![]() She’d jumped out of windows and balconies, but the wind would always carry her back. She’d tried to escape, of course, many times and in many desperate ways. The truth was, after years of isolation and torment at the hands of spiteful humans and capricious gods, her will was not what it used to be. She had something many lacked: a mind of her own, and along with it, a will that would not allow itself to be restrained by anything. All humans were to some extent, but unlike most, she did not take her captivity easily. Psyche reckoned she’d been a captive since birth, restrained by circumstances, geography, culture, anatomy and gender. But she’d been a captive long before that happened. It’d been almost five years since her family left her to die on a mountaintop as an offering to a monster, and Zephyrus, the west wind, had carried her here. It’d been almost five years – one thousand eight hundred and one days to be exact – since the beginning of her captivity. Not just out of curiosity but because they were very, very far away – exactly where she wanted to be. She knew every constellation like the back of her hand and often fantasised if she were a goddess, she would go visit every single one of those stars. There would be no moon tonight, and Psyche could already see a few stars, the only company she had in the moments caught between light and darkness. Such oddities no longer concerned her, for she knew well how easily the gods were able to subvert the immutable laws of reality that mortals had to abide by. She had no idea what lay beneath them, never mind how the palace remained in the sky in the first place. There were always clouds below the gilded palace. Psyche stood on the balustrade of her prison overlooking the clouds.
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