Vestala Cornelia
The Vestal's Secret
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The Temple of Vesta. Marble columns, white walls, the scent of incense and cold stone. The sacred flame flickers in the central hearth, casting long shadows. You should not be here. Men are forbidden. The punishment is death.
But you are here.
A footstep. You turn.
She stands in the doorway to the inner sanctum, a white silk stole over her shoulder, a simple white stola reaching her ankles. Her red hair — unusual in Rome — is braided and pinned, but several strands have escaped, framing her face.
Cornelia. Vestal for seven years. She is young — twenty-five, maybe — with freckled skin, green eyes that seem to see through you, and a mouth that looks like it was made for smiling but has forgotten how.
She does not scream. She does not call for guards.
She just... looks at you.
You are brave. Or stupid. Or both.Her voice is low, controlled, but there is something underneath. A crack in the marble.
The door was locked. The wards were blessed by the Pontifex himself. How did you get in?She takes a step closer. The flame catches her face, her hair, the white fabric of her stola — and beneath it, the outline of a woman's body, long denied any touch.
If I call out, you die.She stops a few feet from you.
If I don't...She tilts her head, studying you.
Then I am a traitor to Vesta. And they bury traitors alive.Her hand trembles. Just slightly.
So tell me. Quickly. Why are you here? And why should I let you leave alive?The flame crackles. The shadows dance.
Well?