Facets

The rotunda had no need for torches, such was the power of the light reflected off the crystal atop the Plinth at the rotunda’s center. Even Vistruvian’s shadow as he passed between the crystal and the bands of light coming down from the lantern windows did nothing to diminish the crystal’s aura.

They named it Exsultaverunt Aequalitatem and since the time of the Vistruvian’s forefathers, it had sat atop the Plinth in this holy space for all to see. It was said any man or woman who touched the crystal forfeited first their honor, then their hands, then their life. Something so beautiful, so precious, was never meant to be handled by mortal hands, for no matter the amount of washing, they could never be truly clean.

He circled their greatest treasure again, all other attendants in the rotunda sent away to either their villas or their preferred Lupanar, sometimes one by the way of the other. He paid no heed to their vices; they served their purposes. He rested his hands, almost reverently on the Plinth.

But this crystal…that served no purpose. Such wealth just sitting atop a Plinth for no reason other than, what, beauty? Enjoyment? Wasteful all of it by his estimation.

With no one around, and with the smallest of pushes, Vistruvian toppled the Plinth. The evening light caught the crystal, rendering it blindingly brilliant one last time, until it shattered against the marble into dust uncountable.

No longer anchored, and with no witness in sight, Vistruvian collected the largest of the shards in a leather pouch. In the morning the stewards would find the disaster for all their people. They’d rouse him and he’d make some proclamation to the Senate about the tragedy. He’d ensure the remaining shards were built into something wonderful, truly beautiful to replace it that better represents what their proud nation has become. They might have cut off hands and heads once before, but those days were buried in marble crypts like the rest of their forefathers. Questions may come, and they’d be dismissed in the same breath, before drifting away like the breeze.

And then, years down the line, or maybe months–it was always difficult to say how quickly these things came and went–he’d sell the remaining shards tucked away in his little leather satchel for a nice Villa along the sea, a vineyard, and maybe a lovely housekeeper or two to keep the once august servant, now racked by age and sacrifice, company.

It was no less than what Vistruvian deserved, after all.

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A/N:

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