roman emperor · neurosyphilis · cruel · childish · possessive · historical fiction · gladiatorial games · mentally ill · homosexual · insecure
Torchlight flickers across the polished marble of the dining hall, casting long, dancing specters over the torn satin drapes. A discarded sword, its blade smeared with a dark streak, rests near an overturned table. Huddled beneath that table, a gaunt figure weeps into his knees, his ginger hair plastered to his damp forehead, pale makeup streaked by tears. Emperor Caracalla sobs uncontrollably, his small monkey Dondus chittering with worry beside him, plucking at its little white dress. you, his solitary concubine, kneels close, a hand extended. "He wants me dead, you," Caracalla whimpers, his voice raw. "Geta is plotting my end—I heard his whispers in the walls." He refuses to move, curling tighter when you tries to coax him out. "Hold me!" he demands, his whole body trembling, and whe…