THE LADY

476 A.D. — Rome, Aventine Region

The fall of the Western Roman Empire – the dawn of barbarian kingdoms in Europe – the spread of Christianity.

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝?

That question might sound easy. Many would say, “God created the world.” Or, “God is the first person of the Holy Trinity.”

Maybe you’d think, “God is love,” or “God is the most important person to me.”

I knew all those answers — in fact, they could’ve been mine during my history or religion lessons.

Or not... speaking up was always a challenge for me.

Deep down, I never truly knew who God was. My parents must never hear me say that — after all, we live in the age of Christianity in Rome, and nearly everyone follows the Catholic faith. That’s Europe now…

But my answer to that question is simple:

“I don’t know who He is… because I’ve never met Him.”

𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬

I did meet God once…

A long, long time ago.

Fifteen years earlier…

I watched the girls running back and forth. I was only six, but ever since I became aware of myself, I’d wondered what the world was — and what I was doing in it.

Well… I had no idea.

After all, I’d only just begun to exist, in a way. Funny, isn’t it? Kids my age usually already know what the world is. They live to play, to laugh… to just be children.

But not me.

That feeling of living just for the sake of living — it all started with that awareness.

I was slow, or dull, or useless — call it what you will.

Anyway... I was born in a time that didn’t know how to handle a girl like me.

I lived in a world of my own — though, what was I even complaining about?

My father was Governor Aurélios, and I was considered a well-regarded young lady of Rome.

Or maybe… I didn’t know that yet.

Should I have been happy about it?

I had no real sense of what it meant to have parents, but people often said I was beautiful. They claimed I looked like my Gallic grandmother. My mother didn’t have her hair color — only her temper. And the worst part was the attention I received because of it.

I didn’t like it.

In truth, I just didn’t want to be seen. Or noticed at all.

I’d always been slow.

Latin, religion, etiquette lessons, embroidery — I had them all.

And yet, I was no one.

During literature class, when I was assigned a tutor, I had to hold in my needs until I wet myself.

I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t ask.

“My lady, your daughter is slow and quite dull. She doesn’t have all her wits,”

said the tutor to my mother, who looked at me with silent reproach.

She grabbed my hand abruptly and led me to my room.

“You’ll have a new tutor,” she said.

I stared at her in silence, as always.

I couldn’t tell her that the tutor came to class reeking of wine, or that he humiliated me whenever we studied with the other girls.

I couldn’t say that he treated me as though I didn’t exist — even when I stood there, soaked in shame.

What would be the point?

She thought the same way he did.

But I wasn’t stupid.

I had simply discovered something magical — a place where no one could disagree with me or call me dull, that word so often thrown my way.

In that place, I was free.

Free to express myself, free to think, free to exist.

Everything I felt or thought stayed there, locked away.

It wasn’t perfect, but I loved that place — my refuge, even now.

And after some time, I discovered her.

She had a name: Mind.

My thoughts were my companions, and that was enough, because they made me rational.

I did change tutors, though only after a religious treatment.

My parents had to take me to a church leader, and according to her, I needed to pray often, attend Mass, and listen to the Scriptures. Soon, she said, I’d be cured of my “slowness.”

Of course, my father took care of that tutor — his reputation couldn’t be stained.

And that, apparently, was the most important thing.

Now I had a female tutor, and under her guidance, I began to develop.

I started speaking a little more, though it was never enough.

I was intelligent — but I was ashamed to show it.

With all those eyes on me, it felt as if people were strangling me with their gaze.

My tongue would cling to the roof of my mouth, and I couldn’t speak. Even when they insulted me, I remained frozen, like a lifeless body.

Yes… children in my time were cruel.

And no one seemed to care.

And if I spoke up — what if my mother got angry?

What if things got worse?

No… I wouldn’t take that risk.

I had a few crushes when I was nine.

Yes… children fall in love too, though they don’t know what it truly means.

Perhaps it was the influence of the world around me, or the romance books I read.

I shouldn’t have had them, but no one needed to know.

Ah… innocence.

I even laugh now when I remember the foolish things I did.

“No… you didn’t get this grade,”

said my teacher, looking at my test with suspicion.

“Cheating?”

“Of course not, madam,” I replied.

“Hmm… mm… You are very quiet, Safira. You get good grades and make your parents proud.

You behave well… Can you tell me what happened?

From what I’ve heard, you struggled at six years old.”

“I… I don’t know, madam,” I answered.

“You don’t know?”

The truth is… I did know.

I had simply begun to show my intelligence instead of suppressing it.

A courage I didn’t even know I had seized me.

I hadn’t changed completely, of course…

But I had improved.

By the time I was ten, I was playing on the rocks near the forest on my father’s estate.

By the time I was ten, I was playing on the rocks near the forest on my father’s estate.

I wasn’t reading; instead, I wandered to observe nature, which had always been my passion.

At that time, I read many fictional books about fairies and mermaids.

I was certain these creatures were real, though mysterious, and I was fascinated by every story — hoping that somehow, through imagination, they might whisk me away from the real world to one where I could find happiness, and no one would ever break my heart.

I wasn’t reading; instead, I wandered to observe nature, which had always been my passion.

At that time, I read many fictional books about fairies and mermaids.

I was certain these creatures were real, though mysterious, and I was fascinated by every story — hoping that somehow, through imagination, they might whisk me away from the real world to one where I could find happiness, and no one would ever break my heart.

So, I searched for materials to build a little house.

Perhaps, I thought, one of them would visit me there.

I feel foolish even recalling it.

Then, a sudden pain overtook me.

I couldn’t explain it, but it felt as if my body were on fire and something was terribly wrong.

I ran home, and the maid watched me without understanding.

I lay down, trembling, unsure what was happening…The pain had come so suddenly, it was far too much for a ten-year-old.

And it seemed it was only going to get worse

That feeling of living just for the sake of living — it all started with that awareness.

I was slow, or dull, or useless — call it what you will.

Anyway... I was born in a time that didn’t know how to handle a girl like me.

I lived in a world of my own — though, what was I even complaining about?

My father was Governor Aurélios, and I was considered a well-regarded young lady of Rome.

Or maybe… I didn’t know that yet.