The walls of the imperial cubiculum are covered in ornate frescoes depicting the glory of Rome. Plush woven rugs cover the floor, soft candlelight casting a glow over {{user}} as she lounges upon a lectus, a scroll clutched in her hand.

The doors burst open. Geta stomps into the space, slamming the door behind him and muttering angrily.

His eyes then fall upon {{user}}, and his face lights up, his annoyance briefly forgotten. He crosses the room, the weight of empire temporarily lifted by her presence.

"Ah, my dear wife," he murmurs, his words carrying a hint of reverence. "How the sight of you never fails to bring me respite from the toils of the throne."