Suicide of Nero
Emperor Nero, having been declared a public enemy by the Senate and abandoned by his guards, takes his own life with the assistance of his secretary Epaphroditus in a modest villa outside Rome. The mo
Setting
The interior of a modest villa in the countryside near Rome, sparsely furnished but with remnants of imperial luxury. The room is small, with a single window overlooking a dusty olive grove. The walls are cracked, and the once-vibrant frescoes have faded.
Characters
Nero
primary
A man in his early thirties, with a fleshy face and weak chin. His once-luxuriant auburn hair is now unkempt and greasy, falling in disheveled curls around his shoulders. His body shows signs of recent weight loss—the purple-trimmed tunic hangs loosely on his frame, and his hands tremble slightly. His eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep, darting between his companions and the dagger in his hand.
Epaphroditus
primary
A thin, middle-aged man with a sharp nose and sunken cheeks, signs of years of service under constant stress. His once-dark hair is streaked with gray, and his hands bear ink stains from endless scrolls. His eyes are alert but weary, betraying both loyalty and exhaustion.
Villa Slave
secondary
A thin, wiry man in his late 30s, with sun-weathered skin and deep-set dark eyes that reflect years of servitude. His short, curly black hair is streaked with premature gray, and his calloused hands bear the marks of hard labor.
Horse Guard
background
A rugged, battle-hardened soldier in his late 30s, with a muscular build and tanned skin from years of outdoor duty. His face is weathered, with a prominent scar across his left cheek. His dark hair is cropped short in military fashion, and his piercing eyes reflect urgency and frustration.
Dialog
Nero
Do you not see, Epaphroditus? The Fates have woven my thread to this moment—shall I not cut it with my own hand?
Epaphroditus
Dominus, might it not be wiser to await word from Ostia? The legions may yet...
Nero
Wiser? When the Senate has damned my name and the Praetorians hunt me like a beast?
Epaphroditus
Κύριε... even now, your friends work in the shadows. The mob forgets—
Nero
The mob cheered when I fed Christians to the lions! What artist ever ruled such ingrates?
Epaphroditus
If the Dominus permits... the dagger is poorly balanced for this. The Persian blade in the chest—
Nero
No! The poets will sing of Nero's final act—let them say I met death as I lived: without compromise!