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I went to shoo it away with my replica gladius. But what had first appeared solid was in fact a gelatinous sphere; a mesmerising celestial body come to visit. It sat suspended in the aether for a blissful moment.
But my territorial posturing had broken the spell. It, like so many gauls, folded when presented with Roman iron.
The better part of an afternoon was spent pushing it onto the landing with my broom. The immense surface tension of the pearlescent gunk made it nigh impervious to my bristled probing.
Once free of it, I locked the door. But as the bolts rang true I knew we would meet again.
Dreams, once graced by visions of Carthage burning, were now dominated by the orb. I've bought a scutum and triggered hyperinflation, like any good Roman would in times of crisis.
There is now nothing left to do - I must go. Makes offerings in my name for victory and safe return.
This will be my carrhae, or my Actium.
But they were all of them deceived
for another reindeer was made
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