If you’re watching us, you’d best be warned, we are not as we seem.
A nation’s treasures, once, now we are a vestige of an older age, years past, land now lost. We survive because we must, because someone must take our role. Where once it was a privilege (for our fathers) now we must be plucked from all walks of life – where once our lives were sweetly catered for, everyone clamoring to be our patron. Still, we hold the fire, we keep it safe – as we do keep the words and wills of peoples safe, within our walls.
We are shaven, then braided, then clad in white – some things never change, and virginal white, pure as snow, that’s always been the way, everywhere, has it not? Our home may not be the opulent jewel it once was, but it is still a place that must be seen to believed, on by the pulsing Palatine. The Forum breathes with the life of its citizens, and we take the air from their worshipful lungs, and fan our fire with it.
You think us chaste – well, this may be so, but a Vestal never kisses and tells.