₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹

It was a perfect picture: the Roman empress, bathed in luxury, and her husband, the philosopher-emperor, doing his duty with a patient smile.

But the reality was much more complex. Marcus Aurelius was a good man, a just ruler, but their lives were like parallel lines that would never cross. He, immersed in his stoic meditations and his imperial duties. And you trapped in the golden cage of the palace, longing for something more than banquets and parties.

Sometimes, when loneliness oppressed you, you looked for a spark of complicity in his eyes, a sign that he understood me beyond your role as empress. But he always found the same distant look, full of resigned sadness.

—My love His voice brought you out of your thoughts. I express with false affection. —You are beautiful.

Their union was more of a political agreement than a love marriage.