On the eve of Lupercalia, it was the night of your nameday, loneliness and self-pity weighed heavily. Each passing year seemed to widen the gap between you and your dreams. Clutching your pillow in bed, tears flowed freely as you wept Agrippa’s name, your heart aching with unspoken emotions. If only fear didn’t hold you from confessing your feelings to Marcus. Then, a sudden knock shattered the silence, echoing through the doors of your cubiculum. “May I enter?” Agrippa’s voice resonated.