Archive of Our Own

It starts, like many love stories, with a girl.

Not a girl and a boy. Not a girl and a girl, either. Just one girl, because her journey started off alone. She was a goddess, by name if not anything else. She was magic itself in a pink-haired package. She floated down from Olympus in a cloud of candy hearts and lullabies, and set out to change the world.

Her name was C.A. Cupid.

Her first school was called Monster High, but it was short-lived and left much to be desired. Cupid did her best to guide hearts towards their match, but nobody really listened to her. She stood out, and not in a good way. Everyone knew her, but there was no one she could call a friend.

When her transfer request is approved, she is ecstatic.

Ever After High is a wave of new possibilities, and Cupid lets them wash over her like a cool breeze. Already, her spirits are lifted, the toes of her shoes just barely skimming the entryway as her wings flutter in excitement, automatically holding her above the ground. Love coats this school like a thick fog, and it tastes like strawberries on her tongue as she lets out a happy sigh.

Her new Headmaster stops in his tracks when they reach the room labeled as his office, and turns to face Cupid for the first time since she’s arrived. She gets the feeling that he isn’t the biggest fan of her and what he presumes her powers can do. His tone is clipped whenever he chooses to speak to her, and he does so now, shifting uncomfortably like he’s being held at wandpoint.

“For your tour of our campus, I’ve enlisted one of our brightest students to show you around. She should be here any minute now. I’d estimate it will take about an hour to cover everything, so when you’re finished, come back here and my assistant will set you up with a class schedule.”

Cupid only nods, put off by the bite in his voice. She has an odd feeling that anything she says will be stored away in his mind for later use, and she shudders at the sensation creeping over her skin.

Her tour guide saves her from having to respond by dashing down a nearby staircase, frantically smoothing and resmoothing her skirt like she expects it to change material from one moment to the next. “Am I late?” she exhales in one breath, gasping lungfuls of air to steady herself. Her hands continue to worry at her skirt, gripping it like a lifeline.

“Right on time, Ms. Ella.” And with that, the headmaster leaves the two of them in front of his office, closing the door firmly to signify his exit from the conversation.

The other girl finally looks up from her dress and pins Cupid to the spot with the warmth in her gaze. “You must be Cupid!” she beams, and her voice is so achingly sweet it sounds like it could be set to music. “I’m Ashlynn. If I can just say, I think what you do is so beautiful! But you probably hear about that all the time, so we can just get started. First, let me take you…”

Ashlynn keeps talking, but Cupid doesn’t hear much of it. She’s a little bit lost in the compassion radiating from her doe eyes. Or maybe it’s the light glittering off her strawberry blond hair. Or maybe it’s the enchanting lure of her voice itself that draws Cupid in.

She hopes she laughs in the right places. She feels herself asking questions, but she won’t recall them later. She can’t believe that the very first person she meets in her new school (save Headmaster Grimm) could make her feel this much, this fast.

She drifts down the hallways in a daze. She’d probably follow her anywhere. She tunes back in just in time to hear Ashlynn say, “Here are some of the dorms! My room is right here, and yours is farther down this hall…” She trails off, the rest of her sentence forgotten.

Cupid looks up, shaking the haze from her vision. Ashlynn is a couple paces in front of her, mouth slightly open, her cheerful narration on pause. And her eyes…

Absolutely, positively overflow with emotion. Warmth and longing and passion and care drip from them like tears only Cupid can see. They glitter like fallen stars and trail across the hall, glomming on to a boy passing by.

Just like that, Cupid’s sixth sense is activated. This girl is not for her. This girl is for her to help.

(Her heart will catch up with her brain soon enough.)

For a moment upon opening the door to her new room, her breath catches in her lungs. Her new roommate looks up from the MirrorPad in her hands, all soft curls and impossibly wide eyes. They’re a shade of baby blue she could get lost in, framed by immaculately curled lashes. Her face holds a timeless innocence, set up by the perfect pout of her rosebud lips.

Then Blondie Lockes opens her mouth, and it fizzles out before it even begins.

The object of Ashlynn’s affections is named Hunter Huntsman. He’s tall and strapping, with dark hair and dark eyes, and they would look fantastic together if they weren’t doomed before they even began. The thing about Ever After High, as Cupid quickly learns, is that everyone has a storybook destiny. Their purpose at this school is to learn the necessary skills to follow it, and with their destiny comes a predetermined true love. Ashlynn is destined to be Cinderella, marrying some faceless Prince Charming that allegedly attends a different school. Hunter… well, his destiny is right there in his name. He’s not a prince, and he’s never going to be.

Cupid feels the invisible tug they have towards each other like a physical force. If she’s ever in the direct path between them, she feels slightly squished, like the magnets drawing them together are going to crush her in the middle. The more she understands about the mounting pressure of destiny, the more she gets why neither of them are doing anything about it, but she refuses to let them choose to be apart. Destiny and love are not always the same thing, and if you love someone that much, that hard, then it had to be fated, didn’t it?

In Cupid’s first class, Chemythstry, she’s placed with Ashlynn as a lab partner. Her teacher explains that they will remain with the same partner for the duration of the semester, since they have a new assignment each day and it benefits them to get into routine working together. Cupid nods like this is the most interesting information she’s ever heard, and promptly switches places with Hunter.

“I’m new, I want to get to know more people!” she explains to them both as they stare at her in confusion. “You’ve been the absolute best guide for me, Ashlynn, but I have to figure out some stuff on my own. You know?” Not giving either of them a chance to respond, she whirls to her new partner and introduces herself.

Briar Beauty, as it turns out, is Ashlynn’s roommate and best friend. So much for doing things herself. If Cupid had continued to stick with Ashlynn, she’d be placed in this girl’s orbit soon enough. As it was, she was quickly swept up as Briar finished her introduction up with a loud yawn and a “Holy fuck, I’m so hungover!”

Cupid blinks at her. “But… it’s the middle of the week?”

Briar shrugs this off as unimportant. “I don’t have much time left before the hundred-year coma. Gotta fit all the fun in now.”

Cupid is so intrigued by her new lab partner that she almost misses the sparks flying beside her. But the raw emotion pouring off Hunter and Ashlynn is more plentiful than what they’re stirring into their flask, so it’s hard for her to ignore. She almost feels guilty being able to see it. But not so guilty that she doesn’t continue to glance sideways throughout the lesson, pleased at her success.

Briar catches one of her looks near the end of class. “Aren’t they adorable?” she says fondly, lowering her voice until it’s barely audible. “You switched on purpose, didn’t you?”

Cupid looks around furtively, but no one else, least of all the lovebirds themselves, are listening. She nods. “Was it that obvious?”

Briar laughs quietly and shakes her head. “You played it off pretty well. Ash will appreciate it, she’s too afraid to ever interact with him in public. You’ve given her the perfect excuse.”

With one good deed under her belt and one new friend acquired, Cupid feels her heartache soften to only an echo. She accepts Briar’s party invitation for the next day eagerly. “You haven’t lived until you’ve been to one of my parties,” the other girl tells her earnestly. “And it’s actually on a Friday this time, so you have no excuse!”

“I’ll be there,” Cupid tells her, and she means it.

The next night, Cupid tries on half her closet before choosing a top and skirt at random. She still takes less time getting ready than Blondie, who reapplies her makeup an estimated five times while sipping on bright red mixtures to “pregame”. She’d offered one to Cupid, who had passed solely based on the neon hue.

“There’s always a good story that comes out of Briar’s parties,” Blondie tells her, and Cupid isn’t sure whether the gleam in her eyes is hunger for the gossip she’s about to get, or remnant of the drink she’d just knocked back in three gulps. Cupid takes the latter to mean that the party will probably revolve around alcohol, and while she’s no stranger to it, she grows a little apprehensive. She’s seen the way the gods behaved when they were drunk. It’s why she never lets herself have more than a few sips, scared she won’t recognize herself in the morning if she has more.

“Like what?” she asks before Blondie notices she’s been silent for too long. So far, she’s avoided too much prying from her overly curious roommate, but it’s only a matter of time before her luck runs out. Cupid has quickly learned that the trick to it is to always have something more exciting to talk about besides herself.

Blondie settles back in her chair, beaming at being asked to share what she knew. “Well, at the last one, Raven and Apple majorly got into it. Apple will deny it if you say anything, but everyone knows she has no filter when she’s drunk. Sparrow serenaded Holly, and I kinda think he’s into her, but he’ll say it was all a prank because she was not interested. Oh, and Hopper made a move on Briar again, but we all know how that always goes.”

Having not been introduced to the majority of these people yet, the gossip means little to Cupid, but she nods along like this is the big news Blondie’s making it out to be. “Wow, sounds like tonight will definitely be exciting!” She does a little spin so the layers of tulle in her skirt fan out around her. “This okay to wear?”

Blondie gets up from her vanity and links her arm through Cupid’s. “Just right, let’s go.”

Blondie leads her on a path with so many turns and spiraling staircases that Cupid doubts she could ever recreate it on her own. Eventually, they come to a door that looks exactly like the last five they’d passed. “Here we are!” she announces confidently, tugging Cupid to a stop. Cupid isn’t sure how Blondie can tell this particular spot from any other room they’ve passed, but as Blondie pushes open the door, sound explodes out of its depths.

“Soundless spell,” Blondie explains as Cupid peers in the doorway, wide-eyed. “Raven’s finally got the hang of it, which is spelltacular, because Farrah was doing it before and all her spells wear off at midnight.”

Once again, Cupid has no idea who Blondie is talking about, and she tunes her out as she gapes at the room inside.

Briar has turned an old lecture hall into what can only be described as a rager. All the lights are off, replaced by strobe lights of various colors peppered across the ceiling. A girl with nearly-white hair and a pair of headphones around her neck is set up in a makeshift DJ booth, sending a bubbly pop song thumping through her speakers. A decent crowd of students is gathered in front of her, jumping to the beat. In the back corner of the room is what can only be described as a bar. A boy dressed all in green and a girl with her hair in pigtails whose smile nearly splits her face apart are standing behind it, mixing various things together into glasses and handing them out.

“Oh, hell no,” Blondie says from beside her, pulling the door closed. “Briar said she wouldn’t let Kitty bartend anymore, not after what she did on Halloween.” She beelines toward the bar, only turning back to mouth Mushrooms at Cupid before fading into the crowd.

…Which leaves Cupid by herself in a crowd of mostly-strangers. She thinks she spots Ashlynn off to the side, but the idea of her is still a little raw. She turns the other way instead, intending to search for Briar. She barely makes it three steps before someone jabs her with their elbow. “Ow,” she mutters, turning to face them, only to nearly be blinded by a set of dazzling white teeth.

“Watch where you’re going,” says the owner of the offending teeth. “I think you may have creased my jacket.”

Cupid wrinkles her nose as the boy pushes past her, noting the crown perched just so atop his head. An entourage of more boys in crowns followed, muttering “sorry” out of the corner of their mouths as they followed the leader. Did people really wear their crowns even at parties? She had thought it was more a propriety thing for class, or maybe to appease the obviously traditional headmaster, but apparently they couldn’t even dance and drink without reminding everyone of their status.

“Sorry about him,” says a voice to her right. Cupid turns to see one of the princes has stayed behind. He’s got chestnut-colored hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. “He’s kind of in his own world. Trust me, I live with the guy.”

Cupid smiles brightly. “Yeah, I could see that. I’m new, though, so he doesn’t know me anyway.”

“Neither do I.” The boy sticks out a hand. “I’m Hopper.”

“Cupid,” she says, reaching to shake, but the second their hands meet, a flush creeps over his face. Suddenly, she’s not holding his hand at all, but- a webbed foot?

Cupid shrieks, dropping the newly-transformed frog to the floor. The amphibian that had just been Hopper leaps sideways, narrowly avoiding a shoe that comes down just beside his head. “Apologies, fair maiden,” it says almost reverently. “My condition befalls me whenever I become tongue-tied by beautiful damsels such as yourself.”

Over her initial surprise, Cupid giggles. “Well, I’ll take it as a compliment, then. How do you turn back?”

“Eventually, the spell will lose its hold. Though, the process is sped up by a kiss from a princess…” The frog puckers his lips, which is such an odd sight that Cupid dissolves into laughter.

“I’m not a princess,” she tells him when she’s gotten ahold of herself. “But I bet I can find one for you?”

Scooping Hopper-the-frog off the floor, Cupid turns around and comes face-to-face with- “Briar!”

“Heyyyy, girl!” An obviously drunk Briar tosses her arm around Cupid’s shoulders. “You made it! Come dance with me!”

Briar’s energy is infectious, and Cupid smiles back. “Yeah, of course! I could use your help first, though?” She holds up the frog in her palms.

“Not again,” Briar slurs, and leans heavily on Cupid’s shoulder to bend her head far enough down to be at Hopper’s eye level. “This is only cause I want you to enjoy the party, ‘kay? Don’t get any ideas.” She tilts herself forward to kiss the top of the frog’s head.

Cupid whips her hands back fast as Hopper shoots back to full size. “B-Briar!” he stammers, turning a shade that would surely be bright red if it weren’t for the strobe lights coating him in blue.

“Gotta go,” Briar says, pushing her weight back off Cupid. “Come find me in a few? If I stick around, he’ll go all-” She makes a croaking sound and bounds away.

When Cupid turns back to Hopper, she feels it before she sees it. Love tumbles from his eyes and trails after Briar through the jumping bodies. It looks almost like glitter as it catches the light, her own personal pixie dust.

Cupid didn’t realize it until her stomach was already sinking, watching it go. She’d been kind of charmed by the awkward prince. He had stopped to apologize for his friend. He had called her beautiful. He had made her laugh, even in his frog form.

But she stamped it out before it could start. Love had already bloomed here, and now it was her mission to help it grow.

“Go dance with her,” Cupid suggests, plastering a smile back onto her face.

Hopper shakes his head immediately. “I can’t. Every time I’m even near her, it’s like something takes over me. I know what I want to say, but I just panic and stupid shit comes out. And then…” He makes a croaking noise, like Briar had, but his sounds almost melancholy. Cupid didn’t know frogs had range like that, but she supposes he’s spent enough time as one to have sounds for every mood.

“Look at her.” Cupid gestures to Briar within the dancing crowd, who throws back a shot of something before grabbing the hands of a girl with teal hair and spinning around in circles. “Don’t worry about saying exactly the right thing. She might not even remember what you say tomorrow, anyway.”

Hopper sighs. “I guess.” He doesn’t look motivated in the slightest. “Sorry, I just met you, and you’ve already had to rescue me from frog form and Briar.”

“You don’t need rescuing from Briar,” Cupid says encouragingly. “Get yourself out there and do what feels right. She’s having the time of her life, and you’ll just happen to be next to her for it. Think of it like exposure therapy. If you can be around her for a bit now, without the pressure of conversation, and stay… um… yourself, then you’ll be more prepared for next time!”

A cup is shoved into Hopper’s hand. “Liquid courage, man!” shouts the boy of the blinding smile from earlier. Hopper lifts it in a cheers towards Cupid, downs it quickly, and tosses a “Thanks!” towards both of them before pushing through the sea of students towards Briar.

Cupid gives herself five seconds of wistfulness, and then she melts into the other side of the crowd.

Not even a week later, and Cupid is fully submerged in her new school. Namely, in homework. She can barely blink before she’s being handed another new assignment, and while some subjects, like Mythology and Crownculus, come easily to her, others are the exact opposite. Chemythstry in particular is a thorn in her side. She’s acing the lab portion, thanks to Briar, who’s a natural, but the other girl often falls asleep in lecture and can’t explain theory in a way that doesn’t make Cupid’s head spin. So she turns to the library to be her saving grace.

She’s tiptoeing through the shelves, wary after being loudly shushed by one of the librarians when she accidentally knocked a book from the first shelf she checked. Scanning the ones in front of her, she sees one that looks helpful and reaches for it.

Her fingertips have barely brushed the spine when it slides backwards, pulled down instead on the shelf’s other side. Cupid tries to grab for it too late, peering in confusion into the gap it leaves behind.

A warm brown eye meets her gaze, framed by half a pair of glasses.

“Sorry!” says a voice from the other side, followed by hasty footsteps. A few seconds later, a girl comes into view at the end of the shelves. “Did I take this from you?”

Rosabella Beauty certainly lives up to her name. Her hair, a lovely chocolate color with streaks of red throughout, tumbles over her shoulders in waves. Her eyes are full of warmth and are striking behind her glasses, which have tiny roses at the corners. When she smiles at Cupid, her entire face is alight with its sincerity.

Cupid forces herself to focus on the Chemythstry book in Rosabella’s hand. “Sort of, but that’s okay! I didn’t need that book in particular. I just seriously need help in that class, and it looked like a good place to start.”

Rosabella laughs. It’s the kind of laugh that makes Cupid want to join in, filling her with a bubbly sort of feeling. “I’m right there with you, girl. That class is a total shit show, and I fully blame Professor Rumplestiltskin.” She lifts the book higher. “You want to come attempt to understand this with me?”

Cupid instantly agrees, falling into step beside Rosabella as they wander the aisles. “I don’t understand how Briar is so good at this. She’s the only reason I’m not failing altogether.”

“I know!” Rosabella bemoans. “She was like, born with the entire periodic table mem-”

“Shh!” It’s one of the librarians, and she does not look amused. “You shh!” Rosabella automatically says back, and then claps a hand over her mouth.

Cupid giggles. She can’t help it, and it turns to full-fledged laughter as Rosabella tugs her into another aisle, out of the librarians’ eyeline. “Sorry, it’s just, she’s so dramatic! Like, it’s not going to be silent in here all the time. And if people want that, shouldn’t there be separate study rooms or something?”

“We have those!” Rosabella says, her eyes lighting up. “And I’ve been saying all year that we should get those soundproofed, like how Raven does for the parties? Because I get that people want a quiet environment to study in here, but come on, has no one ever heard of a group project? If they would just approve the use of that spell- cause it’s kinda skirting the edges legal wise right now- everyone could be happy! And has anyone ever told you about-?”

The way Rosabella’s mind is clearly racing faster than she’s able to speak, her enthusiasm bubbling over, reminds Cupid fondly of Briar. She knows from her friend that the two are related, and if she couldn’t already tell from the shape of her face and their almost-matching hair, she would find the similarity in the way their voices overflow with excitement when they’re sharing their passions. For Briar, that came in the form of planning her events or dragging someone into the new hextreme sport she was about to try. For Rosabella, it was bigger.

She spoke of a dozen different changes she wanted to make in a matter of minutes, her face awash in possibilities. Each thing she jumped to was larger than the last. She dreamed far and reached farther, never letting herself be limited by those around her. And her ideas were good. She wanted to make her school, her kingdom, and all of Ever After better in any way she could.

Cupid was drawn to her instantly. What she did in the only way she was blessed with, Rosabella tackled in leaps and bounds. While Cupid healed hearts, Rosabella wanted to heal the world.

“I have some of my petitions in my bag over there,” Rosabella told her, gesturing to a table across the library. “Would you maybe want to sign a couple?”

Cupid nods, admiration and maybe something a little deeper swelling up inside her like a balloon. “Yeah, for sure!”

Once they reach Rosabella’s table, they talk nonstop. Rosabella has so many ideas that they seem to be jostling for position to be spoken first. She flits from one topic to another, growing increasingly more energetic with each paper Cupid signs. Finally, there’s none left in the stack, and her roar slows back down to a trickle.

“Wow, okay, my bad. I just get so excited when someone wants to hear all that, you know? You’re new, so you haven’t had me talking your ear off for the past two years. That’s probably it. Everyone else is kind of over it, which sucks.” She sighs. “I don’t mean to be overbearing. I just can’t slow down once I start, I guess?”

Her nervous ramble is endearing, and probably what spurs Cupid to say what she does next. She hasn’t tried a direct approach yet, and maybe that’s her problem? “You’ve been here since you started high school, huh? So you must know everybody. Is there anyone you have your eye on?”

She’s hoping for a no, but Rosabella instantly goes crimson. Her eyes dart across the library, settling on something behind Cupid’s head, then away again. “I guess… kind of?”

Cupid fights the urge to turn around and see for herself what she was looking at. “Yeah?”

Rosabella bites her bottom lip. “It’s complicated. He’s destined for someone else, and he’s very set in his ways about destiny, so he won’t ever look at me.”

“Destiny and true love aren’t always the same,” Cupid tells her. It’s what she believed about Ashlynn and Hunter before her. “Just because something is written down somewhere about who he’s going to marry, that doesn’t mean anything for his heart. You can’t force love. It finds you when it finds you, and sometimes it comes from where you least expect it.”

At her words, Rosabella’s entire face brightens. She reaches for Cupid’s hand and squeezes it in both of hers. “You believe that too?” Her eyes catch on the bow-and-arrow hair clip tucked behind Cupid’s ear. “Well, I guess that makes sense, this is your whole thing. But you have no idea how refreshing that is to hear, you have to be so careful who you talk to about things like this, people are so weird about destiny, and even the slightest comment about wanting something more freaks them out-”

Rosabella gushes for several minutes about how grateful she is to find someone like-minded, and for several more minutes about the boy she loves, now that she’s decided Cupid is a safe space for her feelings. But not once does she let slip his identity.

“Rosabella,” Cupid finally interrupts her, “who are you talking about?”

Once again, Rosabella’s gaze lands somewhere behind Cupid’s head before she looks down at the table, suddenly shy. “Daring Charming,” she mumbles.

Cupid gulps. She has her work cut out for her on this one.

Cupid bends over backwards running diversions for Ashlynn and Hunter, often aided by Briar. As they grow crazier about each other, they slip up more often, and would have gotten caught a dozen times by now if Cupid didn’t zip through the hall screaming about rats as Ashlynn nonchalantly closed Hunter’s door behind her. Or if Briar didn’t pretend to pass out just as Daring looked out the window, nearly spotting them as they dashed towards the forest. It was a full-time job, covering their path.

As far as Briar is concerned, Cupid helps Hopper practice what he wants to say to her like he’s memorizing lines for a play. She’d be lying if she didn’t pretend it was for her, sometimes. But with each runthrough, Hopper’s voice gets a little stronger, and eventually she proclaims him ready. The first time he makes it through a full conversation with Briar without turning into a frog, she’s nearly vibrating with pride.

She feeds Rosabella encouragement almost daily, searching for the chinks in Daring’s egotistical armor. If they can just give him a good reality check, Cupid is sure he’s got redeeming qualities buried within. Very, very far within.

It gets a little easier to breathe around them all, after a while. But it never fully stops hurting.

Justine Dancer, more than any of the others, sneaks up on her. While the first three had been more stunned-at-first-sight for Cupid, she actually shares a class with Justine for more than a month before she speaks to her at all. The princess is gorgeous, of course, but there are no shortage of those at Ever After High, namely the two that Cupid had already fallen for.

No, what it takes, with Justine, is the presentation of their midterm solos. Cupid’s seen her dance before, of course, but typically while they all practice as a class and she’s more focused on keeping herself on beat. Cupid loves the idea of dance, but in practice, it’s more difficult than she thought to carry out. When she’s allowed to use her wings, she carries out the movements fluidly, but on the ground her musicality seems to disappear.

Luckily, for her own solo, she is allowed a mix of both, and cobbles together a halfway decent presentation. When she finishes, breathing heavily and pushing her bangs back into place, her teacher definitely doesn’t look as impressed as she was for Duchess Swan before her, but gives her a nod that she passed.

Cupid steps back into line as Justine takes her place at the center of the room, and when the music starts, she’s fucking gone.

Justine moves with a kind of fluid grace that not even Duchess possesses. While each of Duchess’ movements had been precise, Justine extended her shapes and blended her steps into a seamless masterpiece. She melts into the music, and Cupid holds her breath, scared that even her slightest movement will disrupt the scene in front of her.

With each pirouette, Justine twirls farther into Cupid’s thoughts until she can think of nothing else. In just one dance, this girl she’s seen every day for weeks just made her fall in love without saying anything at all. The spotlights that follow her across the floor might as well have been the beams from Cupid’s eyes, because nothing could tear her gaze away.

The music winds to an end, and she remembers to breathe again. Her head is spinning, spinning, spinning, like Justine’s shoes that have just come to a perfect stop. She barely sees the remaining performances. She floats to the corner where their bags are only when everyone else has already moved, signaling the end of class.

Cupid finds herself in front of Justine without realizing her feet have taken her there.

“You’re so- Your dancing is so beautiful,” she gushes. It’s more than that, honestly, more than words can describe, but she already looks like a hopeless fangirl, she’s sure, with stars in her eyes and wonder on her face.

“Thank you!” Justine smiles and takes the seat beside her to slip off her pointe shoes. “I can’t take all the credit for it, honestly. It’s genetic.”

“Genetic?” she repeats stupidly, and if she were thinking straight, she’d have been able to piece it together, but she can’t, so Justine explains, “My mom is one of the Twelve Dancing Princesses. I’m the twelfth of her twelve daughters, so that’ll be me someday.”

Cupid blinks hard, and her thoughts clear a little. “You’re incredible. I wish I had even a fraction of the talent you do.”

Justine widens her eyes. “Your piece was good!” she reassures Cupid, but she seems at a loss for what else she can say.

“Don’t worry, I know it could use a lot of work.” Cupid laughs so Justine will know it’s okay to agree. “I practiced for hours, but I just do so much better off the floor than on it.”

Justine giggles a little. “You do look so much more natural using your wings. I could tell that your nerves went away. If you ever want a hand on the rest of it, though, I could practice with you?”

Cupid’s smile takes over her face until she thinks she must look rather like Kitty Cheshire. “I’d love that.”

Their first practice together is simultaneously a dream and a nightmare.

A dream, in the sense that Cupid gets to watch Justine dance again, and spend time with her just the two of them, which is even better than she’d imagined. A nightmare, because she isn’t getting any better, and it’s kind of embarrassing.

Justine is patient as can be, coaching Cupid through each of her mistakes, but eventually Cupid decides to quit for the night. Her legs are sore and she’s slightly out of breath, but whether that’s from the exercise or Justine’s smile, she isn’t sure.

Justine waves her on, insisting that she’s got at least another hour of practicing left in her. Cupid very obviously does not, so she bids her goodbye and heads for the door. 

A shadow darts across the built-in window as she nears it. Cupid could put it down to a trick of the light if it hadn’t moved so fast. Confused, she wrenches the door open and sticks her head out to find Ramona Badwolf, Justine’s roommate, several feet from the doorway like she’d backed up at Cupid’s approach.

Cupid blinks. “Were you just standing out here?”

Ramona’s face burns, glancing from the doorway to Cupid and back again. “Shut the fucking door, would you?”

Cupid does so, and they back away from it, Cupid holding her dance bag limply at her side, Ramona with her arms crossed against her chest and scowling like continuing to stand there was physically painful.

“I like to watch her dance, okay?” Ramona’s teeth are clenched so hard, Cupid can actually hear them grinding together. Ramona’s looking anywhere but at her, tapping her foot restlessly like she’s fighting the impulse to run.

“But you could just ask her, couldn’t you? Isn’t she your roommate?”

Ramona’s gaze darts away from her, back through the window at Justine, and Cupid sees it. It drips off her slowly, like syrup. Like Ramona is reluctant to feel it at all. But it’s there, and it’s blinding, and it’s undeniably true.

“You like her,” Cupid realizes.

Ramona’s eyes flash in indignation. “I- So?”

Cupid knows Ramona knows they have this in common. How could she not, after watching them practice? Cupid can’t see her own face, of course, but she knows how starstruck she feels, watching Justine, and she imagines she doesn’t conceal it all that well. She may have just made an enemy for herself, were it not for the fact that her matchmaking instincts always win out above all else.

“Nothing,” Cupid says as nonchalantly as she can muster. “It’s just, this is kind of my specialty. Matters of the heart?”

Ramona doesn’t seem interested. “Okay, whatever,” she mutters, clearly itching for a way out of the conversation. “Just don’t fucking say anything, or…” She flashes her canines. “You know the drill.”

Cupid doesn’t have a house for Ramona to blow down, or a grandma for her to eat, so she remains unfazed. As Ramona strides purposefully away from her, Cupid steels herself and follows.

“Compliments will go a long way,” she calls after her. “Especially little things she doesn’t think people notice. She knows that’s not your style, so it’ll mean a lot to her.”

Ramona slows, just a little.

“Small stuff to show her you’re thinking of her,” Cupid continues. “You’re her roommate, you have a head start on that. Tell her if you see something that reminds you of her. If there’s anything you can do that makes her day easier. Ask her how she’s doing, that one’s important.”

“I already do that,” grouses Ramona against her will. She starts walking faster again, like she’s losing points somehow by letting Cupid know she’s listening.

Cupid bites back the edge of a sob as a little piece of her heart crumbles away. “Keep it up.”

Here’s the thing about Cupid: she isn’t really a goddess. She isn’t immortal, either. She’s made of the same stuff as Greek myths, sure, so she ages centuries slower than anyone in Ever After. But she can die just as easily as any one of them. Her father, Eros, adopted her when she was a baby. Cupid has never known any family but him, and she’s never tried to look into it. She feels that it was Fate herself who placed them together, the girl who sees love like a tangible thing before her eyes and the man who creates it. (Because that’s her power- to see the threads that tie people together, the emotions that make up the bind and the strength behind them. She can push people together, sure, but only because she knows the feelings are already there. She doesn’t produce them herself.)

Cupid knows exactly what Headmaster Grimm thinks she can do. And she allows him to continue to think it. But she can’t force love- it has to begin on its own.

She likely doesn’t help the rumors, what with the bow and arrows given to her by her father that she carries around with her for show. But the joke’s on Headmaster Grimm; Eros sees it as a “training bow” while she attends school. The arrows inspire brief, intense infatuation, but not love. Never love.

Cupid’s never used one.

Her father has a dozen different bows, each with a different purpose. The one for love, Cupid isn’t ever allowed to touch. She doesn’t think she would want to, anyway. She loves much of what her father can do, but she doesn’t believe in manufacturing love, even with the immense power he contains.

Her least favorite bow is the one for heartbreak. She used to cry every time it was near, until eventually Eros took it out of the rotation. She wonders if he’s started to use it now that she’s gone. She prays to him suddenly, fiercely, that he has not. (She wonders if it was used on her.)

The sound of a broken heart is a little like wind chimes: it starts off hopeful, musical, and quickly becomes a cacophony. Sounds overlap until you can’t bear to listen anymore, and you cover your ears. Once it’s muffled, a tiny piece of you dies, because it could’ve been beautiful. It’s not their fault you couldn’t take it.

Maybe she falls a little bit in love with everyone she meets. Maybe her gift is also her curse. Cupid loves her destiny, she believes with everything in her that she was meant to bring people together, but her destiny never said anything about finding her own true love. So she watches each and every person that her heart belongs to look everywhere but at her.

Dexter Charming is where her heart turns to next, but if she’s being honest, she’s noticed him since the beginning. On her very first day, he trailed along behind Hunter as she passed by with Ashlynn, heading towards her new room. At Briar’s party, when she met Hopper, he was there among the gaggle of princes. When she bumped into Rosabella in the library, he was studying at a table nearby with his brother. He was the tech crew rep in Dance Class-ic where she’d met Justine, working the lighting for their performances. He was in at least half of her classes. He ran in similar circles to her. She’d always seen him, always felt the beginnings of something stirring within her, but each time she’d already had her sights set on someone else.

So it was kind of always Dexter, but now that she has no one else to divide her attention, the full force of the crush hits her like a gryphon falling out of the sky.

She starts planning her days around when she will see him. She curls her hair with precision each morning. She doesn’t leave her dorm until she is satisfied with her appearance, and she dissolves into fluttery giggles each time he speaks to her. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, except that she does. She doesn’t give a fuck as long as it ends up working out in the end.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

Raven Queen crash-lands into Cupid’s hopeful dreams without meaning to, and she absolutely destroys any shot Cupid might have had. Cupid doesn’t know how she’s gone two full weeks in Dexter’s orbit without seeing it, but then, Raven only shares one class with them, and she’s spent the past several days out sick. She tried so hard not to be noticed that it sort of ended up working on Cupid, so when she walks into the Castleteria and emotions immediately stream from Dexter’s chest, coiling their way around tables to reach her, it comes as a bit of a shock.

Cupid’s been doing so well. They share an interest in Crownculus and started to study together outside of class, attempting increasingly difficult equations and talking over the top of each other in excitement as they work out a solution. They eat lunch together probably twice a week, like they’re doing today when her world gets turned upside down. Dexter smiles at her sometimes with the slightest bit of softness in his eyes, but he’s never come even close to looking at her like he’s gazing at Raven.

She’s stupid if she’s never seen this before, the longing pouring off him in gold clouds, and it parts around Cupid to rush towards its real target. It just about knocks her over with the force of it, and as jealous as she is, her heart starts to break a little bit for Dexter, not because of him. It has to hurt, carrying all of that around and never saying a word.

“You’re like, the goddess of love, right?” She’s not, and Aphrodite could strike her down in moments for claiming to be, but the hope on his face is so earnest that she nods anyway. He flushes and lowers his voice. “Do you think you could maybe… help me with something?”

Cupid’s heart is in her throat and she has to swallow once, twice, three times, before it dislodges itself enough to speak. Her voice is raw as she chokes out, “Of course.”

Dexter can’t speak around Raven without getting hopelessly tongue-tied, so Cupid encourages him to write out how he feels. “Everything you’d say to her, put it on the paper instead,” she trills, and tries not to throw up. “Love letters are so romantic!”

So he does, and when he gives it to her to proofread, her eyes well up with tears. She wishes so badly that it were her name at the top of the paper. Dexter jerks it back out of her eyesight, alarmed at the expression on her face, but Cupid wrestles it back towards her. “It’s just so beautiful,” she says by way of an explanation, and he seems to accept that.

He does have a way with words. Just one more thing to love about him, one more thing she’ll never get to have. When she gets to the bottom and reads the signature there- D. Charming- she could have let it be. But she is here to help love happen, and this story was already set in motion long before she arrived.

So she points to it. “There’s three D. Charmings here, silly. You’ve come this far, put your own name so there’s no confusion! Don’t worry, okay? Raven will love it.”

His letter works. She knew it would.

The first time Cupid makes eye contact with Raven Queen, it becomes so much more complicated. The other girl dashes around the corner and collides with her head-on, sending both of their books flying in every direction. Cupid’s had little interaction with the Evil Queen’s daughter so far, and though she trusts Dexter’s opinion of her, she’s heard so many bits and pieces of gossip floating around the school (mainly from her own roommate) that she isn’t quite sure what to think.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Raven scrambles to her feet, hastily holding a hand out to help Cupid up as well. “Here, let me get your books, shit, I wasn’t paying attention-”

Cupid feels pinned to the spot by her violet eyes. She freezes for an embarrassingly long time, unable to do anything but stare. Her breath catches in her throat.

Raven is stunning.

She hasn’t paid much mind to her before, what with Raven’s concentrated effort to remain as far from the center of attention as possible, and Cupid’s own attempts to completely ignore her existence. But she didn’t even have a prayer of that now, as Raven fills her entire field of vision and all she can think is, wow.

“You’re Cupid!” Raven realizes, finally putting her hand down when it becomes clear Cupid has no intention to get up from the floor. “You’re friends with Dex! He talks about you all the time, he gives you all the credit for, um. Telling me how he feels. So I guess I have you to thank, huh?”

Raven stumbles over the words, like she’s still getting used to the development between her and Dexter herself. But her eyes go soft when she says his name.

Dexter talks about me all the time? is Cupid’s first thought, but she swallows it back. “Aww, of course! He already knew what he wanted to say. I just gave him a little push on saying it.”

Raven smiles. “He has a way with words, for sure.”

It takes a monumental effort to curb the jealousy that crashes over her in waves. Once she finally has herself under control, she’s struck by a realization. She isn’t just jealous of Raven for having Dexter’s time, attention, and all of his beautiful letters.

She’s jealous of Dexter for being the one to give it to her.

(She is so royally screwed.)

“Hey, I’m actually going to have lunch with him right now. You could come,” Raven offers. Her eyes drop to Cupid’s current position. “Unless you’d prefer to sit there, I mean, up to you, really.”

Cupid blushes, realizing she’d remained sprawled on the ground for the entirety of their conversation, and hurriedly stands up. “I’d love to.”

As it turned out later, she’d found a best friend in the Evil Queen’s daughter. It’s just that she’d accidentally handed over her heart in the process.

Before she goes to bed that night, she goes over to her vanity and gazes into her mirror like all the secrets of the universe are held in its depths. What does she look like, to all the pairs of eyes that flit just past her each day? What do they see in her? What do they not see?

She knows, realistically, that love could be waiting for her anywhere. It doesn’t have to find her here at school. But each time she matches up her heart’s desire with their heart’s desire, her smile dims a little more. There has to be something she’s missing.

Cupid stares into the mirror, trying to take in every aspect of herself from an outsider’s perspective. She doesn’t feel like it’s narcissistic to say that she’s beautiful. She is sculpted from similar clay as the rest of the Greek deities, and they are nothing less than perfect. Her face could be a statue in a temple back home. Her fluffed-up bangs bring just the right amount of attention to her eyes, and her heart-shaped lips that she paints every day with rose-colored gloss walk a fine line between adorable and desirable.

So fucking beautiful, but not enough to look twice.

“Someone is going to love you,” she whispers, and if she doesn’t listen too closely, the words almost sound true. “Someone is going to see all that you are and want that. One day, you will be a first choice.”

For now, she settles in at second.

Dexter and Raven don’t see her that way, but they still love her. They have to, with the amount of time they let her spend with them. If Cupid tries really fucking hard to push her own feelings aside, she can almost say that it makes sense, her being their third wheel. Dexter has always been pushed aside in favor of his siblings, not enough to represent the Charming legacy. Raven has always been forced under a spotlight and urged to be less, to stop trying so hard for goodness she was never meant to emulate. Cupid was placed directly in the middle. She had a destiny that she didn’t have to claim, because she wasn’t born to take it, but she could and she did and she was doing it justice.

She understood both of them so well. She knew they fit together because they understood each other, too, without even trying. They didn’t need her to be the bridge, but as long as they kept letting her stand there in the middle, she’d continue to do it.

(It’s just… it was so fucking hard, trying to kill those feelings when she was with them all the time. In fact, they only grew.)

“Here, let’s take a picture,” she says brightly as a mirror shudders to a stop next to their table. They’re at the tea shop, the three of them, and it’s rare that a mirror stays in one place for longer than thirty seconds. The same could be said for the teacups, which have switched places twice since they’d sat down.

“Sure,” Raven says, and turns her chair to face the mirror, pulling her MirrorPhone from her pocket. Cupid beams, wanting this memory, with her two favorite people, to be captured forever.

The smile slides from her face as she meets her reflection’s eyes.

In the mirror, Dexter and Raven are effervescent- and Cupid is barely there at all. Her profile is flat, almost two-dimensional, and her pink pales into nothingness next to royal blue and vivid purple. 

She tries to overlay the vision of herself she’d seen in the mirror before, but the harder she tries, the more her image fades into the background. She’s part of the scenery for their story, and nothing she says or does will change that.

Cupid scoots her chair back, her reflection vanishing altogether as she shifts out of frame. The matchmaker is never in the photo shoot.

“How would you describe me?” she asks Blondie the next morning. Her roommate sits at her vanity, applying mascara to her already perfect lashes. “Like, the most important things about me. Character wise, not how I look.”

She can’t explain why this question is so important to her. She just knows, somehow, that if she can have it answered, she’ll be more complete. Brighter. Brought into focus.

Blondie pauses, the mascara wand halfway to her eye and her lips pursed into an O. She looks almost stumped. But Cupid knows better, Blondie Lockes of all people is never at a loss for words.

“Um…” Blondie says, and the longer she sits there, the more distressed she appears that she can’t find the words. “I’m not sure.” She smiles, but it’s tight at the corners, like it pains her to say it aloud. “I’m really thinking, I swear, but every word that comes to mind isn’t just right.”

“Oh,” Cupid says softly, because they may not have been all that close, but she likes to think that Blondie knows things about her that others don’t simply because of proximity. Had Blondie been the one to ask her, Cupid could have easily gone beyond the automatic curious, creative, and choosy. Blondie had an eye for aesthetics. Each facet of their room was meticulously organized and reorganized until it was exactly how she wanted it. Colors complemented each other. Furniture was evenly spaced. She was particular and painstaking, and it paid off. 

Blondie was driven. When she had her heart set on a story, she stopped at nothing until it was completed. She followed every lead, interviewed every source. She was focused. She was goal-oriented. It didn’t bother her if she had to cross boundaries or put herself in an uncomfortable situation to collect her facts. She knew what she wanted, and she went for it.

Cupid collected words faster than the seconds ticked by, waiting, hoping that Blondie was coming up with something. Maybe she really was just struggling to choose the right words, the best words to describe her. After all, Cupid was so many things. She could be hard to pin down. She could…

When she looks up, Blondie’s eyes are unfocused once more, already back to applying her fourth coat of mascara.

“How would you describe me, if someone asked you?” Cupid appeals to Briar as they’re walking to class later that morning. Or rather, Briar is walking, and Cupid hovers along next to her, the tips of her shoes brushing the ground. She’s going into this conversation with an open mind, a fresh start. Briar knows her much better, after all. Could she really blame Blondie for blanking, when they spent the majority of their time together asleep?

Briar’s expression is relaxed, and doesn’t shift at the question, so Cupid’s hopes rise higher. “Well, you’re incredible at parties, of course. Killer sense of style. You get along with everyone. You’re easy to talk to.”

Cupid feels her smile drop, just slightly. It’s not like anything Briar had said wasn’t true. She just wanted more. Something deeper.

She doesn’t want to ask for it, though, or seem ungrateful for Briar’s words. They were nice things, after all. It’s not Briar’s fault she isn’t satisfied.

Beside her, Briar bounces on her toes. She’s tall, taller than Cupid even with her wings keeping her aloft. “This is kinda fun! Can you do me now?”

(Briar is magnetic, effortlessly so. She’s crazy good at planning, with attention to detail that would surprise the majority of her party guests, too busy enjoying themselves to think about the work she put into it. She’s even better at the way she brings people together, united by her events- from back-to-school bashes to celebrating her friends’ small wins. She’s bold and throws herself into every new experience she can get her hands on. She does a million different things at once, and never bats an eye unless they’re closing from forces outside her control.)

Ashlynn is next. The question is slipped into her hand on a hastily scribbled scrap of paper, too deliberate to be just a casual wondering. But Ashlynn doesn’t ask about her request. Cupid knew she wouldn’t. The princess is too inherently good to begrudge her friends just about anything. (It’s why she fell a little bit in love with her, and maybe never all the way out.)

“You have the absolute best taste in shoes, for starters,” she whispers across the gap between their desks. “You’re so graceful when you fly. You understand love isn’t made from where you sign your name in a book.”

All of these are true. All of these are compliments that should make Cupid’s spirits rise, but when she thanks Ashlynn, she doesn’t fully mean it.

(Ashlynn is soft words and heartwarming smiles, the cadence of her voice calming enough to soothe a dragon. She is patience tied together with ribbons. She is coated in so much empathy that it drips from her fingertips. She is blurred around the edges like she came from a dream, and she will never let anyone down.

…But she just has, though Cupid will never tell her.)

Rosabella calls her open-minded. Justine gives her approachable. Ramona says she’s a meddler, but the sharpness in her tone is just for show.

And they’re not wrong, exactly, but nothing they say holds substance. Cupid wants words that she can be proud of. Words that stick to her like glue. Words that float off her like loose feathers from her wings, undeniably hers. Words that give reason to love her.

(Rosabella is passionate and progressive and sees straight through someone’s exterior to the person they hide within. Justine is delicate, purposeful, careful with her words, her steps, her decisions. Ramona is brash and impulsive, but so steadfastly loyal that it could one day be her undoing.

So, so much to love, and she is so happy in the part she played to get them there. But she’d be lying if it doesn’t sting, just a little.)

So Cupid pins all her hopes on Raven and Dexter. The story she wishes she were part of the most. The friends who know her the best. The two people she might never, in her centuries-long life, stop loving.

“If I asked you to describe me,” she starts, and she’s not proud of the way her voice trembles, “what would you say? What are the most important things about me? The things you’ll never forget?”

Raven furrows her brows, and to her credit, she truly does look like she’s doing everything she can to tell Cupid what she wants to hear. But when she opens her mouth at the end of two long minutes, she doesn’t.

“You’re sort of indescribable. Maybe it’s the goddess in you, you know? I think you’re beyond words.”

Cupid isn’t a goddess. She’s been playacting this whole time. But she couldn’t expect Raven to know that.

She appreciates the way Raven phrases it, though. It’s such a pretty way to say she doesn’t know, and if Cupid wasn’t scrutinizing every response she got, she might not even have read into it. As it was, she believes Raven is sincere.

Dexter smiles as her, so sympathetic, so kind, and her heart fucking aches. “You’re our best friend. You got us where we are. You understand us-“ He gestures to himself and Raven as one unit, one happily ever after, “better than we understand ourselves, most of the time.”

“It’s scary, kinda, but it’s cool that you can do that,” Raven agrees, scooting backwards until her back meets Dexter’s side. She wraps her arms around her knees and tilts her head towards Cupid. Dexter’s arm goes around her reflexively. They fit together so naturally (one unit, one happily ever after.) “Does it have to do with your true love magic?”

She clamps a hand over her mouth, realizing what she’s just accidentally admitted. Already Dexter is pulling her to face him, stars in his eyes.

Cupid slips out the door unnoticed. There are tears in hers.

(Raven is beautifully, unapologetically herself. Her moral compass is as straight as an arrow, and she sacrifices just about everything to protect the people she cares about- including her own happiness. She pushed Dexter away for a while before Cupid got involved, so sure that she would be bad for him. She’s got a wicked sense of humor and an insatiable taste for music, and she laughs like there is nothing better to do in the entire world.

Dexter is softened around the edges, not quite built for the role of a Prince Charming. He is good-natured and well-intentioned, the first to step up but also the first to doubt his own ability. He’s humble to the point of being self-deprecating, doing dozens of little things for the people around him and never taking the credit. He highlights the achievements of his friends. He minimizes himself to lift his siblings higher. 

Everything about them is as easy to love as breathing. They see it in each other as though they are made of glass. They just don’t see her.)

So maybe the way she faded from the mirror wasn’t a trick of the light. Maybe she’s reduced to a decoration when she’s around other people because they beam so bright it burns her eyes. They are fairytales, after all. Glittering under their spotlights. Living out their dreams. Becoming bigger, bolder, brighter by the day, and she can’t compete with that. How could she even try?

They are fairytales. They are legends. They belong at this school, created just for them.

And Cupid is just peeking into the pages of their storybook.

It doesn’t matter that the stories are changing by the day. She’s always believed that people can make their own. What matters is that they have these stories at all. So important that they are relived, reimagined, year by year, generation by generation, because the world fucking runs on them. It would cease to exist, if the stories were to stop.

Cupid herself? She’s a myth. The daughter of a myth. Adopted into a tale that wasn’t hers from the beginning, and throwing herself into it in a desperate attempt to make herself worthy. Giving and giving and giving out love, but her supply wasn’t endless. She needed it back to keep going.

The thing about myths, though? No one can prove that they’re real. They get passed down by word of mouth, and written if they’re lucky, but if people stop believing in them?

Well, they sort of fade away. Pages yellowing with age, cracking at the edges, pushed all the way to the back of a shelf until they fall down and get pinned to the wall. Out of sight, out of mind.

…until eventually, they disappear without a trace.