The curtains are always drawn at night, so that the light of the moon never intrudes on their bedchamber, but on the night of the new moon, Psyche looks at the night sky. She can't see her own hand against the black of the sky, so her husband has to point out each constellation by turning her chin to face each one.

His hand feels warm and smooth against her skin--she tries to reassure herself that it must be human no matter what her sisters say.

Still, she hasn't tossed away the dagger they pressed her to take.