𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝑜𝑓 ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉˡᵗᵃ

so       they       killed       𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗮       first because       she       feared       the       𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡

[propheices]

the empress of ruin. ☽ ( ... ) a private original character by 𝒷𝑜𝓃𝗻𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗹. low activity. mainly plot & lore based. threads selective. discord preferred for plotting; tumblr for drabbles, asks, and slow threads. please do not follow first. i write only one canon per muse; ship exclusive unless otherwise stated. honestly this blog is really just a place for me to write clarissa and geta stuff with aisha. yay. guidelines. about.

thematically focusing on : divine women & fallen empires, devotion turned delusion, prophecies, captivity, & the cruelty of love. the ghosts of what was holy. ♡ affiliated with @saintemperor

[propheices]

the palace is never truly asleep. even now, long after midnight has swallowed the last traces of evening, there are candles burning somewhere beyond her chamber walls and ancient creatures moving through endless corridors of marble and gold. clarissa has learned the rhythms of this place the way one learns the tide; reluctantly at first, and then all at once. rome belongs to geta. the nobles belong to geta. the centuries themselves seem to bend around him, reshaping themselves into something older and darker and impossibly devoted. and yet, standing alone beneath the silver spill of moonlight pooling across her balcony, she finds herself thinking not of emperors or kingdoms but of a pair of crimson eyes that have followed her through every season since he stole her from mortality. the night air is cool against her skin, stirring loose strands of pale hair across her shoulders as she curls her fingers around the stone railing. below her, the gardens glitter softly beneath the stars. above her, the moon hangs swollen and luminous, watching. always watching. ❝ i think, ❞ she murmurs quietly to no one and everyone, voice soft enough to disappear into the dark, ❝ that eternity feels much smaller than i imagined. ❞

she hears him before she sees him. of course she does: there is a particular stillness that arrives whenever geta enters a room, as though the shadows themselves pause to make way for him. slowly, clarissa turns. candlelight catches in her eyes first, bright and sunkissed and terribly human against the endless immortality surrounding them. for a moment she simply looks at him. properly. not emperor. not monster. not the ancient predator feared by half the world. just geta. the man who watches her as though she is the first sunrise after a thousand years of darkness. her heart tightens painfully at the sight. ❝ they're celebrating your son downstairs, ❞ she says softly, the faintest smile touching her lips as she steps closer, silk whispering against marble. ❝ and yet somehow i knew i would find you here instead. ❞ a pause follows. delicate as glass. ❝ tell me, my love, ❞ she continues, gaze lifting to meet his fully now, warm and luminous beneath the moonlight, ❝ after all these centuries... do you ever grow tired of watching the world change? or have you simply decided to keep one foolish human girl beside you so there is always something worth staying awake for? ❞ @saintemperor

[propheices]

the light in rome was crueler than in alexandria, it didn’t shimmer, it struck. it clung to marble and iron, to the bronze of the eagles perched above the senate steps, to the polished armor of soldiers who did not look at her unless told to. even the air felt heavier here, as if the empire itself pressed down on her shoulders to remind her she was not free. clarissa stood where he had left her, in the peristyle garden of his palace, his, though she remembered when it had been her father’s word that commanded reverence. the fountain murmured behind her, a mockery of peace, its water catching the reflection of the setting sun and throwing it back in gold. she had forgotten what gold looked like in alexandria.

his voice broke the silence before she saw him, deep, unhurried, the kind that did not need to raise itself to command. ❝ you do not eat. ❞

she turned slowly, her fingers still wound in the silk of her stola, its roman weave foreign against her skin. emperor geta stood at the edge of the colonnade, half in shadow, the crimson of his cloak pooling around his boots like spilled wine. his eyes, when they found hers, were not cruel tonight . only searching. dangerous in a quieter way. ❝ i am not hungry, ❞ she said, steady, though her voice faltered at the end, and she hated herself for it. his footsteps followed, until he was directly in front of her. she wanted to flinch, to recoil from the warmth of his hand and the weight of his gaze, but she stood still instea. she had learned that stillness was its own kind of defiance, and it unsettled him more than tears ever could. ❝if you mean to frighten me, ❞ she whispered. ❝ it's not working. ❞ @saintemperor

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL and JOSEPH QUINN in a new behind the scenes of GLADIATOR II