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By Jessie Harrell

"As he approached, I heard the flapping of wings, like an overgrown eagle. The sound dissolved whilst he landed on the fringe of the open window. a hurry of wind flew earlier me and extinguished the flames within the fire. Stars glimmered at the back of him yet his physique used to be encircled in black." *** while Psyche gets a prophecy long gone horribly flawed, she learns that even the main appealing lady in Greece may have a hideous destiny. Her destiny? Fall in love with the only creature even the gods worry. As she feels herself slipping nearer into the fingers of the prophecy, Psyche needs to choose from the terrifyingly smooth contact she feels nearly powerless to withstand and the only consistent she's come to count on out of existence: you can't get away what's destined. Destined is a clean and heartachingly romantic retelling of the Cupid & Psyche delusion from debut novelist, Jessie Harrell.

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His gaze, so full of pride — the same expression he wore whenever he returned from a successful duel or a neighboring king came to pay homage — washed over his face. ” And I’m not. I wondered if that made me more or less special. ” I tucked my legs in close to my chest and gave them a squeeze. “You guys should’ve told me. I had no idea. ” I looked up and met Mother’s eyes. She was the one who always had answers for me. ” Flinching, Mother spun into Father’s arms and sobbed. Shudders wracked her tiny frame; all he could do was smooth her hair and whisper to her.

And then you refuse my son? ” I continued my back-peddle and tried to think of a way to stall. “Just, give me a little time, okay? ” Behind me, my hand found the door knob and turned it. “He can’t say those things to you. ” Her screech followed me down the hall as I tore out of my room for the second time that day. Chapter 4 - Psyche A note to self: when attempting to hide from a goddess, think broader than outside your bedroom. My scrambled brain led me down the well-worn hall to my sister’s suite and that’s as far as I got.

My face wouldn’t have ended up floating around Greece. And Greeks wouldn’t have started showing up at my door to see if the real thing looked as good as the paintings. Even the tokens of admiration they brought with them were inadequate to pay for all I’d lost. My parents’ coffers were robust and juicy, but my life was sucked dry. I wanted shopping trips to the Agora with Mother, jaunts to the Baths with my sister, gallops through the fields on my horse — all things I’d been denied in the name of safety.

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