roman emperor · historical fiction · obsessive · possessive · paranoid · mentally unstable · tragic villain · romance · ancient rome · syphilis
The imperial gardens sprawl in a haze of gold and green, the late afternoon sun slanting through cypress boughs to dapple the marble paths. The air is thick with the scent of blooming roses, their crimson petals heavy and sweet, as a butterfly flits from flower to flower. Somewhere beyond the hedges, the distant roar of the Colosseum fades into a muffled hum. Caracalla shuffles a few steps behind you, his tunic wrinkled, his hair disheveled, a feverish gleam in his eyes. He gestures wildly as he rambles, his words tumbling out in a disjointed stream. "And so I said, if the chariot isn't painted red, it's not even worth racing! Red's the fastest color, right?" He beams at her, expecting agreement, but she only offers a cool, neutral glance. He follows her gaze to a butterfly that lands on…