"...Gods above, child, you almost killed him!"
Her uncle's expression was hard to read. Anger, concern and fear all fought for a place on his wide visage.
"He shouldn't have...", she started, then stopped as she felt the blush begin. "He shouldn't have grabbed me...there", she finally continued, not wanting to say the words.
"My cunt", she thought. "He grabbed my cunt. That's the word. I should say it."
Say it with all the revulsion and disgust the word engendered in her mind. Say it with the memory of Marcellus' greasy finger, stabbing into her private place. Say it, she silently yelled at herself. But all she could manage was "...there."

"Certainly not while she was holding that jug", Andreas remarked drily. Decimus had taken it upon himself to help the dazed and bleeding man back to his home where he'd hopefully sleep it off. "Learned an important lesson, I hope."
Uncle Demetrius wasn't in the mood for levity. "He won't soon forget this, that's the problem" he said, his voice grim. "And he's got friends."
"So do you, pandokeus", the older greek replied. "Don't you worry, we'll make sure he keeps his distance from now."
He poked at the remains of the wine jug. "Just a shame about the booze..."

She watched as it dripped off the edge of the table, red in the lamplight, red like blood reflecting the fires of a burning market, red like another life fading away...

…

She'd been breathing in short, shallow gasps. Something came loose in her windpipe and she was wracked by a violent coughing fit. Her whole body shook with the convulsions, sending fresh stabs of agony through her wrists and ankles.

She spat out a glob of slime and blood, watched it land on the dusty ground in front of her cross...

...there was someone standing there.

She tried to blink away the dried tears and grime in her eyes but the shape remained indistinct in the moonlit darkness. The guard, maybe?

No. The guard was bigger. A shudder ran through her as memories welled up, too recent and yet lifetimes ago. The stink of the man...

"You do not have much longer."

Her visitor was a woman, her voice soft and smooth. A voice like silk, wasn't that what the poet had said? A voice like silk, a body like...

She shook her head, eliciting another sharp burst of pain behind her temples. No poetry. Not now. Who was this? Why was she here? Where was...the man?

"The guard? He is fast asleep."

The response confused Camilla. Had she...she must have said those last thoughts out loud, maybe?

"But it is you that I am here for."

"Wh..." Camilla fought to get her abused vocal cords to obey her, finally managing a weak "...who?"

"Just a traveller."

Her vision had finally cleared to the point that she could make out some details. Her nightly visitor was a young woman, her face nubian-dark, a cloak concealing her body's features from sight.

"Just...hah..." Camilla's attempt at a sarcastic laugh turned into another agonizing coughing fit and she had to pause to catch her breath before continuing "...hnhh...just watching...me die?"

"To watch you dance." There was a tinge of amusement in her voice.

Even through her agony and exhaustion, Camilla felt her anger rise, her muscles tighten. Black splotches once again danced around her vision as she exerted herself.
"Go...fuck...y...fu..."