Three Sentence Ficathon

She is damaged goods, they say now--her suitors who abandon her, scrambling to have a reason for their distaste of her, or the servants who avoid her, who cannot bring themselves to look upon her, or her parents who rage at her for ruining their plans for her.

She is damaged goods, they say now--her sisters who have looked upon the glorious house of her husband and called it a cage, pressing a dagger into her hands. They say it is for her husband the monster, but there is something tempting about the cruel edge of the blade that makes her think that they want her to use it on herself.

She is damaged goods, they say now--Aphrodite who scoffs at her as she is run ragged, her clothes and hair torn as she struggled to complete her tasks, and the goddess is all too happy to see her like this now, jealousy finally abated for the moment.

Psyche sits under a tree, the box of beauty from Dread Persephone in her hands, and can only hope that maybe the contents inside might finally erase whatever invisible damage that so many have claimed to see in her. Maybe then she will be whole once more.