𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

And I find that it’s not that I want to be known. I actually hate being acknowledged but to be perceived unfiltered and unaltered by someone who loves and cares for me without me worrying about how I look? Or how I'm coming across? I would give my everything to be loved in the way that I feel the most comfortable.

The ache he feels when the knife plunges deeper into his abdomen is not only that of the shooting pain of the metal entering his mortal flesh but that of the shocking revelation of the betrayal that has occurred. Someone he looked to with a reverence higher than the gods themselves; now stood before him was the man he once worshipped. A man whom he had vowed to love and honor till their final days. His eyes fall down slowly to behold the dagger. The hilt of the blade clutched in the hands of his lover. His beloved. The only thing he cares about in this wretched world of conquer or be conquered. With a twist of the knife he emits a quavering breath. His hand extends out towards the face he holds so dear.

"Why?" He chokes out, his spittle laced red.

His lover lowers his trembling body to the marbled ground beneath them. Their white togas stained by the devastation before them. They will not be entering the Underworld together. The treason severing their ties of unity.

He whispers into his hair while one hand steadies the weapon with such care. His eyes brimming tears, "The oracle foretold it."

The lover reminisces back on the times he had relied on him. Both in battle and in the presence of the council. This man. His love. The one who had dragged him back off the battlefield with a wound that had left him unable to walk. It was during this specific battle that they knew they were inseparable. The man, his now lover, had tended to his leg in the camp the night of the battle. His savior was sporting his own wound. A deep cut on the side of his face. The one that the lover gazed at in this very moment. They had made love for the very first time that night.

"You will bring the fall of our people. Everything we have built will crumble at your feet because you lose yourself to the power. You will forsake the gods. Vanity will become you."

"I see... " The man wheezes, "if it is a vision from the Oracle..." The words start coming out more labored. "I need you to know that I do not blame you for doing what you think best." His vision is blurring. "I cannot—" he pauses to take a harsh breath of air, "if I am to fall, who not better to fall to, than the one I love..?" His weak smile is the last thing he does in his short-lived life.

Alas, the lover places a kiss on top of the head of the man he has murdered. He weeps while holding him as the life slips from the companion he once held in such high regards as they fought side by side. The man he once use to lay upon in the woes of passion.

A man who would have destroyed their city if he hadn't made his choice.

A sacrifice he now has to live with for the rest of his life.

⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆

Sacrifice and Vanity // Written by love, k.

Summary

A one shot of two Roman lovers in their final moments together. Both remain nameless throughout the story but are distinguished by their titles "The Man" and "The Lover". The couple in the one shot have just fought in a long war together and are high commanders in the army they both are enlisted in. The Lover is the Primus Pilus (First Spear) leader and The Man is a Legion Legate.

"Revolution in dinosaurian posture"

We sit on this small, floating ball of dust in the middle of the cosmos Our place in the stars so insignificant, So miniscule And yet at this very moment It means absolutely everything to us

The Moon in Waxing Gibbous

Southern Hemisphere approximately 9:11pm