Pia Virgō

The roman forum was beautiful. The painted marble gleamed in the spring sun and there was a breeze fluttering through the trees. Great flowers climbed the concrete buildings and flowered with all the colours of the rainbow.
Such a lovely day for such a melancholy event. A magpie sat on the pediments of a nearby temple spying on a procession walking along the forum’s lush paths. A girl sat on a litter carried by slaves; her body wrapped in the clothes of a corpse. Her face was a sea of tears, much like her sisters who followed who howled and cried for the girl’s spirit. The pontiffs led the procession, swinging incense and singing. But their faces were stone.
The magpie flapped its back and night wings flying down to get a closer look. It landed on a statue of man who gleamed gold in the sun, placed right along the procession’s path. With beady eyes it watched at the procession come to a halt at a building, a vault carved into its walls. It was a filthy dwelling infested by black grief; it excuded a sickening desire to feast on the flesh of the most pious.
The vault was buried away in the depths of the forum, it was never blessed by the warmth of the sun or a draught of wind – a gloomy, numbingly cold domain, forever without fire, forever enveloped in darkness.

The girl was led down from the litter, her sisters stepping away as if she was infested with plague. But they still wept for her. The pontiffs looked away from the girl, their gaze turned to anything but the sight around them, faces still stiff as stone. The girl had stopped crying. Her cheeks were puffy and red and her eyes were bloodshot, telling a story no one could quite comprehend. The great one, the pontifex Maximus stood before her, his mouth moving but the bird could not hear. Then another man took the girl by the hand and led her into the vault, into the gloomy darkness. He left without her, closing the door and sealing it without a sound. The procession then left, silent. And the bird left too, to bring news to it’s masters.

Darkness consumes.
Blackened, formless hands extended, sweeping through my skirts as the lamp gave one final gasp. A creature awaits me in the final wave of cold darkness.
Sorrow whispers in my ear as those bleak hands take my body in its embrace. I can feel long frozen tendrils slip through my tangled hair and weave its way into my dress turning my skin to stone.
“Oh sweet vesta, my goddess, my matron, do not leave me to the creatures of the caves”
I begged through shaking sobs. The fingers belonging to the night hold my body tight, drawing, forcing the breath from my chest. The darkness was swallowing me in its large maw, forcing me down a wet cold throat. Fear forced me to flee and so, on my hands and knees, I traced the indents of stone with trembling hands. I found my path to a quiet corner. It brought no warmth, instead, welcoming arms to hold me against the dark. For now, the creature was at bay, its large mouth too big to grasp in this little hovel.
In the dark world, I couldn’t tell when it was day and when it was night. My little corner was my only home, but it soon became wet. From what, I don’t know. Soft moss began to grow, creeping up the corner. The wet moss chilled me to the bone and soaked my clothes, but I didn’t want to leave its loving arms.

The food and water had been gone for days now, at least, what I thought were days. Such hunger and thirst drove me to sleep. I curled up in the dark, clutching my dresses to my chest. My limbs had shrunk and my bones poked through my skin, as if it was a translucent sheet wrapped over my bones. My luscious body is no more.
Before, my body was plump with curves. My hair used to fall around my shoulders like a brown waterfall. I loved to decorate my hair with beads, jewels and the sacred shrouds of my piety. My face had once been round with vitality but now it was thin and greying, my hair was now knotty and thick with grease. The days had been lonely and only plagued my mind with the thoughts of family, my sisters and the gods.
My brother, far away fighting in Gaul,
My father and mother who live in the southern mountains attending to long luscious vineyards,
My sister who tended to the loom with delicate hands and
My virginal sisters who tended to the flames of Vesta. I would never see them again and just thoughts buried me further into the corner I called my sanctuary.
Oh gods, why torment me with this punishment? I do not even remember what happened, what made my sisters turn against me and put me in this vault.

I began to fade in and out of sleep.
I was only awoken by the discomfort that came with needing to evacuate my bowels. Though I did not want to move. My limbs were like lead.
But then, as I opened my eyes, I saw it.
light.
Oh light!
Sweet light. It was small, just a faint glow that danced on the skin of my arm. I shuffled, twisting my body around to see the glow closer.
It was tiny, shining through the faintest crack in the stone cushioned by the moss. I peered closer, pressing my face close to the moss. The light was so faint, but it was something. I pushed my long-ragged nails into the blackish-green, clearing it away. To my amazement, the moss gave way to clay and then weakened stone.
I could dig my way out.
So, I gathered all my strength and began to dig. My nails broke, my fingers split. But the pain was nothing against my determination. My hands grew slick with clay, moss and blood. But soon, I had dug a large enough hole for me to squeeze through. I sat for a moment, resting and using what little light to see the damage to my fingers. They were mangled, black with blood mixed with black clay. These were not my hands, were they? My hands used to be pretty. These things were so thin, so disfiguring. I don’t think I’ll ever embroider again.
Embroidery could wait, however. Once my strength was regained, I slithered my way into the hole, arms outstretched first. I grasped the rocky wall on the other side and pulled and pulled myself through the wall.
The light hurt my eyes, sending my brain rumbling with sensory overload. When my eyes adjusted, I lifted my head to see the light. On the other side of the wall, was a cave. A small, perhaps only a taller than a man, cavern in a beehive shape. The walls were lined with natural rock infested with moss and lichen.
A brazier was producing the light. It was small, sat squat at the foot of a Kore.
The Kore was short but it glowed. Her skin was pale, a red layered marble. Her jewelry was gleaming bronze. Her peplos was draped over her shoulder with one bare breast. It was a bright red linen, embroidered with clouds, flames, and birds.
Her body was stiff, column-like. Her hair was painted brown and draped around her shoulders, a tiara glittered in the flickering firelight. She gazed down at me with glass eyes and a stiff archaic smile. Her hands were outstretched, bearing two bowls. In one, was a lush, plump pomegranate, the other had a coin, silver with the emperor stamped onto it.
I looked down to her base, where it read:
“Child of Rome, entrapped here, I give you the choice of life or a voyage across the river styx.”
I stumbled to my feet and snatched the pomegranate. Hunger had burrowed into my stomach.
I took the plump fruit. But my nails peeled back and my fingers hurt to try and peel back the hard skin. My only option was to smash it onto the stone ground. It split down the middle, spilling juice. I raised it quickly, gulping down the juice before ravenously tearing into the flesh, devouring the seeds like it was the sweetest honey candy. It was divine.

All that was left was the inedible flesh. My gaze shifted to the kore, she gazed at me, awaiting my thanks. The only thanks I could think of was placing the flesh of the fruit into the bowl of the braziers. It wasn’t the blood of a heifer. But it was still a sacrifice. The flames licked and ate away at the flesh, spitting with satisfaction.
The brazier’s flames warmed my skin, enveloping me in a blanket. I scooted closer to the brazier and lay at the base of my goddess’s feet. For once, the hunger did not eat away and sleep took me peacefully.

When I woke up, the flames of the brazier were still burning. New items had appeared in the bowls brandished by the goddess. Now, there was another coin and a jug of water. I took the water. My lips were sealed with thick mucus, painfully separating after I pulled them apart with some force. The water was ice cold and tasted faintly of mint. Droplets dribbled down my throat as I drained the whole thing in one gulp. The water pooled in my stomach. My stomach bloated, forcing me to sit and so I basked in the flames of the brazier.
“Child, why are you here?”
A voice echoed in the cavern. My skin was instantly spurred into gooseflesh. I spun around, searching for the voice, even squeezing back through the hole I made to check. But the room sat empty, still holding the dark monster which looked at me with abyssal eyes.
“Do not be afraid, Pompeia”
The voice echoed again. This time, I was certain of where it was coming from. The kore. She glowed, her glass eyes rolling to watch me. My throat felt suddenly drier than dirt.
“You speak?”
I asked the statue and her eyes, the color of fire, centered on me. I felt small and the ground felt increasingly uncomfortable.
“Speak, child. I want to know why you are here”
My throat suddenly filled and words spilled like wildfire during the summer. Tears ran down my cheeks, mixing with spit as my chest heaved. I spoke like a rambling mad man but nothing made sense. I couldn’t even explain what had happened, my memory had vanished. I shut my mouth when I realized that none of my words supported my memories. Such a death, of being buried alive was for the whorish woman. The one who would fall to their deepest desire and betray Vesta’s almighty code of chastity. I knew this was the punishment. But I had no memory of such an event that would leave me here. All I remembered was waking up to bloodied sheets, the cold stares of my sisters and a searing pain between my legs. I could not deny such proof of losing my chastity. My only defense was that I did not remember.
“Oh my dear, men are such cruel creatures.”
Her voice hugged my thin body with a motherly warmth.
“I do not wish to die here! Please, let me go. Please save me”
She did not answer me however, at least not right away.
Instead, the flames grew, rising to high they met her eyes and turned the cavern into a furnace. I scrambled back, blinking back the smoke. The kore’s limbs creaked into life, folding forward, the bowls melting like candle wax and forming a mask, perfect to my own slumbering face. The flames died and she presented it to me, arms extended and glass eyes focused on me.
The smoke from the flames danced and formed figures in front of me. A figure of a lictor took form, dancing with a stumbling woman. Priestesses surrounded the girl and pushed her into the lictor’s embrace. Sparks from the flames then snapped, creating cracks of lightning. The lictor changed into a man of monstrous proportions before devouring the woman whole, driven by lust.

Now I remembered. The way that man devoured me, how he held me down and the pain. Her glass eyes sparkled with sympathy. It was not my fault. I did not deserve to die here.
Divine fire sparked within my heart and all I could feel was the rage of betrayal.
If putting on this mask was a way of escaping, I would take it.
In my wrath, I put on the mask. It melded to my face, scorching my flesh, muffling my screams and replacing my thin features with plump perfect ones. My skin then turned taught like leather wrapped around bones. The dress grew long and clean but speckled with blood that dripped from my legs. I was blind now, the mask had closed my eyes forever, but such a sensation felt like a divine gift. No more pain. No more sorrow.
The goddess’ voice then boomed
“You will not cross the river styx, dear Pompeia. Instead, you will wander the halls of godly men and women, reminding them of their mortal lives.”
Her words sent me off, back through the hole in the wall and up the ladder to my freedom. All I left behind was my body.

Credit: The Kritian girl