Chapter Text
I shall be ever maiden,
Ever the little child,
In my passionate quest for the lovely,
By earth’s glad wonder beguiled.
I shall be ever maiden,
Standing in soul apart,
For the Gods give the secret of beauty
Alone to the virgin heart.
~Sappho
~-~
'student', age 6
Celeana’s mother cheered when she learned that the eldest Vestal Virgin had died. It was a short-lived celebration, and Celeana watched as her mother’s cheeks swiftly grew red at her outburst, but she seemed to have a renewed pep in her step for the following weeks. Celeana did not really know what it meant, that the Vestal was dead, but she had to be all dressed up and presentable for what felt like forever. Her darkest clothes weren’t as soft as her everyday ones, and she would send a little prayer during her evening rituals to let her wear normal clothes soon. Celeana had remembered the amount of different people flowing in and out of their home, coming to visit her mother and father during the days and evenings, speaking about an upcoming ceremony and ‘how excited they must be for the chance’, whatever that meant. Celeana found these conversations to be too boring to pay attention to, despite being dressed like a doll and silently sat beside her mother for the duration. She passed the time by counting to the highest number she could think of in her head, repeating it over and over, until their guests finally left and she was able to go and draw.
Celeana had wished she had paid closer attention to those conversations now. The man standing in front of her, (“The Pontifex Maximus,” her mother had whispered to her earlier), was looking down, smiling at Celeana. He reminded her of her father, tall and strong, with broad shoulders that looked like he could pick her up and never have to put her down.
“Daddy!” Celeana cried, rushing towards the man who had just walked through the door.
Her mother grabbed for her, trying to catch her before she got too far, but she easily slipped past her, focused on her target. He smiled at her, dropping the scrolls of parchment in his hands on the floor, not worrying about where they rolled as he scooped his daughter up in his arms, swinging her up and around as if she was flying. She let out a laugh, loving the air on her face and the smile on her dad’s. They stopped spinning, her dad pulling her close and hugging her tightly, tucking her head under his chin.
“Hello deliciae.” She squirmed, wrapping her arms around her dad’s neck to look in his eyes, the same colouring reflected in Celeana’s own. He looked tired, the day weighing on his face, but he smiled for her anyway. His smile lit up his eyes, scrunching them in a way that the young girl copied, earning a laugh and a kiss on the cheek.
The Pontifex’s eyes held none of the warmth her father’s did. His eyes were… duller, as if he didn’t mean his smile. As if he were smiling for the benefit of the large crowd of people that were standing behind Celeana, instead of for her. She knew she looked pretty; her mother had done up her hair, brushing it out of her face and tying it behind her in a way that still allowed her golden ringlets to flow down her back, but she did not know what made her different. Why she was the one he was focused on. The other 19 girls were wearing the same dress as her: a plain, pure white that hung low enough to brush against their shins, and in her opinion, some of the others were prettier than her.
The girl beside her had mahogany brown eyes that looked like dark honey when the sunlight hit them in the right way; super curly brown hair that had bounced in time with her steps as she walked up onto the stage, captivating Celeana’s attention. When she had smiled at Celeana when they had first found their spots, a friendly face in a sea of eyes, dimples flashed in her cheeks. She smiled at Celeana now, beaming at her for some reason, and Celeana didn’t want to look away. She looked at the girl, who glanced away and up to her dad. Celeana’s eyes followed. The girl’s dad looked disappointed behind her; most of the girls and their fathers did, watching as the man in front of Celeana held out his hand to her. Celeana’s father squeezed her shoulder kind of hard, spurring her into motion. She took the man’s hand, bowing her head slightly as her mother had trained her to do.
“I take you, Amata, to be a Vestal priestess,” He gripped her hand gently, pulling her forward, closer to himself and out of her father’s grip. Her father let her go easily, the lack of warmth from his hand on her shoulder jarring. She felt panic build in her chest, wishing she had paid greater attention to her parents when they explained the ceremony. The Pontifex continued to speak, his voice loud enough to carry across the crowd.
“Who will carry out the sacred rites which it is the law for a Vestal priestess to perform on behalf of the Roman people, on the same terms as her who was a Vestal in the best of terms…” Celeana kept her head bowed, as her parents had told her. She had been brought to the center of the group of girls, separated from them by a couple of feet, stepping up onto a pedestal that put her above everyone else in the gathering, other than the Pontifex himself, and a group of five women standing off to the side. They were wearing long white robes, tied around the waist like a priest's, their hair braided up and tucked under a headband like a brides, and had white veils covering their faces. Celeana didn’t fully understand what was happening, or why those five women seemed to be staring into her soul, (she could see a couple of the older women smiling at her under their veils; she didn’t know why it lessened the panic clawing up her throat), but she knew that whatever was happening, it was very important.
”This is a very big deal, Celeana.” Her mother pet her head, smoothing down her hair. “If you get chosen, you’ll be a very special part of Rome.” Celeana’s eyebrows furrowed in thought.
“And then we can come home? And I can play marbles with Markas?” Her mother’s hand paused on her head, and Celeana glanced over her shoulder. Her mother had only looked at her, eyes sharp. Celeana didn’t like being in trouble, so she just turned back around, keeping her mouth shut as she let her mother dress her as she pleased.
Celeana was aware of applause, and the man was looking at her, proud. He gently turned her around to face the crowd. The sun was shining in her eyes, causing her to squint a little, but she could make out her parents, standing side by side and holding hands. Her father looked proud, his head held high as he smiled at the young girl. Her mother was smiling as well, but in the watery way that meant she was trying not to cry. She looked happy, though. Celeana’s eyes couldn’t help but flicker to the side, blue eyes meeting brown. The girl only smiled at her again, clapping her hands a few times before a word from her father caused her to stop. The women in white broke her gaze, walking past Celeana single file as they made their way to a carriage Celeana hadn’t noticed before. The Pontifex put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her down the steps and away from the crowd. She shot a worried glance at her parents, ready to break out in a sprint to get to them, but her father only nodded encouragingly, causing her to cease her escape plans. Ignoring the strong urge to cry and run to her parents, wishing she could have a hug, she allowed herself to be led away.