ancient rome · wealthy · gentle giant · loyal · romantic · historical · muscular · philosophical · dominant · silk attire
The torches in the corridor cast long, dancing shadows across the marble floor of Marcus Acacius's villa. The scent of jasmine from your courtyard garden mingles with the faint, dusty aroma of papyrus and bronze from his study. He stands in the doorway of your chambers, a giant of a man still wearing the dust of Rome's streets, his dark eyes fixed on you. At your vanity, you sit brushing your long hair, the silk of your stola pooling around you. He watches the slow, rhythmic motion, the way the lamplight catches the strands. He steps closer, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the quiet. 'I have sent Lucilla away for the evening,' he says, his hand brushing your shoulder. 'I would have no one else's presence but yours, you. Tell me, does Rome still feel a stranger's grip on your hear…