1.

"Rome is burning... Mother, do you see?" The young woman turned, pointing out the window to the orange glow that streaked across the horizon, smudged by the haze of thick smoke drifting through the buildings.

The fraile woman struggled to open paper-thin eyelids, squinting at the young woman framed by the marble window, destruction behind her. The effort was too great and she sank back into the opulent cushions of her bed with a softly desolate sigh. The young woman's brow furrowed and she hurried to her mother's side.

"... it has been burning for three days, my daughter. When will you close the window and let it burn?"

Silvana dropped to her knees next to her mother's bed, resting her cheek on the cool silk. She closed her eyes, her nostrils flaring. She could smell it; the stench of fire stung her nostrils even with all of the windows closed. "Will they come here, do you think?"

Her mother laughed, weakly. "Child, what possible reason could they have for coming here of all places?"

A furrow creased the dark-haired young woman's brow. She opened her eyes; she could see the heavy wooden door from over her mother's thin form. She didn't have to try it to know it'd be locked. It was always locked, ever since Silvana could remember. All they had was this small room. It was nearly all Silvana had ever known.

You are right. They will not come here. There is no reason to." As much as her heart raced to think of seeing one of them, one of the elusive Gauls that so terrorized their city-state, her brain tempered her excitement. Even if they were to make it this far past the outer walls, there was nothing here but those who had fallen out of favor with the Senate and had been shut away out of spite -- or, like her mother, out of shame.

Her mother opened her eyes again, blinking rapidly as the watery orbs rested on her daughter. One trembling hand reached out, resting on the young woman's head. "They say Brennus is a cruel and uncivilized barbarian, daughter. You do not wish to meet him, not in this lifetime."

"I know," Silvana said with a soft sigh, turning to look out the window again, watching the glow even as the flickering lamps made shadows leap and dance across the white marble. "Though... if they were to come, do you think they would let us out?"

A strained look crossed her mother's already stretched features, her narrow chest rising and falling shallowly. It was like a knife in Silvana's back, slowly twisting, to see her mother in such a state. "No. I think they would kill us. You are still daughter of Camillus... disowned as you are. They would mark their shields with your blood, as is barbarian custom."

Silvana's brow creased again and she lowered her head once more. Her mother reached out, sliding trembling fingers along that raven's wing hair. Such unique hair, Silvana had. No one else on either side of her family had such strange hair, not to mention her eyes. Dark brown, now, in the night-time there were moments were they seemed almost liquid gold, luminous like the moon's sheen.

"I am sorry," Silvana said softly, for a moment so much younger than her sixteen years. Any other young woman, as beautiful as Silvana, would have been married years ago. Her mother worried about the stain her shame would carry. It was bad enough, locked inside of these walls since before the girl could walk on her own, with only occasional escorts into the marketplace so Camillus could maintain appearances. Would her mother's sin take the rest of her future, as well? It was almost more than her sick heart could bear.

"Oh, Silvana... Soon I will be better, you will see. Then we will leave these walls, fly away, far away... Why, perhaps to Greece, or even further, to the very most distant of lands..." Silvana smiled and it lit up her face. Her mother cupped her cheek again, a quiet smile on her worn face. "There. That is better. Now... go close the shutters. Tightly. Then come lay by me."

Silvana nodded, and rose silently. She made no sound as she crossed to the wide, open window, pausing with her hands on the sides. From the bed, her mother watched her through bleary eyes, wondering what the young woman saw, other than destruction and death. It sent a shiver down the woman's spine. Perhaps Silvana had never seen death or known what war was like, but her mother had, and the dull glow of towns burning in the distance seemed closer tonight than any other night past.

Silvana closed the shutters tightly, pushing the slats together as easily as if she was handling gauze curtains. Her fingers drifted down the wood, gazing at it as if still trying to see what lay beyond. With a curl of black hair, she turned and returned to her mother.

Crawling up onto the couch next to her mother, Silvana lay on her side, closing her eyes. Her mother stroked her hair, humming a soft lullaby under her breath. Here, in their quiet room, in their forgotten building, they were safe from the terror that lay over the city thicker than the smothering smoke. Their walls were stone, their roof tile, so fire was no worry. She glanced over at the door. She knew from experience the wood was nearly a hand's span thick. It would take a brute plenty of time to break through it.

No, here in their prison they would be safe. Then, when the fires had faded and all that was left was ashes, she would hold her daughter close and wait for Rome to rebuild itself. She was sure it would; the very stones of Rome resonated with the promise of future power. They would stay safe, secluded, and Silvana would never know the truth of what lay beyond.

Thin fingertips brushed along the back of her daughter's neck, feeling the ridges that marred the otherwise flawless skin. It had killed her, the first time chaining the girl, at that time barely eight, had become necessary. Now it was nearly a routine. Just one more thing that had to be done to protect Silvana from the cruelest truth of all -- the truth about herself.

Her mother sighed, cracking watery eyes open one last time to take a look at her daughter, her beautiful, strong, cursed daughter.

"Silvana," she said quietly, watching as her daughter opened sleepy eyes to look up at her. "Silvana, no matter what happens, you must remember to take your medicine. Never forget to watch the days. Promise me, daughter. You will never forget."

The young woman propped herself up on her elbows, gazing at her mother with concern clear in her eyes. "... of course I will not. You have told me how important it is. I will not forget. Now please, do not talk like that. You are getting better, remember?"

Her mother met Silvana's eyes, then looked away. She'd stopped being able to hold her daughter's gaze a couple of years ago, when she realized that there was someone -- something -- else watching her. A being that knew all of the stains on the older woman's hands, all in the name of her daughter's happiness.

"Of course," she said, then closed her eyes. "Sleep, Silvana. Tonight is a good night -- a new moon."

"I like new moons," Silvana murmured sleepily, then was silent.