair and see depth eyes. When Cupid finally realizes he is not hidden by darkness, he tries to run, but it is too late, and Psyche is calling to him. He runs however to his mountain, where no mortal can follow him.
Many nights afterwards he doesn’t come and Psyche waits in vain. He remains far and silently yearns, and all loves that were born these days in the world were beautiful but sad. Why Cupid didn’t use his arrows to make Psyche love him remains a secret of his heart, as all hearts, even that of a god must have secrets to grow. Maybe he preferred sadness over love that would wound the soul of his beloved, such is the nature of true love.