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LET DOWN

The silence in the palace had become a weight, a suffocating pressure that seemed to seep through the stone walls and settle deep into Livia's bones. It was as though the very air had thickened, turning heavy and oppressive, pushing in on her from all sides. She felt like she was suffocating in it, the space between her and the two men who had once been everything to her growing ever wider. Geta. Caracalla. They had withdrawn from her, like shadows slipping away into some dark recess, leaving her here to twist in the unyielding silence of their absence.

Livia had always been the one they turned to. She had always been the one to understand their moods, to anticipate their needs, to be the quiet force that held them steady. But now, all that certainty was slipping through her fingers, like sand, and she was left with nothing but the silence, the loneliness, the feeling of being cast aside.

It was a kind of betrayal, this silence. A cold, gnawing betrayal that bit into her, unraveling everything she had once thought to be true. She had been patient, waiting for them to come to her, waiting for them to find their way back. But no. Not a word. Not a glance. Geta avoided her at every turn, his presence a phantom in the halls. Caracalla had locked himself away, retreating further and further into his chambers, into his madness. The rumors came to her in hushed whispers: He's screaming at the servants. He's threatening to tear the palace apart. But Livia had not seen him. No, he had become a ghost.

And it made her furious.

Her fingers dug into the palms of her hands as she paced the room, her breath quickening. The silence was a thing that seemed to claw at her insides, pushing her toward something dark, something wild. She felt a fire building in her chest, hot and suffocating, each step she took only fanning the flames of her rage.

How dare they? How dare they turn their backs on her, after everything she had done for them, after everything she had given? She had been the one to guide them, to show them the ways of power and politics, to love them when no one else would. And now? Now they wouldn't even look at her. They had cast her aside as if she meant nothing.

The tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was done with tears. She had been broken enough. She had endured enough. And now—now—she was done.

Her hand shot out and struck the stone wall with a force that made her bones rattle. The sharp crack of her slap echoed through the room, but it was not enough. Not enough to release the fury that had built within her, not enough to silence the ache that had taken root in her chest.

With a scream, she tore at the nearest object—a chair—and sent it flying across the room, the crash of wood against stone reverberating through the empty space. But it wasn't enough. The anger was still there, still alive, writhing like a beast inside her.

She grabbed a vase from the table, throwing it violently to the ground. The shards of porcelain scattered across the floor, a small echo of the pieces of herself that she had lost in this maddening silence. The crash was almost satisfying, but it didn't give her the release she craved. Nothing did.

Livia's breath was coming in ragged gasps now, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and wild. Why? Why was this happening? She had been loyal. She had given them everything. And this—this silence was the price she paid. It was as though she had been erased from their lives.

Her hands trembled, nails digging into her palms as she clenched them into fists. I've given them everything. Her mind screamed, her heart thrumming with the sting of betrayal. I've sacrificed everything for them.

But it didn't matter.

With a growl of frustration, she hurled a stack of papers across the room. The sound of them scattering across the floor felt almost too soft, too insignificant against the roaring hurricane of emotion inside her. She spun around in a fury, her eyes scanning the room for anything else to destroy. The room, which had once been a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around her.

Damn them. Damn them both.

She stalked toward the window, the words leaving her lips like a curse. But just as she reached it, her eyes caught the reflection of herself in the glass—disheveled, wild-eyed, breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed with the heat of her rage. It was a woman she hardly recognized.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring at her reflection, her breath heavy in her chest. The anger didn't feel like it would stop. It just kept coming, wave after wave, crashing through her. It felt like everything inside her was unraveling, like she was breaking apart in slow motion.

The door to the room creaked open then, so quietly it almost didn't register in her fury.

Livia froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a second, everything inside her stilled, waiting.

But no. It wasn't Caracalla. It wasn't Geta.

It was a servant. She didn't even know the name of the young man who had stepped into the room, his face pale as he took in the destruction that surrounded her. His eyes flickered nervously to her, and then to the door, as if ready to turn and flee at any moment.

Livia stood there, silent for a moment, her breath still coming in short, jagged bursts.

The servant hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. "My lady, I—"

"Get out." Her voice cracked through the air, raw and unrecognizable. She didn't want to hear another word, didn't want anyone here. She couldn't be contained anymore. Not even in this silence. Not even by herself.

The servant flinched, bowing his head in apology before he retreated, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Livia was alone again.

But the silence felt even worse now. It was suffocating, like a weight pressing down on her chest. It was as though the walls themselves were closing in on her.

A sob broke from her throat, a sound so foreign to her that it scared her. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to choke it back, but it was too late. The floodgates opened, and the sobs came in sharp, jagged bursts. She crumpled to her knees, her hands pressing against the cold stone floor, but there was no comfort in the ground beneath her. There was no comfort anywhere.

"Why... why are you doing this?" she whispered through her tears, her voice trembling. She didn't even know who she was asking anymore—Geta, Caracalla, herself. It didn't matter. She was just... so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of trying to hold on to something that had slipped away.

She stayed there, on the floor, the coldness of the stone beneath her doing nothing to quell the storm inside her. The silence had consumed her entirely now. She was alone in it. And it seemed that the loneliness would never end.

A/N

.....she's kinda going crazy