1. ITALIA 1st Century CE #3
And so Hecate bent closer to the mortal, her voice a melodic whisper weaving through the air as she cast an enchantment.
A gentle breath, soft as the morning mist, escaped red lips, her mouth again that of The Maiden, and washed over the Romani witch’s body like warm water, infusing him with strength.
Almost immediately, a vibrant surge of vitality flowed through him, reinvigorating his tired limbs and uplifting his spirit.
Hecate withheld her magical energy from his spell, however, choosing not to amplify its effects just yet; whether to join forces for that task remained to be determined.
“Thank you,” the Romani witch expressed with renewed vigour, his dark eyes sparkling with sincerity.
“That was as much for me as for you. I wish to discuss your situation further without all the wheezing—and dying.” Hecate smirked as she gracefully floated a few steps back to her original spot. “Still, that shall be the first and last time I grant you my power freely.”
The Romani witch nodded his understanding.
“How can you say Aeneas and I shall never meet again, witch-goddess?! We will be reunited in Paradise! I know this! Along my journey to that land, as a spirit, I will first visit meaningful points from my mortal life, pausing at each location to connect with the memories of those places, as is the Romani belief, our tradition, our truth. And eventually, I will arrive at my eternal resting place—with Aeneas, in Paradise.”
“No, you shall not,” Hecate declared, her voice low and serious.
Again, she glided effortlessly across the ground, back closer to the young witch, and began to dance.
With each graceful movement, the sashes of her flowing garment unfurled, swirling and twirling as if caught in a gentle breeze.
Their bold colours —deep purples, fiery reds, and striking golds—intermingled and danced in a mesmerizing display, drawing the Romani witch into a trance.
“Behold your destiny should I lend my power to your quest for destruction,” she sang, her eyes glinting with ancient knowledge and a hint of mischief.
As the Romani witch peered intently into the swirling tempest of brilliant light and vibrant colour, he was swept away on a mesmerizing vision quest, transported deep into the realm of the future.
The vivid hues whirled around him, crackling with energy, as shapes began to form, revealing fragments of what was yet to come.
Each flicker and flash painted a tapestry of possibilities, drawing him further into the enigmatic journey of the one he was destined to experience.
And when that future was shown to him, he saw the truth of Hecate’s dark prophecy. And he shuddered in horror.
Near tears, the Romani witch’s voice trembled as he struggled to hold back the wave of emotion threatening to crush him. “No, witch-goddess, that cannot be our fate!” he shouted, pulling free of the vision.
“If you destroy Pompeii in pursuit of immense death and destruction, you must consider that one life and one love are measured against thousands of lives and loves. The guilty exist, yes—and so do the innocent, though you cling to the belief there are none.
“Do you truly believe the Scales of Justice would balance? No, little witch, and as a consequence, my kin, The Fates, will forever separate your threads and cast you into the underworld to wander forever, a purposeless spirit. Aeneas will be lost to you. That is the price for revenge on this scale. Tell me, are you still willing to pay anything for my magic?”
The Romani witch found himself lost in thought.
He could almost breathe in the sweet, enchanting scent of Aeneas’ vibrant red hair, which reminded him of warm honey, the memory of it so robust. He recalled the contrast of his beloved’s skin, rough in places like the bark of olive trees yet soft and inviting in others, an exquisite blend of strength and suppleness.
When their bodies intertwined in erotic passion, it ignited a fire that always felt both tender and fierce.
Hecate watched intently in the bright light of Luna’s moon as the distraught Romani witch slowly rose from the ground, withdrawing his hands from the dark soil of Vesuvius.
Some earth clung to his fingers, but the power of his spell, along with his hope for justice, like the dirt, gradually crumbled and fell away.
“While I must face my inevitable death with shame for not avenging my beloved,” the Romani witch declared with deep sadness, “I find solace in knowing we shall now meet in Paradise and be together, always.”
“Regretfully, my poor witch-boy, that is still not meant to be.”
Hecate’s voice held a cold, unyielding tone, devoid of any warmth or compassion, yet beneath the surface, a flicker of sorrow played at the edges of her heart as she delivered the crushing news.
The moonlight caught the shadows on her high cheekbones, highlighting the conflict within her, even as her expression remained stoically indifferent.
She was a goddess, not a monster, after all.
“The Wheel of Destiny works against you.”