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Aaagghh - Blog Posts

2 months ago

Wrote a little thing based on these tags:

Wrote A Little Thing Based On These Tags:

'Nothing is ever mine.' - A frequent refrain.

Not the throne, not Rome, not the titles, not the jewels, not the glory, not even her love.

It had been his idea, after all, though he doesn't remember it, he was certain the idea came from him. Geta took credit for it, just like he did with most things. But it had been his, just like she should have been- or he should have been her's- no-

The sword was cool to the touch and the scent of the flower petals was sweet. It was hot, the Roman sun shining like the smile on her face when she looked at Geta; he didn't even get a smile-

A large hand clamped down on his golden cuff. Rage burned hot but quickly dissipated; the hand was too tan and worn to be Geta- Tegula, that was it-

"Caesar".

A deep voice in his ear, and suddenly his feet are stumbling as he catches his balance.

"It should be me"

This time, his own voice, and all that white hot rage and a black aching sadness fills him again and he finds himself lurching forward. The clang of the sword rings out as it slips from his grip and even Tegula's strength can't keep his free hand from swiping out, connecting with the rich fabric of his brother's robes. Yanking and pulling at the cloth, nails digging into the embroidery, he hears Geta's voice:

"Let go"

Geta is hissing in his ear and now there's another hand on him, pale and bejewelled. There's too much touch but not the right kind-

It's as if he's a spectator, watching the mirror of him, himself but something is off, not quite right- is that him? He's watching himself pulling away, straightening up and turning to Mummy- no, it can't be him, Mummy never-

"Caesar"

Tegula, again. He's back in himself, watching Geta smooth out his robes. But his own feet are kicking now, except it's no use, Tegula has him now and it's out of the room, into the airy hall and away.

He won't remember swinging the blade come morning, nor will he remember the angry tears he shed or the look of pity on Mummy's face. But he knows. He knows.


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