Weak, and stumbling, Fulvia went to the window and tore the curtains from their brackets so that sunlight exploded into the cubiculum. She collapsed on the ground and Aemilia ran to her, narrowly dodging the priestess’ limp body as she fell to the floor in a heap.
Laughter raked the painted walls. It was everywhere, and then, it was gone.
The only sounds were of Aemilia and Faustina crying over their mother, and the whimpering of the young priestess of Vesta on the floor.
“See to her,” Fulvia croaked to Calista and Nisica, who both approached the girl reluctantly.
The priestess lay on her stomach, her hair damp with sweat and fear, her skin unnaturally pale.
The two servants rolled her over so that the girl’s head lay in Nisica’s lap.
“Oh, Gods!” Calista cried.
Fulvia pulled herself
