Prologue
What I've heard from stories as a child is that each ending is always a blissful one and that the virtuous will always triumph over the corrupt. Over these long years since my childhood I've begun to wonder the significance of these tall tales. The details of each story differ, but the endings, to me, have always stayed the same. With a quiet "Happily Ever After" that always came from the child's ageing nursemaid.
My nursemaid, Atella, had always spoken to me of the legendary Sarmatian knights. Each of her drawn-out tales had told of how they succeeded at every task the Emperor, or even the Pope, had set for them. In Atella's stories no one ever died. They had all seemed invincible to me then.
As I grew more mature with each passing year I realized how misled I'd been. No person could ever be indestructible no matter however high someone placed them in their minds. Everyone had their own weaknesses: even the emperor himself would have failings, perhaps even my benevolent, but aristocratic, father. These thoughts progressed into deeper ones and ever absorbed they became. My family and friends regarded my thoughtful state as a sort of illness.
The speak of the other high born families worried my family. They, moreover my mother, did not want to be the laugh of Rome because of their introverted daughter. Mother's words always fell harsh upon me more so then my juvenile siblings. Theodousia, my younger sister, had always been vain, and our mother had always compared us. It had always felt as if I was on display and had somehow been found lacking. When she told me how Theodousia would make our family proud and how I would be left off to the first that would marry me.