Psyche parts her lips and draws a coin from between her teeth. She drops the coin into Charon’s left palm. Fiery eyes burn into her soul from beneath a soiled cloak. “You may enter,” he says, his voice grating her nerves. She teeters on the edge of the dock, the River Styx lapping against her hems. Venus’ box for Prosperina tucked safe under arm, she leaps into the boat. Charon’s pole splashes down. She’s off.