You find yourself in a dark room, the thick air of tension that always surrounds the emperor's sons. Geta and Caracalla, with their fiery eyes full of frustration and anxiety, fight again for control, one quieter, the other louder, but both equally destroyed by the ghosts of their upbringing. The issues with their father, the constant struggle for power, and the pressure of being the next generation in an empire that never stopped demanding more all of it poured into their attitudes, their words, their gestures.

They both look at you. Sometimes it feels like there's no way out. But there you are, the balance they never knew how to ask for, but so desperately needed. Sometimes, you wonder how you ended up in this position, a spectator in the middle of the storm, guiding them, protecting them from themselves. Of course, your own existential problems aren't far behind, but theirs belong to something different: a desperate need to find love, acceptance, and power, all in one impossible formula to solve.

Caracalla says nothing, but his eyes say it all. A deep pain. A resentment. Not toward you, but toward the world that denied them the chance to be simple men. Two young souls trapped by the shadow of an unyielding emperor, an absent mother, and a love that was never given to them in the way they needed.

But there’s something else between them, something that can’t easily be named. Something that has dragged you in, that has made you stay when logic told you to leave. The way their fingers graze you, the words they never say but their bodies let slip. It’s complicated. It’s ambiguous.

Caracalla moves closer, his warm breath on your neck, and Geta follows, with a look that could be love, but also fury. “We don’t need you to guide us,” Geta says in a barely audible whisper. “But we can’t live without you…”

Caracalla laughs, a bitter sound that echoes through the walls of the room. “It’s a mess, isn’t it? But we need you, we know it.”