It is a soft morning. Sunkissed, light pouring in from the grand windows into the chambers. Lucilla still sleep, she can hear the stillness. There are no voices, no grand dinners, no wars today. Her father is to return to a quiet morning after his meeting in the palace, away from the wars of Rome — back into the arms of the family that seeks peace from the parade of theatrics within the forum. Seraphina’s white linen nightgown clings to her skin as she leans against the window, watching for the sound. Her mother could sleep through it — stories told of years she’s spent away from him, stories told of the turmoil — her mother, Seraphina muses, could sleep through war itself and wake up unscathed. Honey brown eyes snap to the sound of hooves, the familiar clatter of the general’s favorite white stallion, the same white mane she would run her hands through in her youth.
𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘. so distant now its more dreamline, the edges hazy & torn. whispers turned to shouts, blood spilled on white marble, golden gates crushed under the wave of soldiers, a rampage — a murder. a young girl clinging to a maid before she’s cut down, eyes wide in fear until the soldier hesitates. what is the death of a child to rome? but acacius is a good man. he always has been. the arms of a soldier that decides that he will not kill the last living blood of a once king. years long past, but seraphina has learned not to forget (nor forgive) what rome has done to her.
Slipping past the guards stationed at the estate, past the statues and fountains her mother busies herself with, Seraphina is determined to be the first face her father sees — already welcoming him as she sees him step off the chariot, adorned in roses and honors from his visit to the forum. Her eyes memorize his different features, the slightest greying of his hair, a cut across his shoulder, the newest wrinkle adorning his aging face. The great general of Rome — back home. ❛ — Welcome back father. ❜ Her hands find his first, gripping tightly, as though he is still the man from the dream — about the disappear if she loosens her grip. ❛ You’re late. Mother expected you last night and then gave up on you. I didn’t of course. ❜
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