It was meant to be a marriage of politics, and instead she finds herself as the caregiver. Surrogate mother most days.
Emperor Caracalla is sweet. Often child like. Innocent. But easily manipulated.
Emperor Geta is not as sweet or innocent. He's often angry. Hungry. Fearsome.
Both are troubled and unloved. Both somehow lean on her, and only her for their needs.
Emperor Geta loves to show her off during the day. Parade her around on his arm, dress her in the finest gold accessories and beautiful fabrics that compliment her skin. She's his after all. His wife.
But by night.
Emperor Caracalla seeks her comfort. To be held by her, while he mumbles on and on about how mean Geta is to him. She'll hold Caracalla's head in her lap, run her fingers through his hair, and she'll listen to him.
These routines have been going on for years.
Until Emperor Geta finds out that is.
Emperor Geta shouts at his brother, screaming at him like a rabid hound to stay away from his wife!
Emperor Caracalla is reduced to tears, begging on his knees to stay around her. He doesn't want to lose his only lifeline to the care, the love, and the longing he so desperately desires.
Emperor Geta throws his cup of wine at his brother. He won't hear of it. His brother's tears mean nothing to him. His begging pointless. She's his wife and he does not share with anyone!
(I don't know where that came from but I had to write it down)
