Vestal Short story:

The city appeared quiet, shadows moved about while using the night as cover. Only the light of
the many flickering candle flames dancing about in the night wind were witnesses to the occurrences
beneath the moon. One large flame burned within the Aedes Vesta, tended to by a young woman in a
long silk robe and adornments in her hair, a long brown curtain segregated into six woven strands,
each separate and distinct, no matter how identical they seemed. Her eyes observed the flame
intensely, and the eclipse cast by her body flickered against the wall.

“Oh, my dear Vesta. What shall I do?” she said, falling to her knees.

“I cannot bear the thought of him any longer. He seeks my hand, but no matter how many times
I reject his advances, he is compelled toward me once more. And yet -”

Suddenly, the young woman heard a noise just beyond the doorway of the temple, the sound of
someone who had lost their footing and fell, and a thud did they produce.

“Who is there. Show yourself!?” she demanded of the intruder.

She immediately hoisted herself up and regained her footing, meanwhile searching for the
source of the commotion outside.

“You should not be here!” she yelled, admonishing the poor wandering soul, “this is sacred
ground and only Vestals are allowed to enter. Please leave, at once!”

Whomever was outside, lurking in the dark, made no reply. The intruder remained as still and
silent as the night, but the young woman did not let the matter go until she ensured that she was
indeed alone. She approached the doorway of the temple, becoming an insignificant figure as she
stood near the edge of its immensity, her hands clinging unto the walls for security.

“It is best that you leave, there is still time. You have my word that I shall forget this night and
not tell a soul that you were here.”

Her soft voice dissipated into the stillness of the evening, among the nocturnal gusts of air that
blew on occasion whenever the wind released its breath unto the urban labyrinth of Roman temples,
forums and public places. As she stared into the night, one such wind blew with a great ferocity that it
shook the flame violently about, threatened to be extinguished by the breath of the wind. The young
woman returned to her previous occupation of tending to the flame, frantic, shielding its warm,
radiant body with her own.

“Forgive me goddess Vesta, I did not mean to become distracted and place the flame of your life
in jeopardy. Forgive me, I beg of you.”

A shadow was then cast above her, and it grew as the body that produced it came closer. She
noticed the way in which it grew longer, eventually reaching the far end of the temple and bending at
that point where the wall met the floor, whereupon she turned her gaze to the figure standing near
the doorway, an inscrutable silhouette emerging from the shadows.

“Who are you, what are you doing here?”

“Licinia,” said the figure, the visage still hidden underneath a dark band of shadow, “I gave you
my word that I would come.”

“And I remember warning you to stay away,” she cried, instantly recognizing the identity of
whom that voice belonged to once its familiar sound was captured by her ear, “Your presence here is
a grave offense to the Republic. Your idiotic musings of me, which conducted your feet into this
sacred ground, are clear indications that you are ignorant of the crime which you are committing. The
very act in which you engage now, with me, is offense enough to have you killed.”

“Then I am ignorant, an admission I am willing to concede to you,” he replied, moving his body
gently forward, testing Licinia’s patience, “but you must also concede that you are also ignorant of
one thing.”

“What in the name of the Gods could that be?”

“The truth, Licinia.”

“And what truth is that?”

The man took a few more steps forward, once again challenging the limits of her patience,
hoping that the barrier between them turned out to be only an illusion, and that her fiery rejections
were only that, illusions.

“The truth, that you and I were parties to, that night back in April.”

“I have no recollection from that night of anything that took place between us. Whatever fantasy
you believe to be reality is, in fact, only a wild dream manufactured by your fancy. Nothing more.”

“Now who is the ignorant one?” he replied.

Down the road, the wheels of a carriage were easily heard rolling over the neat arrangement of
stones that were laid by meticulous Roman hands, and that carriage pulled by the brute strength of
two stallions, each bobbing their head in turns as they dragged the wagon with their mighty legs.

“You fool, hide! Unless you want to be discovered and then sentenced to death.”

She seized him by the arm and flung him to the side, sending him once again into a pocket of
shadows deep within the temple, rescued from the notice of the fellow citizen making his way past
the temple with his two toiling horses.

“Evening lady Vestal,” said the man, innocently.

“Evening fellow citizen,” she replied, surveying his expression for any outward sign of suspicion
on his part.

She kept her hand close to the intruder’s heart, maintaining it that way until the man and his
horses were far enough away. Her hand was firm, yet tender, and when the wagon was finally gone,
she removed it with such reticence that it was as if she had hoped he would pick it back up again, a
desire she attempted to communicate by the subtleties of her touch.

“You are a mad man. How near we were to being discovered, and yet you smile! Oh, what a
shameless one you are!”

Crassus looked away, he bit his lip, and when he was unable to prevent a smile from his escaping
him, for it made no difference the degree to which he employed his will, he embraced his failure, and
continued to flash his grin, without remorse.

“Indeed, we only narrowly escaped his eyes. And yet, when you held me against the wall with
your hand, I felt an urge to reveal myself to him, to declare myself a victim of Cupid.”

“Hush, your tongue only speaks lunacy! Leave now. Or we shall both be found guilty, and I can
assure you I have much to lose.”

Just then, the flame that hitherto had burned with great intensity weakened, but by a slight
degree. Its luminosity losing some of its radiance, its warmth growing, but by a small degree, colder.
 “Hear me, Licinia, I am not -”

“Leave I said! Can you not see? if I truly wished to be with you I would have gone away with you
by now. What is it that you refuse to acknowledge? I am a priestess of the Vesta order, I cannot be
with you Crassus, not with you, not with anyone -” the volume of her soft voice lost vigor toward that
last declaration, until it had all but disappeared into oblivion, when it immediately began again “- I
have taken a vow of chastity. For thirty long years, I can never know the touch of another man.”

Her head drooped and she wrapped herself in her own arms. An embrace so full of melancholy,
seeing the braided pulchritude standing there, in the cold air of her own solitude, a frigidity which not
even the flames of Vesta could remove, that it made him take yet another advance toward the
lugubrious figure. Just as he began to capture her, she escaped the circle traced out by the length of
his forearms.

“I can’t, Crassus. This cannot be.”

Again, the flame dimmed and its warmth suffered yet another drop in temperature.

“You are afraid for my safety, but I am not. You fear more for my own life than I fear for it. It is
my life, let me judge how and where I should risk it. If not here, for you, than I cannot fancy another
circumstance, or place wherein my life should be risked.”

He fought against an urge to grab hold of her, to invite her into his arms so that she may at last
escape that cold air of solitude that blew around her, to lift her spirit, and along with it her drooping
head, the sublimity of her countenance, all elevated by one singular embrace. However, there was
still the barrier of social custom, the traditions of a past which in the present interfered with his
endeavor to reach her, and rescue her from a condition in life she had not realized required her
rescuing from it. The barrier must be broken, not by force, but by volition, the great hammer of
volition.

“I cannot leave now, until you at least make this one admission, before Vesta herself, that you
felt what I now feel, that day when we met back in April. Our eyes met and may the Gods strike if I am
guilty of perfidy, but I am certain that you share the same sentiment as I.”

He was as close to her as he had been all evening, the breath of his voice traveling only a short
distance as gentle lips of air that landed upon her garments, her braids, the delicate shoulder upon
which his hand had been working toward throughout the night.

“You speak truthfully, but even if I were to miraculously succumb to your poetic tongue, or the
manner in which you conduct yourself, as charming as I admit I find it to be, beyond these walls we
belong to two different worlds.”

“And what world could you inhabit that your words imply I could never be worthy of your
hand?”

“My father,” she returned, somewhat agitated, “he is a Senator. And you -”

“What of me?” he asked, taking one step away from the braided beauty, as if the implication
that roamed the air, before it had escaped her lips, was too much for him to bear. Taking notice of his
reaction, she dwelled in her hesitation for a moment.

“Go on, finish your thought. Tell me what I am. But say it sonorously! I do not shy away from it.
On the contrary, I find pride in it. Go on, then, tell me what I am.”

She clasped her hands apologetically, the gesture of a prayer that she hoped may be fulfilled by
Venus, the one God among the many that came to mind.
 “I did not mean to offend you. I only meant to express my reasons for which you and I cannot be
together, at least not beyond these walls. Out there, the eyes of the multitude will judge, whether I
stay true to my duty or not.”

“Then within them, we may? I do not see why it should be impossible. Those eyes cannot see us
here.”

He revoked the step he had taken before, away from her, and returned, once again lingering
near. The effulgence of the flame, previously dwindling and rather sickly, grew stronger again. Its glow
became as a sun whilst the two souls stood like planets in orbit, locked by the attractive force of their
own sentiments, and the shadows projected on the curved walls of the temple appeared to be
gravitating toward one another, seeking to form one shaded mass. But a sliver of light yet remained
between them as one could judge by observing the wall, and Licinia was growing weary of the
moment,

“I risk everything by allowing you to be here. I have suffered your presence for as long as I did,
which was more than I should have allowed. Now, I think it time for you to leave this place, lest
someone- by our own lack of awareness- find us here, together, and denounce us. Please. If it is true
what you say, and this passion that burns within you so fiercely is real, then you will leave me, for
surely you would not want to see the woman you desire buried, sentenced to rot and die in a lavish
hole in the Earth.”

“I would follow you into that abyss if such a terrible fate should befall you.”

“But you mustn’t, such an outcome should not have to be. Please, leave me.”

The interstice of light which partitioned their shadows grew wider as the two silhouettes
commenced to part ways. Carassus was near the doorway when Licinia, in a voice so terribly plagued
by a profound yearning, called out to him,

“Carassus,” said she, “let us meet again, tomorrow night. Whilst the Vastilia is in full tide. Whilst
everyone is busy rejoicing, and availing themselves of the food and celebratory mood, you and I shall
steal away and meet.”

Half-turned to Licinia, he replied,

“and where do you propose we meet?”

“Meet me at the theatre, I know of a way in. We shall move under the cover of night. We can
meet there.”

Crassus, unable to contain his excitement, allowed a grin to escape him.

“Then I shall see you then, my love.”

“Leave now!”

It was mentioned previously that there existed shadows that lurked the streets that night,
watchful eyes, and prowling feet beneath the moonlight, concealing themselves using whatever else
was liable to cast a shadow. None could be discerned, and so those watchful eyes and prowling feet
remained hidden, and one pair in particular, near the temple. They watched Crassus emerge from the
temple’s interior, dancing like the torch flames that adorned long stretches of Corinthian columns
which lined any ordinary Roman street, and humming like a bird newly risen to greet the spring.

The feet walked over to the entrance of the temple, and there the eyes gazed at Licinia, again
fallen to her knees, her hands clasped together and her head bowed near the flame of the Goddess
Vesta. Her eyes were closed shut as her mind was in the midst of a solemn prayer, but behind her
stood the owner of those eyes and feet.
 “Licinia,” said a female voice.

Licinia gasped, startled by the firm tone of the voice emanating from the figure behind her, and
turned her head swiftly so that her eyes made contact with the pair of piercing green eyes at the
doorway, at last revealing themselves. They belonged to a woman, dressed with the same garments
as Licinia, although not as radiant as she, and donned the same six strands of hair which hung like
vines from her head. She was fair skinned, and her brows remained fixed and gave the impression
that she bore a look which carried in it a latent dubiety. The woman stood in the doorway with her
arms crossed, and her hips tossed over to one side, her left foot thrust forward toward Licinia,

“Minucia, is it time already?” Licinia said, her glance flickering back and forth to avoid Minucia’s
gaze, her eyes using whatever else in the chamber of Vesta it was possible to use as a pretext to look
away.

“Yes, I have come to replace you for the night. You may return now to the House and prepare for
the festivity tomorrow.”

“Indeed, I shall get some rest.”

Licinia rose to her feet in one graceful movement, and, with her countenance lowered so that
the piercing eyes of the woman would not cast themselves on hers as she walked past, made haste
toward the entrance, careful to not arouse suspicion by desiring to reach it too quickly, nor too slowly
for it might also be considered a peculiar act by the watchful Vestal.

“Please, do ensure that you get some rest, for you will require every bit of strength for
tomorrow’s festivities. Do not stray from your duty.” Her injunctions rolled off the tongue, with more
commands embedded within, like a string of hidden codes that only Licinia could decipher. She
departed the temple, followed the flowing river of steps to the stone street below, and marched off
into the night at a steady pace. The vigilant Vestal Minucia watched her until she had all but
disappeared from view, whereupon she directed her attention to the flame. She held out her hands
seeking its warmth, for the evening was rather windy and cold, then a soliloquy began to fill the
silence which came simultaneously as a prayer and a petition,

“Dear Goddess Vesta, aid this poor young girl as she is assuring her own demise by succumbing
to that peasant’s advances. I know what it is like, when the heart yearns for what it pleases, when it
cries out for a desire so unquenchable that one would risk life just to savor a taste of it. I knew it once,
a visit did Saudela pay me, long ago, in the form of a man. She knew that hidden in mine heart was a
longing, unfulfilled, and how night after night it prayed fervently and furtively to her, without my
conscious permission.”

Just then, the flame grew alongside the revelation of her intimate confession. Minucia quickly
turned, startled, to set her eyes upon the flame, those two orbs becoming two small suns of yellow
and orange as it cast its reflection upon them.

“He was my sin, and yet the fuse which ignited my passion. It was only until he came that my
mind and body were one, and alas did he persuade them to divorce, and never, with the passage of
nights from thence, did the two reunite. One kept awake by a terrible emptiness, while the other
slept for fear of being discovered.”

Suddenly, the intensity of the flame decreased, and so the glow of its reflection in her eyes
dimmed to a soft light confined to her pupils.

“But I realize that our duty is bound to you, lady Vestal, and to this Republic, and that I had no
business pursuing such frivolity in life, for nothing could, nor should, matter to me more than to tend
to your flame, without which I would not be. I owe my life to you, as does the rest of Rome. It is a
difficult matter to reign in the heart, but it is possible, as I have done it. I expect no less than my
fellow Vestals to do the same. Poor Licinia seems to be in the midst of the same struggle as we speak.
Grant her the fortitude to vanquish this ill within her heart, for it will only bring the highest of
punishments unto her. Utilize me as an instrument if you wish. Perhaps I can serve you in more ways
than one.”

Her gaze then became an absent quality of her eyes, as if another consciousness had taken over,
and that reflection of fire grew, once more converting the absent eyes into two binary suns,

“And yet, at times I cannot contain my wonder and ask the stars, What has become of him?”

The last of her soliloquy ended as the last of its echo faded, the vigilant Vestal Mucinia stood in
the presence of the fire, surrounded by a contemplative air, hollow and cold. She was to remain in her
station until relieved by another Vestal in the early morning, hours before the commencement of the
ceremony, The Vestalia. The night marched forward, the fire kept alive to see another sunrise, and
with the rising of the sun the citizens of the city followed, filling the streets like a slowly rising tide
gradually swelling a river.