The Misadventures of Cupid's Bow

Coated in pomegranate juice and cum, she looked up to him with reverence. An eagerness was still about her.

"Thank you, Aelar! You have blessed me! I cannot wait to--"

"Enough!" the Aelar belted in a booming voice, that caused both girls to fall back.

Thalia whipped her hand out from under her skirt and grabbed her bow, ready to run despite the haze of arousal.

"Aelar?" Elara seemed timid and admonished.

"This is enough Elara, I... I... I cannot be with you."

The Aelar stormed off, closing his garments as he huffed his way through the cold winter air, away from the altar. The girl, who had once worshipped his cock, sat upon her knees at the altar, naked, coated in indecency from hip to face. Staring up upon the bronze idol of Melodious, she began to weep.

"My gods... what have I done to anger you!" Elara's voice shook as her love left her. "I love him! I cannot be without his holy presence, I will give it all!"

Thalia was bewildered, and felt a rack of guilt. What had just happened? They were a perfect match! How could the lonely Aelar pass up such a lovely maiden. It made no sense to her. With Elara weeping at the altar, and no matter how much she loathed the girl, there was a big part of her that felt sorrow.

She could not leave her there.

Leaving the bow in a bush, Thalia walked up to the altar as casually as possible, brushing herself off, as if she came for a nighttime prayer.

"Elara?" She softly spoke. It was hard to act surprised by the sight of a naked girl covered in man juice. Especially when it was something she witnessed.

The girl looked back in horror, as she was found; grabbing up her garments, she covered herself best she could.

"Thalia! Do not come near... I... I..." She could hardly finish the sentence, sobbing.

"What has happened, Elara?" Thalia knelt down, a distance away, but to comfort her nonetheless.

"Love! Love has happened!" Looking on at her nemesis she seemed befuddled.

"Love?"

"Yes! I love him!"

"Does he love you?" Thalia was ill-equipped to counsel a magically stricken mortal bent on love.

Looking Thalia in the eye, the dark-haired girl swept aside cum-coated bangs, as she processed her lust for love.

"I don't know... but I will make him!!!" Elara sang high. Her weeping turned to wide-eyed obsession, and upon gathering up her clothes and donning the bare minimum to be considered decent, she began to sprint off.

"Thank you, Thalia! Though we have not been friends, I hope to be now as you have helped me find my purpose!" The girl soon disappeared into the night, leaving Thalia gob-struck.

A rational mind might have stopped there that night, realizing they were messing with powers of the gods beyond them. But to Thalia Ironwood, this was all trial and error.

"I need to shoot them both! That's it!" She nodded, assured she had the answer. She sauntered confidently back to her bow and scooped it up. But before departing, she ensured to quench the fire, so that the entire altar did not burn down that night, lest she be blamed for more than one fire of passion stirring up in Fallowholm.

Elara could use some unreciprocated yearning, Thalia justified. It may humble her a bit. She would, on the morrow, shoot the Aelar and let them live in mutually affectionate bliss. But presently, she had others to bestow the blessings of love upon, as best as she could as the proxy of Cupid.

Dashing through the village like an errant banshee, she wondered just where the titular demi-god of love was, that his bow had fallen into mortal hands. Would she awake one day to find Cupid at her bedpost, angered that she had hubris enough to fire the magical bow? Or had he cast the bow off, tired of mortal love and all of its fleeting entrapments? Thalia wasn't sure, but with what she knew of the lore of Cupid, and the instinct she had for romance, she was not concerned she was misusing the power by any means. It was fate that had brought the bow to her. In her mind, she, then, was Cupid.

---

It would be an hour of patrolling the streets of the village before she found anyone else in a condition behooved to love. She must have circled the village three times, weaving in and out of the streets before two candle lights in two windows opposite one another caught her eye.

On either side of the street, a boy and girl sat awkwardly at their windows, feigning attention to anything else, but each other. The duo was none other than Eirik Camp and Lyra Ashhart, both Thalia's age, and madly in love. This was a sure match that even the power of a hopelessly romantic village girl could not fumble. Eirik and Lyra had been fixated on each other for as long as Thalia had known them. Every festival, feast, village council, and simple passing in the streets, the energy between them was palpable. Even then, as Thalia took up a position on the corner of Eirik's family inn, she could see how embroiled he was with her.

The feeling was not exclusive to him, either. Lyra's eyes often rose from the book she pretended to read to meet his. A smile crept across her face as she noticed his leering.

Despite this untapped passion, Thalia had never seen either of them interact in a familiar fashion. Surely, their hearts faltered in the resolve to commit to love. She could not understand why nothing had happened yet. That was, of course, why Thalia was here, to facilitate love and pave the passion before their feet.

While they were still distracted in the daydreaming of their romance, Thalia made her move. It would take only the light rap of a stone against their windows to encourage them to open their hearts. Such stones were littered on the ground, and took only a short throw to their target.

First was Lyra's window, the tap of the stone thrown by Thalia enough to cause her to open it curiously to the cold air. But unbeknownst to her, it also opened her to the strike of a magical arrow which found her heart true. Jostled by the impact, her soul reached out across the road, eyes finding her love, Eirik, gawking at her already from his own window.

A similar stone had knocked upon his fated pane of glass. Thalia dashed across the way to get a good vantage point. As soon as he answered fate's call with a whiny creak of his shutter, a red arrow would hit him squarely, just to be sure. Both looked at each other, like they had a hundred times over the years, but this time, making a true connection that only love could tie.

With a silent head nod to the side, they signaled each other to rendezvous. The fated meeting would happen in the cold air, as was the theme of Thalia's night of sowing love. They wasted little time exiting their respective dwellings. From his family's inn, Eirik appeared, red in the face and embroiled in desire for the beautiful Lyra. From her family's pub, Lyra emerged, radiantly blinding the night with her own zeal for infatuation.

Grinding her teeth, Thalia crossed her fingers once more, in hopes that this time, she had not led them astray. But the looks they gave each other were enough to kindle a fire. And as Lyra nodded her head toward the stable outside of her family's pub 'The Sip and Sour', Thalia's core rumbled with a carnal satisfaction.

Passionate about seeing these scenes through to the end, Thalia repositioned herself to witness the romance that would ensue. This time, there were few outside vantage points to view the couple amidst the stable, so Thalia would have to join them just a few stalls away.

Lyra had entered the stable first, breathing heavily as she faced away from where Eirik entered. She merely looked over her shoulder in a brief moment before hiking up her skirt to reveal she had nothing beneath. She fell to all fours with a sudden shift in the hay bed, arching her back, so that her prize was in full view. She wore a beautiful mane of hair on her mound and lips, of which were red and salivating for the forthcoming intrusion. Eirik, wordless, undid his belt and pants, following her silent lead for this joining.

Little was said verbally; simply Lyra stuck out her rear so that Eirik could see clearly the pink hole amidst the forest of her sex. Content with this, he grabbed her by the hips, and teased her entrance, both grunting as their bodies touched for the first time.

"I love you... Eirik. I always have," she whimpered.

Thalia could cream then and there, watching it. She was so close that through a crack in the wood partitions, she could see his cock begin to split her lips and softly land amidst her womb.

"And I love you, Miss Ashhart," he passionately said, as he rolled his hips forward.

Thalia fell to her own romp at the scene. Finally, this whole venture had brought more happiness to the village. Her legs spread apart and the memories of her last lustful thought at the shrine returned to her. Grabbing the magical bow, warmed in blue glowing elven glyphs, she took its limb-tip and placed it atwixt her thighs. Pulling aside her panties, she let it slip inside her moistened womanhood, just as Eirik began to plow his new sow.

In conjunction with Eirik's thrusts, Thalia ran the first few inches of the bow limb in and out of her swollen lips, the curve of the string nock tickling her bundle of pleasure on the inside. Its magical warmth made it feel so real along her passage. Thalia did everything she could to keep her eyes on Lyra and Eirik's intense lovemaking, but her own pleasure washed over her like an avalanche, as the warm metal tickled her fancy.

"Oh Eirik!" Lyra cried, as she was pulled back into his chest by his hand upon her throat. Her body was arched between her cock-filled pussy and her head upon his shoulder; her moans becoming loud and constant, with little notice of a quieter set of moans a few stalls down.

They ground together in unison, wordlessly communicating as if their connection gave them one mind. With each thrust, their hands played with each other through every yet-unfilled desire.

Lyra began to wail, loudly. Even in her own ecstasy and thrill of witnessing the event, Thalia wished she would be more discreet. Eirik cared little, pushing her up and down, on her back, her side, all fours, against the stall, every position he could feel his way around her body.

Thalia, for her part, pushed the bow further and further up her cunt, swallowing it for every back curve and Telerin glyph. Her fluids trickled down the golden limbs and made it sparkle even brighter, as her mouth gaped before biting on her own hand to control her lascivious moans. She was close. Each time Lyra or Eirik would grunt, it brought her even closer. She could feel her walls clamping down on Cupid's weapon, begging it to be pushed deeper.

"Oy! What's going on here!?" a scraggly voice, laden in mead, shouted.

Lanterns began to light up the stable, a half dozen footfalls coming in. Thalia's heart stopped. Sliding the bow from her slit, she wiped it with her scarf and ducked into a corner of the stall behind a manger.

"You! Camp boy! Ge'off my daughter!" An enraged cry of a father, tainted their ears.

Lyra had been on her back, legs spread wide, with Eirik looming over her, shooting ropes across her stomach when the Ashharts walked in to find them. Both were covered in sweat, hay, and indecency, but Eirik's face was pale white.

A swift knock on the head sent Eirik toppling over and clutching his skull. Daniel Ashhart made to strike him again, but missed as Eirik dodged with a roll.

"Daddy, no! Don't hurt him! Fly Eirik!" she cried, pulling her skirt down to hide her womanhood from the crowd that still flooded in. More than just Ashharts had come out in the cold, nearly all the patrons of the 'Sip and Sour' had come out to witness the commotion.

"Lyra! I love you!"

"Fly!"

Eirik hesitated, as her family grabbed more than just fists to enforce their retribution, his love for her steadied his feet. But Lyra's eyes pleaded with him to go, so he fled.

"Go on, get! No Camp will ever know my daughter carnally and live to remember it! I will kill you for this, boy!"

"Daddy, please steady yourself! For I love him, I care not that he is a Camp! I have always loved him!"

"Silence!" His back hand struck Lyra on the cheek in as soft a slap he could manage. Rebuked, the girl with the brown hair [still coated in his fluids, held her cheek and cried.

"We're gonna march over there! And we are gonna get some answers for this!"

The Ashhart clan barked their concurrence as they grabbed pitchforks, axes, and clubs from their stable, shouting their intense hatred for all things Camp.

"For thirty years, the Camps have looked down on us! Now their whelp uses our Lyra as a whore!"

Thalia was horrified at how fast an entire mob could arm themselves, light torches, and march chanting to the subject of their ire. She did everything she could to hide the blue glow of the bow, less she be their next target. But the Ashhart clan had other preoccupations, anger, and revenge to consider. As they left the stable, she followed, keeping a small distance in the shadows.

The streets of the small village were alight with torches and ringing of clashing pitchforks, as the mob walked across the road to the 'Moonlit Nook Inn'. Their chanting and angry shouts spurned a response long before they could knock on the door.

"What do you Ashharts think yew be doing?"

A bellow stopped their advance as the door of the inn swung open with a thud. Oswald Camp was an imposing man, ducking his head under the doorframe to exit his family's ancestral inn. He struck a billy club in his palm, as he loomed over the crowd; behind him, Eirik held his aching head.

"Give us your boy, Camp! I intend to impose upon him some fatherly justice!"

"No, father!" Lyra, who had gathered herself and cleaned the indecency from her face, ran in front of Oswald Camp and held her arms out, shouting. "Do not do this! Don't fight over what was our love! Our desire!" she pleaded passionately.

Thalia could see the disdain and anger on the crowd's faces, and even on Oswald Camp's scowl; they wanted a fight no matter the excuse. She recalled that both the Camps and the Ashharts disliked one another, but never the grabbing pitchforks and torches hate; just maybe didn't eat each other's pie at the feast sort of disdain.

"Father! Let us not fight over my mistake, I will submit myself to their punishment." Eirik shoved himself out from beside his father and ran to Lyra's side.

Thalia clutched her heart at the romantic sight, two lovers split between their families, joining hands and ending a decades-long feud.

But no sooner did Eirik and Lyra join hands, than did either father rip them away and begin to shout hostilities. The whole of the crowd erupted, and without warning from the second story of the inn, pewter steins were thrown by the other Camps waiting eagerly to make the Ashharts bleed.

"Lion of Ashhart!!!" An ancient battle cry was roared, as Daniel Ashhart lunged with his club at Eirik. He no sooner came three steps before he was knocked silly against the ground by Oswald's club.

But, in turn, Oswald was singed with a torch on the arm by a younger Ashhart eager to take blood. Who, in turn, took a glass bottle to the head with a crash and slumped to the ground in a stupor.

It was a grand melée in the streets of the village. All the Camps and the Ashharts spilled into the streets, and struck at each other with all their buried passion. Men and women alike shouting and cursing the name of the other clan in a rage.

"Gods preserve us..." Thalia covered her mouth in astonishment, as her pairing of two lovers devolved into their cousins beating each other with a pillowcase full of books. How could this have happened? Thalia only wished to spread love.

"Where is the Vilgilen?! Where Is the Vilgilen?!" another villager witness to the brawl cried out frantically, for the only law and order of Fallowholm. Thalia knew the answer to that... he was most likely still root deep inside Leslie Dixon down by the river.

"The Aelar! Get the Aelar!" another bystander cried out, for the devotee of Melodious to mediate peace. Thalia also knew he wasn't available... for... reasons.

It seems like love couldn't come at a worse time for all of her fellow villagers. As an outhouse erupted in flames from a torch thrown like an experienced hunter by the elder matriarch of the Ashhart's, Mildred, Thalia thought through how she could fix this situation.

What if the solution was in her hand right now? Love conquers all, of course!

Taking up her bow, she committed to ending this conflict by spreading love. Her fingers pulled back on the string, as the red magic of the arrow lit up her delicate facial features and short blonde hair. She took in a deep breath and let out a long, cold waft of steam before finding her first target and letting loose her arrow.

It struck Daniel Ashhart dead and true, who had just risen from his stupor on the ground. The first person he looked at was Constance Camp, the older sister of Eirik who held a frying pan over her head ready to strike out.

"You! You!" Grizzled Daniel yelled; his hand stretched out as he grabbed her skirt. "You are a beautiful girl!" His tone far departed from his anger, instead filled with lust.

Unfortunately for him, the frying pan struck his face before the red arrow could strike Constance. He fell slumped over just as Constance felt a surge of magical energy through her body. After which, she laid her eyes on Elias Ashhart, the drunken uncle who spent most of his time at the tap of their home brew, but never missed a fight wielding his cane.

"Good sir! I have never laid eyes on a more gallant man!" The woman with fiery-red hair twirled herself, as she approached the drunken Ashhart.

Suddenly, a hand pulled her backwards, it was Edith Camp, Constance's mother who had just been shot through the heart by Thalia.

"You get back from him your dirty hag! He is mine!" Mother pulled daughter into the dirt and rushed towards her prize, who fended her off with a cane in a very confused delirium.

"Mother!"

"Oh lassie, don't chu worry about him now. You need a real man with ya." A hand was outstretched for her to grab and raise to her feet. Jasper Ashhart had a kind face that looked down on her with a tender love in his eyes. He held it out as Constance gathered her wits, but soon screamed a blood-curdling scream when she bit down on his hand.

"Bloody gods darlin, ya ended me!" he screamed.

"Unhand her, Curr!" Another came up behind Jasper as he nursed his hand and uppercut him to the jaw. Cormac Wellerman had no stake in this familial game, other than the fact he sold liquor to the Ashharts that night and stood on the sidelines of the fight. Thalia had mistaken him for a third cousin of the Ashharts in her volley of arrows.

Constance gave him a swift strike of the frying pan to his jewels before jumping up to find and liberate her man, the old drunken Ashhart uncle. No mother would stand in her way if her frying pan had anything to say about it.

Red arrows only visible to Thalia flew sporadically into the mob. Cousin fought cousin, sons against fathers, daughters against mothers, strangers against each other. All in a increasingly perplexing soup of misguided lust and desire that no one could keep straight in their heads, least of all, Thalia. Each time she tried to correct a mismatch; it only made it worse, as they looked to the wrong person. People who hated each other minutes ago, then fought their family to claim another, only to find the subject of their desire more hostile than those they had to fend off. It was no longer a family feud, than it was an outright brawl of the village's unrequited lust.

Thalia was horrified, sinking back against the wall as the entire street devolved into battle. Fires had started, and some lay unconscious on the cold ground.