Domina: A tale of a slave's devotion in ancient Rome (The Empress and the Vagabond Book 3) by Florine Alan

Author:Florine, Alan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

3.

This used to be the long corridor that led from the atrium to the back of the house.

With one hand holding up the torch to light the way, Pliny took out the statue of Athena and prayed to her in silence for protection against the bad spirits that might still linger in these ruins. A draft blew black smoke from the flames and threw ghostly shadows across the walls. Without the light of the stars and moon, it was dark, and he moved slowly, cautiously watching each step.

On the left was his father’s study. Charcoal remains of the bookcases still lined the walls. The ashes they held was once the treasured collection of his father. Pliny could recall the scent of old scrols, and the smell of fresh ink dripping from his father's pen. Further down was the front garden with the fruit trees and flowers that his mother had cherised in life. The place used to be covered in pink and white bloom each spring. Now there was nothing left but blackened earth. The peach tree that his grandfather had planted when he was a child had not survived the fires. The dead branches reached out like skeletal fingers into the night’s sky. It shall never bear fruits again.

Not wanting to be reminded anymore of his loss, Pliny pushed back these painful memories and turned away, only for the light of his torch to reveal the face of his father to him.

It was painted on a fresco that was partially covered under layers of soot. Struck by a blow of unfathomable grief, he gently brushed away the dirt to reveal the portraits of his family. His mother still wore that same beautiful smile that he could remember from her when he was a boy. She held his little sister in a warm embrace as she sat impatiently on her lap. He saw his 8-year-old self, standing beside his father dressed in his senate toga. His father did not smile, but his hand was resting proudly on Pliny's shoulder.

The figurine of Athena dropped from Plinty's hand as he slowly back away from the mural.

This is too much.

Everywhere he looked was the rubble of his once privileged life, relics of the past that carried the memories of safety, of warmth and love, of everything he had lost. It cut into him like a dagger that was twisted into his heart.

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