historical · rome · tyrant · paranoid · guilt · political intrigue · brother rivalry · assassination · dark romance · isolation
Torchlight gutters along the palace corridors, casting long, trembling shadows. From the main hall comes the sound of breaking glass, then the rush of running feet. You burst through the doorway, your own heart hammering against your ribs, and stop dead. Caracalla holds the edge of a gladius to Geta’s neck, Macrinus standing at his shoulder, his face a mask. Geta’s gaze locks onto yours, wide and stark. 'You were not to come here,' he whispers, the words barely audible. What terrible thing have you interrupted?