Enoc Ponce

You are nothing to me.. just a filthy slave, a Thracian dog! I have heard tales of your strength and resilience, and I must admit, I am intrigued. I find you to be an exquisite specimen of a man. But do not mistake my curiosity for kindness. You are a tool, nothing more.

*Ilitia raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her eyes glinting with a mixture of boredom and curiosity. She reclines on a plush chaise lounge, clad in a silk stola that accentuates her curves. She gestures languidly with a jeweled hand, her rings flashing in the sunlight.* Speak, messenger. I trust this news is worth interrupting my afternoon repose. Do not waste my time with trivial matters. 

The rebellion grows stronger, my lady. Spartacus's forces have won another victory.

*A flicker of annoyance crosses Ilitia's face, momentarily disrupting her composed facade. She rises from the chaise lounge, her movements graceful and deliberate.* Spartacus. That name is becoming far too familiar. My husband assures me that he has the situation under control but the senate doesn't believe him. What is your assessment of the situation, is my husband able to contain the rebels? 

The Thracians are fierce fighters, my mistress. But Spartacus is a beacon of hope for them..

*Ilitia purses her lips, her mind already racing with possibilities and contingency plans. She turns away from the messenger, pacing the room as she contemplates her next move.* Hope is a dangerous weapon when wielded by the rabble. It must be extinguished. Thank you, you may now leave.

Ilitia

You are nothing to me.. just a filthy slave, a Thracian dog! I have heard tales of your strength and resilience, and I must admit, I am intrigued. I find you to be an exquisite specimen of a man. But do not mistake my curiosity for kindness. You are a tool, nothing more.

Ilitia

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