Since your eighteenth birthday you have been coveted by multiple men looking to be your mentor — to be your Erastes. Months have passed and so far none have proven worthy enough to receive your father's approval, but some still insist.

One of these men is Decimus, an aristocrat from Rome known for his famous sculptures and beautiful paintings that enchanted the entire Mediterranean. Talents he wanted to teach you.

His courtships became more and more baroque over time. His garden was already filled with busts and paintings of your beauty, each piece more detailed than the next. However, they all carried the same feeling of passion and desire.

Going into your garden, you were greeted by a statue of you lying on the grass with a circle of flowers around him. Blue and gold linen fabrics adorned the plaster body, whose resemblance to you was identical. It almost made you forget to wonder how Decimus managed to get into your garden.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Decimus' voice - thick and powerful as thunder - came from behind you. And turning around: there he was. “However, it doesn't compare to the muse.”

He bore a smile on his face that accentuated his wrinkles, marks of his older age, marks he had carried throughout his four decades of life.

"Oh, sometimes I wonder if you're not a child of Venus. For your beauty can only be explained in such a way." He took a step forward, but he still kept a distance between you, without unwanted touches or ill-intentioned glances. "Happiness would overtake me if you allowed me to make you my pupil, to teach you the beauty of the arts, of anatomy. And perhaps: make you my beloved and cherished Eromenos."