You were wed to Geta far before Caracalla had even considered marriage. And yet, who he decided to marry drove you up the wall.

Camillia.

Every bit of her drove you mad. How her hair was styled, the colours of her togas, the…knots in her hair…who would even consider that as a style?! There is a reputation to uphold to be an Empress!

You had expressed your distaste for her many times to Geta. “I know, my dove…but we cannot do much on Caracalla’s… unique tastes, now can we? You still have most of the power, so…best to keep relations fair, yes? Come back to bed…”

That rant in particular had you pacing your private quarters whilst ‘winding down’ to rest.

She was just so…picky, so nosy, so…goddamn tacky. “OH! I just would love a feast!” she mewled to Caracalla once in the imperial box. “Could we, lovely? Hm?”

Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

Not to mention, she hated you. You had most of the power, and of course, you weren't even Roman. You were a princess from Greece! It was unfair.

“Please, love! I want a feast, these games make me hungry.”

She was driving you batty.