Laughter awakes me from my doze. The real world makes contact with me again, while remains from my dreams fly away. I try to catch them, but my fingers touch nothing but an uncomfortable void. I remember nothing, and yet the relentlessness I feel wasn't there before my slumber.
    I know way too well what laid in my dreams.

    The sounds in the nearby room inform me that my young host is back. And he is not alone. I can recognize some of the voices. Wild youngsters, sharpening their wits every day, practicing cruel jokes on those they despise, but masquerading as perfect citizens worthy of their rank when facing the rest of the world. High ranking citizens with too much idle time to kill. I wouldn't stay around them if it weren't for him. But they accept me, and I tolerate them so far. That's good enough.

    I cannot remember what we had scheduled for this afternoon. Was it the arena or the theatre? Does it matter anyway? I'll be sitting near him, as always since I arrived. And as always since we first met, it will be an exquisite torture.
    His hand resting on my leg, gliding up toward my inner thigh… I pause, holding my head between my hands, blocking the thought. I must not allow myself to picture such images. Some things are never meant to be.
    I head for the small table where a glass awaits me, and pour myself some wine. The red liquid glitters in the fine glass, but tastes like blood when I sip it as an announced future flashes behind my eyelids. My blood pouring should I ever dare touch him; his should he make a single error in that harsh and cruel world he entered. Politics is going to kill him, my young Roman friend. I know it as I know how pale I look right now.

    Warm velvet caressing my bare calves. I smile at the cat, ignorant of the troubles of this world, just hoping for something to nibble before becoming the new master of my sheets. I should be just like him, live the moment and forget all about the rest. But I am too old for that, and what I used to be when I was young now disappears in the mist. Centuries or maybe even millennia of experience taught me better. Focusing on the moment is not a luxury I can grant myself.
    Survival comes with a price, and the path burns under your feet.

    I compose myself, and check my face in the mirror which lies behind the table. I quickly pass my fingers through my hair, in a desperate attempt to tame it. That will do. I am in no way a respectable citizen, and do not try to pass as such, I can be sloppy on such things. Ioannes, young Roman citizen with barbarian origins, coming from the north to deal not so fair trades in this more "civilized" area of the world, this is who I currently am. This is how they know me, and they will never know better. Not even him. I saw the birth of their empire, and I shall see its fall. But in the meantime, I got caught in its chaos as everyone else. This is life. The same exact thing for everyone. I just happen to see a broader picture.

    As I pass the door, nothing is left from the troubled thoughts brought by my sleep. Perfect control. That's what I am good at. That's what I do. I lie to the others; I lie to myself. All the time. I couldn't choose otherwise even if I wanted to.
    And they greet me as they know me. As the sulky young friend of their best friend, as the strange northern barbarian with a surprising gift for outwitting them, able to bite with a few soft spoken words.
    The room smells of sweat and alcohol, and more wine is poured as I enter. I accept the glass, even though I don't plan on drinking much out of it. Control, that's all I have to protect myself, and I am not about to let it split. I killed enough already. And these lives I don't want to take.

    A flash of white teeth, smiling at me. From the corner where he stands he spots me, and the look in his sparkling eyes stirs desire in me. His Roman perfection has no match in this room, nor in this land. It is no wonder the people love him, and he wins with words those who don't care for pretty looks. He shall go far. And fall hard.
    But this time has not yet come, and here he stands, at the beginning of his life, among his peers. He invites me to come over, with a simple nod, and turns again to resume his conversation. Does he ever know how I feel, how cruel his flirtatious games are for me? I think he does, he maybe even regrets not being able to give me more. But he can't stop himself, that's a part of him too that I learnt to know. I wouldn't love him as much if he changed.

    I accept the invitation, and step closer one more time, ready to grab as much as I can from it.
    For I shall not be here anymore tomorrow. I know I shouldn't interfere more in his life. Mortals aren't for me.
    And I hate seeing the fall of semi-gods.