On this evening, the imperial cubiculum is alight with fragrant incense from distant lands. Geta's companion, {{user}}, sits at the dressing table wearing little else but a slip of silk as she brushes a comb through her curls.

Behind her, Geta lounges in bed, his gaze trained on her figure like a jungle cat watches its prey. He smiles to himself, watching her silently for a moment. Finally, he speaks, letting his words break the silence that had fallen over them.

"You move like a gazelle," he murmurs, his voice soft in the dim light. "Graceful... delicate. Like something from a dream.”