Veni, Vidi, Vici-Leaks: Excerpts From The Diary Of Envia, Vestal Virgin No. XVII

XII/XIX/XLV, B.C.: My name is Envia. I am a Vestal Virgin. I am XVI years old and am now in my second decade of being a VesVirg--no more school for me, just work, which I love. Tending the sacred fire is like the best. Great for the complexion, btw. Okay, so some wild-haired guy named John or something gave me this diary when I was out alone gathering kindling. He said it was an "early Christmas present," Pagan God knows what that means. I know he's the kind of guy the Vestalium Maxima always warns us about, but he seemed so nice. I hope to write often, but engraving tablets isn't the easiest thing to do, you know, being a busy VesVirg (that's what Vixenia calls it; the VM would have her buried alive if she knew; we'll keep it our little secret, won't we, Dear Diary?) and all.

XII/XXIV/XLV, B.C.: Okay, can I tell you just how sick I am of all these Roman boys snickering and smirking and leering every time they see (or probably just hear of us) us VesVirgs? We're sacred priestesses, Pagan God dammit! If I hear one more joke that starts, "Do you know how many Vestal Virgins it takes..." or "Did you hear the one about the Vestal Virgin at the Bacchanalia..." I might just set someone's toga on fire. Doesn't seem to bother Vixenia at all. She just giggles like a plebeian school girl. The VM says she's going to shorn Vixenia's hair extra close if she keeps it up, which only makes Vixenia giggle more.

I/VI/XLIV, B.C.: Happy New Year, Dear Diary! So everyone knows we VesVirgs guard and maintain the sacred fire, but we have other duties, you know. We are entrusted with the safekeeping of important people's wills. Well, the other day I came upon Vixenia and her BFF Strumpetia actually reading one. Ceasar's! My Pagan God I almost had a heart attack. They swore me to silence, though. It seems that Caesar is spurning his wife Calpurnia and giving all to that wicked Cleopatra! Yikes. I said that in good conscience we should alert Calpurnia, but Vixenia got this dirty look and just giggled. "Girl," she smiled most unVesVirg-like, "with this little tablet it's gonna be all Vidi, Vici, Veni for me with Julius! Pagan God I love a bald man in a toga, don't you?" "That's sick, Vixenia," is all I could say. "Oh, I bet she's got a thing for Cassius," Strumpetia said, looking at me. "She's rather too lean herself." "You guys!" I pounded my foot. "We're Vestal Virgins, hello!" "Really?" Vixenia laughed. "I thought it was vestigial." They laughed harder. "Do yourself a favor, girl," Strumpetia said. "Don't skip the life fandango when you're in your prime. Just keep your chaste mitts off Marc Antony. That bad boy's all mine. I'd like to lend him more than just my ear, if you know what I mean!" Pagan God and Goddess! I had to visit the little girl's vomitorium after that exchange.

II/XIII/XLIV, B.C.: Well, they're gone. Sixteen of my fellow Vestal Virgins left for the coast (Amalfi, natch) this morning. I guess my essay on "Why I would like to be immortalized in a pop song MM years from now" just wasn't good enough. The VM told me last week I was the alternate, and don't think I didn't think about torching Bustia or spilling the beans on Vixenia or Strumpetia. But I guess I'm just too good. I'm the XVIIth most notable Vestal Virgin. So I've got that going for me, at least, which is kinda nice.

III/X/XLV. B.C.: Still a bit bummed, Dear Diary. Waiting for something to happen here, but it never does. Oh, VM, I'm stuck inside of Rome with the Amalfi Coast blues.

III/XV/XLV, B.C.: I was in the collegium, teaching some of the younger Vestal Virgins how to rub two sticks together when the VM came in and announced that Caesar had been killed. I'll never forget that moment, or this day. Poor Vixenia. She'll be crushed when she finds out days from now. And Strumpetia. How wrong she was. I never liked Cassius. Brutus, you? How could you? But the fire needs stoking right now, more than ever, I guess. And that's my job. For life.