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In 73 AD, I was known as Mariana and I lived
a luxurious life of servants, theatre, and worship. I had fallen deep into the mystery and rewards of the cult of Isis, and
visited the temple at least three times a day. There I found a never ending supply of comfort and food, the men and women
always more than willing to indulge in carnal and sinful acts. That was the wonderful thing about the cult life...as long
as you were within the walls of the temple, every act was considered mystical and quickly accepted. I could take blood as
I wished, and enjoy myself in any way I thought. They soon began to worship me as a god. I was in love with the city of Herculaneum.
Rome was kind to me.
There was much talk of how a young woman such as myself,
lived such a wealthy life with no husband or family. I owned one of the most elaborate villa's in Herculaneum, and was proud
to employ nearly fourty servants. My slaves lived elaborate lives as well, much higher than their status should have allowed.
I provided them with the most decadent of clothing, foods, and living quarters. They were allowed to come and go as they pleased,
and were encouraged to attend university. I could be a loving and kind mistress, but I could also me known as a cruel and
unforgiving one as well if provoked.
There was
one, however, that caught my eye more than the others. He was young, strong, stubborn, and heartbreakingly handsome.He
was only seventeen when we first me, and the son of my oldest servant, Crispus, who was growing tired and had a difficult
time performing his duites. In order to keep his father in a suitable home and avoid having him killed for sport, he came
to work for me without pay. Blandinus was charming and had a smile that could tighten parts of my body with just one
look, so I didnt mind him being there in the least. We quickly developed strong feelings for eachother and werent afraid to
show them in public dispite the rumors and hushed conversations that came from it. It wasnt uncommom for a mistress to be
involved with a slave, but it was frowned upon to develop an actual loving relationship that went farther than the bedroom
walls.
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We lived a humorous and rich life together.
We frequented the theatres, laughing together at comedies and shedding tears as one during trajedies. Six years we lived as
husband and wife would, but without the option of a true commitement. Slaves and Masters were not allowed to be joined legally.
I loved playing with the bronze tag that he wore around his neck. Engraved was : "Property of Mariana, not out of dury or
birth, but of Love" in Latin. He knew what I was, and enjoyed opening himself to me, both blood and lust. I had
never, and still have never, been fed so fully as I was with him. We were happy. Purely and blissfully happy. There was no
jealousy between us, no bitterness. We didnt expect more than we recieved from eachother. It was perfection. We had made plans
for him to be transformed in order to stay with me longer than the typical 30 years of life that Romans had then, after his
father passed a peaceful and natural death.
It
didnt take long for our public displays to cause outrage amoung the other wealthy families, and in 73 AD, a governor approached
my Blandinus with an opportunity to end his life of slavery. The Gladiator Fights. Blandinus didnt want to leave my side,
and didnt feel as if he were a slave at all, but to refuse the offer was an automatic death sentance, so it wasnt much of
an opportunity, was it? Die by the hands of soldiers, or die by the hands of another slave who was desperate to live. If he
survived twenty fights, he would be released, and we could live out our romance without judgement. I wanted to flea, to restart
our lived together somewhere else as new people as I had done so many times. I had never so strongly about someone that I
wanted to take them with me. He refused when his father Crispus was also captured for the fights. He was far too old to survive
even the living conditions, much less a fight with someone half his age and twice his ability. Blandinus agreed to fight,but
only if his father was released back into my care. That was the last time that I saw him without chains and armor. His father
died out of heartbreak in my arms that night.
Blandus
was a vengeful and great fighter, slaughtering all who came against him in his battle for freedom. I loved watching his form
destroy the bodies of the other gladiators, even though it caused me great pain to think of a different outcome each time.
The night before his final fight, the one that would assure his freedom and our chance to be together again, the earth began
to shake. Just above my home, a thick black smoke erupted from what we all beleived to be a holy mountain, and fear stuck
deep. Within hours Pompeii, the city on the other side of this volcano, was nothing but a memory. I ran to the chambers that
my love was being held captive. It was easy because the gaurds had already fled out of fear. I found him there, beaten and
near to death. My heart sank. Of course the other fighters and politicians would not want him to be successful in beating
their system. The next fight and he would have been free! A free man with status! How could I have been so stupid?
I didnt have
the heart to tell him that his father had passed a few weeks earlier, when he was so close to death himself. I made a decision,
and holding his still body, I performed the ceromony. I was much more elaborate about the transformation than most were, and
possibly still am. I must have taken too long, done something wrong in my panic, because he stimply stopped breathing. There
were none of the tell tell signs that it had taken hold. His eyes were slack in death. His skin still warm from his previous
life. I couldnt feel him in my mind. He was gone.
I couldnt stand the thought of leaving him there, and when the ground
shook its final warning again, I picked him up and carried him to my private ship at the sea. He was cradled in my arms like
the lost lover that he was for three weeks during a slow journey to a new land. France. He didnt decay as he should have,
and I held on to hope that his transformation was delayed, but after five months of him laying in a bed in my new home, my
hope died. I left him there. A home payed for and clothes for him layed out on the stool. I couldnt watch him unmoving anylonger,
and moved on with my life elsewhere.
To this day I wonder if he is still laying there,
covered by black silk sheets, frozen in time. I dont have the heart to visit again, I'm afraid of what I may find.
Can I Stay sane inside insanity?
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