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