The evening was setting in quickly, the forest let little light in as I looked for a clearing to setup my camp. This was the third night of hiking through dense woods rarely seen by others. When this trip started I decided to explore more, to avoid the well known trails. I wanted to see new things, drink from springs few knew existed, touch trees that no other human has touched, I wanted to dream in places no person had dreamt before. Years ago I had found and old hard-drawn map of this area, showing a deep valley with a stream running into it, my goal was to find the stream, and that’s where I’d setup my camp.

As I walked in the dwindling light, the forest felt different, looked different. No saplings, no flowers. Only aged trees, their branches sagging, as if the trees are weary from long years holding these limbs up. The bark is jagged and wrinkled, grey and torn, peeling as layers of dead skin. These trees have seen countless winters, though perhaps too few springs. Their leaves, shrunken and pallid, are like those of a false spring where winter had not yet released its icy grip. The ground had become smooth, without leaf or twig. If not for moss, there would be nothing green to be seen.

It was then that I looked back at the way I came and realised that I must have walked into a fog without noticing; a dark mist hung in the air, in every direction I looked, everything faded into blackness. Nor, now, could I see my path into these ancient woods. Little did it matter though, there was no choice but to go on; I had brought only enough water for the day’s hike, little of which remained. I had to find the stream.

With each step forward, the mist became more visible to the naked eye. With each step forward, there were fewer leaves on the trees. I was steadily walking up, steadily approaching the rim of the valley. I knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

When I reached the peak, I looked down into the valley hoping to see the stream I was chasing. What I saw was a veil, nearly impenetrable, blotting out the sky above me, and engulfing the valley below me. I stared and I strained, trying to see through the damnable fog. With effort I started to make out the shapes of trees in the distance, and they seemed to suddenly stop in a clear line. The stream, it had to be.

An hour, at least, I walked, holding as true a line as I could. The trees no longer had leaves, no loner were alive. In this fog enclosed valley, they were cold to the touch, as if touching stone. I wondered if they had actually petrified in place.

In time I finally found the tree line, though it didn’t show me the stream I had hoped to see. No, it showed me something far more unexpected, and something that nothing in my life had prepared me for.

In a broad clearing was set a house, if such a grand masterwork of the art that is architecture could be called a house, a building unlike any on the face of this Earth. To look upon its grand facade is to feel utter awe that such a thing is possible; look for a flaw as one might, none are to be found, it is beautiful, lovely, and entirely splendid. Large stone columns line the front, expertly carved of the finest white marble; fluted in a spiral to the left on one side, to the right on the other, merging into a perfect harmony in the grand center column.

Between each column, a soaring Gothic arch, inlaid with the most exquisite stained glass murals. Crafted by the finest artisans, flawless and exact in every detail.

One may, if they pay careful attention, notice the first oddity of this grand structure: there is no front door. By whatever means one may find themselves inside, it is not so straightforward as walking up to the front door and knocking.

Never in my life had I seen something so beautiful, or so terrifying in my life. The building was so large, so ornate, so isolated. To my eyes, it seemed both ancient and new. It had the magnificence of something that that has witnessed millennia pass by, yet somehow untouched by the weathers of the world. The marble shimmered as if reflecting the light of unseen stars. I stared in awe. I could do nothing else.

Working up the courage, I approached the edifice of the structure. I see windows, countless prices of stained glass, though no light comes from within. These windows are clearly intended to display something of magnificence, but in this darkness, I cannot say what. I walk from one end to the other and back looking for a door, yet there is none to be found. My confusion becomes so profound that I wonder if I had strayed into a dream; the more I saw, the less I found myself believing my own eyes.

As I rounded the corner to see if there was an entrance on the side or back, I was struck by another sight. The awe of the seemingly eternal beauty of the edifice was instantly replaced by disillusionment. Broken plaster atop cracked bricks. Long cracks down the wall, some carefully patched and barely visible, others hastily re-plastered barely hiding the damage, some simply ignored. Simple windows, plain and unadorned. I saw a functional building, sturdy, but weather beaten and worn by the long years since it was built. The facade, for all its glory and beauty, was but a facade, nothing more.

Searching along the wall, finally, I found a door. Short and narrow, a simple wooden door, with a simple iron latch.

As soon as I stepped inside, my headlamp flickered and died. The flashlight I had in my pocket did the same. Thankfully I had a small candle in my backpack among my emergency supplies. Upon lighting it, I saw the interior of the building for the first time. Or at least what little could be seen with the light from the candle. The darkness outside was even more intense & oppressive inside. The very air of the place seemed to choke the light. A foot, maybe two, but no further did the light go. I had to bend down to see my own feet.

I found that I was standing on a thick & plush carpet, bright red, and with each step I could feel my foot slowly sink into it. Looking around as best I could, I seemed to be in a hallway running the length of the building. The walls were lined with intricate wood moulding; baseboard, crown, and wainscoting. The work of many skilled hands, with detailed carvings throughout. The lower wall was a deep burgundy red, will the upper wall was beige with symbols every few inches, seemingly of rich purple velvet. What these symbols meant, I could not decipher.

There was not a sound, not a breath, not a squeak, not a footfall; a silence so deep, an absence so complete, one could be forgiven for believing there was no air to carry sound.

As I walked, the occasional window appeared to my left, and doors to my right. Each door was carved of the finest woods, with a unique & complex design, and demonstrated true mastery of skill. Each bore a knob of polished silver, with an intricately etched “C” upon it.

Finally, a door unlocked. It opened to what appeared to be a smoking room, seemingly untouched since the 19th century. Large & dark leather chairs. Tall bookcases stacked with many a finely bound tome. At the room’s heart, a fine silver candelabra, with a tall touch in its center. And a man.

The man was tall, though hunched from countless years of bending over his work table, with a streaming grey beard and long white hair. He was clad in a red robe, velvet I thought it. His hands danced constantly over what looked to be a crystal ball. As one hand waved over the sphere an image would appear, dull and faint. The other hand, with what appeared to be a flick of the wrist, he would pick up an arrow from the table, tap the sphere, and place it back down.

As I walked into the room, the arrow he picked had a tip made of a dull grey metal, lead perhaps, and he cackled as he tapped the sphere. After the next swipe of his hand, he looked at the image and grumbled. He sounded annoyed, or perhaps disappointed. He tapped the sphere with a golden tipped arrow, grunting, as if proud of himself. There must have been a dozen different arrows, some worn so thin by handling I expected them to snap when he touched them, each with a different tip. Each seemed to elicit a different sound from the old man, though most sounds seemed to be a form of amusement of pleasure. Only one of the 12 seemed to get more than one reaction, the gold tipped arrow. Most times it seemed to be amusement, but on occasion, it seemed to be a weary sigh.

I expected him to stop, to notice I was there, but minutes went by, and his hands never stopped moving for an instant.

After a few minutes, I cleared my throat.

“Hey there, I didn’t hear to you come in. I wasn’t expecting you, it’s been a while since I’ve had a visitor. It’s been, well, 40 years I guess. I’m Cupid, or Cupido 83 if you want to get technical. But you can call me Chuck. That was my old name.”

“Cupid? I thought Cupid was a chubby little boy with wings and a bow?”

“Oh, him. Yeah that was Cupido 1, somebody got mad over his antics and killed him more than 2,500 years ago.”

“You use a crystal ball, don’t have a bow, and Cupid is dead. Yeah, this makes no sense.”

“There are billions of people in the world, do you have any idea how busy I’d be if I had to find them and use a bow to shoot them with an arrow? It’s hard enough to keep up as it is.”

“And the thing about Cupid being killed?”

”There’s always a Cupid. You’ve heard the phrase ‘the king is dead, long live the king” right? Well, it’s the same for Cupid, someone killed Cupido 1, and that’s how we got Cupido 2. It turns out that if you kill Cupid, you have to take over the job. If there’s no Cupid, there’s no romantic love, and if there’s no romantic love, there’s no more humans. So somebody has to do the job.”

“What? No. This can’t be real. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing when I stumbled into this place. I was a logger scouting for new ground, found this place instead. Met the last Cupid, Cupido 82. I had just been through a bad break-up, he caused it and thought it was funny, so I stabbed him. That’s when I learned that I had to take over. But I was a lot younger then, let things get to me. Didn’t realise how funny it is to watch.”

“What do you mean, funny?”

“When I started, I promised I’d be a better Cupid, I wouldn’t cause trouble, I’d just make people happy. It was awful. It was so boring. Once I figured out what all the different arrows do, and all the ways to get someone to break someone else’s heart, it was hilarious! So much drama! Constant entertainment.”

“Wait, you mean you’re causing people to do things like cheat and break-up?”

“You thought Cupid just made people happy? No, that’s not how it works. Keep in mind, Cupido 1 was the son of the Goddess of Love, and the God of War, you really think happy comes from that? No, the job of Cupid is to create the most delectable of pains, the one form of misery people long for, the hunger that death alone can sate. That’s the job.”

“I can’t help but notice that you’re using the same arrow for everyone now, what are you doing?”

“I can’t really talk and pay attention at the same time, so I’m just going with a fun option. It’s actually one of my favourites, and fairly new. It’s an obsidian arrow, Cupido 71 came up with it. It makes the person believe they’ve been betrayed, even if there’s no reason. It’s like a 2-for-1 special, two broken hearts, one tap.”

“So, when my fiancé cheated on me last year. You’re telling me that was you?”

“Hm. Oh, wait. HA! Yes! I remember that now, you were absolutely crushed. Absolutely brutal. You know, the best part? Until I gave her a nudge, she hated that guy! I was laughing for a solid 20 minutes. That was a good one.”

“You’re an unredeemable bastard. You know that, right?”

“And that’s it, that’s the story of how I became Cupido 84. Other than a messy bit involving a hunting knife, of course. Had to be at least 30 years ago now. Of course, I tried to be different at first. I didn’t want to cause pain or suffering like the last one. But he was right, happy is boring. But it’s not just that, if I’m doomed to be here, alone, why should I give anyone the happiness I can’t have? I felt a bit bad for the first few thousand, but once I got past the first million heartbreaks, it was just laughs all the way. You know, I think I remember you. You used to be married, right? Yes! I’m sure that was you! Wow, that was a rollercoaster, you tried so hard, and kept getting absolutely crushed! That was a fun time, I do hope you see the humour in it now.”