<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: calibri;"> <strong>Amarantha with Melete...</strong><br/></span><hr/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: calibri;">"Do as you please with the styling of my hair, Helete—Melete, whatever it is that you go by this day," Amarantha said carelessly while rising from the bath. Milk slid down her body in a smooth glide while goosebumps rose up on the woman's skin. Shooing the slave out of her way, Amarantha stood upon the stone floor, wetness dripping from her form while holding out her arms so that Melete would come to dry off her well cared for body. "And do not let my daughter here you calling me the envy of all Rome. I have a feeling she would attempt to undermine that fact with some sort of manipulation and scheming behind my back. Treacherous child, that. Marcus should send her away from here so that she can get away from those damned gladiators. Child has no mind about her. I cannot help but to think I wasted all my beauty on that girl and if I have another she would not have an ounce of it," Amarantha ranted quietly and mostly to herself, though of course she was still fully aware that Melete was present.<br/><br/>"Though, there is a part of me that cannot blame her. Those gladiators... they are rather beastly, aren't they," the Roman woman questioned rhetorically. Of course they were. They were beastly, and animalistic, and wild. Something to be tamed beneath the crack of a whip and the hot Roman sun. The thought send a shiver beneath Amarantha's skin and for the woman to breath a little more unevenly. Amarantha squeezed her knees together a little more tightly while the familiar rise of rose blush came upon her cheeks. Such thoughts... such thoughts were not supposed to be had by a lady of her stature. But Amarantha could not help what pleased her mind, and the fantasies that played through it. <br/></span>