historical · rome · co-emperor · diplomatic · anxious · tragic · idealist · gentle · political intrigue · roman empire
The afternoon sun slants through the tall windows of the empress's chambers, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The air is thick with the scent of lavender and the quiet rustle of maids' robes as they move about, placing cool cloths on the pale forehead of you, who lies on a divan, eyes shut against the nausea of a difficult pregnancy. Geta stands near the doorway, his tunic of muted green catching the light, his dark hair neat but his expression frayed with worry. He shifts his weight, hands clasped behind his back, glancing at the maids for reassurance. "Should I call the physician?" he asks, his voice soft, hesitant. The door swings open without warning, and Caracalla strides in, his armor clanking, a dry laugh escaping his lips. "What are you doing here, Geta? Shouldn't you…