The Red Spice. Livia had seen what it could do to women.  Casual get-togethers could turn into mad orgies. And if men were around, those orgies often gave way to orgies of violence. Livia knew what was coming. Lust, and Bloodlust, as the saying went. 

At first she felt nothing, but it only took a moment before the Spicewine started to kicked in. It began  with a feeling of vague disorientation and subtle effervescence. Then the feeling built up, coming and growing, with a rhythm like the beat of a drum. Livia did everything she could to focus, to remain calm and centered, but Livia's grip on reality slowly faded.

"Do you? Your grace? Your grace?"

Livia just realized she'd zoned out the last ten minutes of the Priestess's speech. My own Coronation, though Livia, and I'm not even present. "Pardon?"

"Your grace? Do you accept your place as a goddess? Do you wish to take your rightful place as a ruler, in this world and the next?"

"Oh. Err, yes, of course, I do."

"And so it is. You shall reign as a goddess, along with your mother and sister, taking whatever you desire from the fruits of man and earth. Every kingdom and creature shall bow down before you, cater to your every whim, or they will perish below your feet. Let them offer everything they have, and more to your glory, though they are unworthy to lick the dirt from your sandal. 

'You may now accept your first offerings: the men you see before you."

"Is that it? Am I a goddess now?"

"No. There's still one more step left. Your dress, like your soul, is still pure white. For the ritual to be completed, it must be stained with red."

"Stained with red?" An idea popped into her head. Without giving it a second thought, Livia grabbed the goblet from the pedestal. She overturned the cup, pouring the last few drops of wine onto her white dress. "And now my dress is stained red, and my ascention into godhood is completed. Right?"

"Your grace... I'm afraid that's not exactly what the Order had in mind. To complete the ceremony, you must take first blood."

"I must kill."

"Yes."

"What if I've already taken a man's life?"

"I am sorry, but you must still take blood during your Coronation."

"And there's no other way?"

"The Goddess Cybele has made her wishes clear. There are to be no exceptions."

"And these men... Are they willing sacrifices?"

The priestess gave a strange look, as if she was being asked to consider something not worth considering. "Some of these men have offered their lives to you freely. Others... less freely."

"Well... Very well. Order the men who gave their lives freely to step forward."

"All of you who have freely offered your lives to Her Grace, please step forward." The Priestess repeated the command in several languages, and each time, dozens more stepped forward. Perhaps a third of the men, more than a hundred in total, had given themselves freely.

"And which of you would still offer your lives to her, without a sliver of fear or regret?"

Two dozen of the men stepped forward a second time.

***

Livia looked over the men. Most of them were young, normal-looking, even handsome. Why would they choose to end their lives so young? Out of desire, duty, or devotion? Livia chose a man from the front; a strong-looking, black-haired man with a twinkle in his eye. She kneeled down closer to his height. Livia ran her hand along his side, gently caressing the man's little shoulders and head.

"So you offer your life to me?"

"I am not worthy to touch you, but If you wish it, there would be no greater honor. I would gladly die for you a thousand times, my goddess." 

Livia knew from the look in his eyes that he was genuine, not that the man had any reason to lie. What surprised her was the way some of the other men were looking at her. They seemed almost jealous. "It's impossibly generous of you to offer yourself to me. Are you sure you want to give me your life? Have you no family? No woman?"

"I was born a slave, and seperated from my family as a young boy. I worked the fields near Pompeii, and since them I've been passed around like cattle, from one fieldmaster to another. I was freed by a kindly master, but since then I've failed to find work . There's no paying work for laborers, not anywhere I've traveled. Why pay someone a wage to work your fields when you can buy field slaves for next to nothing? And as for women... they're all too few outside the city, and none of them would have a man like me."

"I could give you a job in the palace. A good, paying job as a laborer." 

"No."

"Or I could make you my slave. I could--"

"No. I want this."

"Well, if you're sure. But at least let me know your name first."

"Cassius. Like the senator."

"The one who led the plot to kill Caesar."

"He killed himself, because he thought his army was losing a battle they ultimately won."

"Perhaps there's a parallel there. But if you're sure you want to die, Cassius... how would you like me to do it?"

"Step on me. Crush me under your foot."

"Would you like me to take off my sandal?"

"I am unworthy to touch your flesh, even the bottom of your foot. But if you would be so kind as to remove your sandals..."

Livia granted him the kindness, though doing so would mean bloodying her feet. If the spice made women go mad with  lust and bloodlust, perhaps it didn't work on her: she felt none of either right now. Livia wasted no time in untying her sandals, not because she was looking forward to the act, but because she wanted to get it over with. She picked up Cassius, gently cradling him and planting a chaste kiss on his forehead. Then she set him so that he was lying flat on the ground. 

He looked so small below her, and yet not so small that she could effortlessly crush him. Her mother, immense as she was, could flatten half a dozen men with a misplaced step. But that was Cybele; Livia barely came up half-way to her mother's knee. Livia gently placed her foot onto Cassius, lightly pressing against his head and chest. Livia knew there was no other way. She stomped her foot down against the ground with violent force.

***

The man barely managed to get out a yelp. Before Livia knew it, her foot had slammed against the floor, cracking the tile. The man's upper body had all but disintigrated. Blood and brain was splattered on the floor, and sticky crimson fluid stuck to Livia's foot. She tried to wipe it off on the  floor, rubbing her feet against the cold tile, but the red goo seemed impossible to remove. "Oh god," Livia found herself saying, "what have I done..."

The priestess slowly made her way towards Livia. "Yes. Excellent. Now let the consumption begin. Feel his life energy seeping into you, becoming yours. Feel the power of the Red Spice acting as a vessel for his energy. Feel yourself devouring his very soul, as his essence becomes food for your ascention."

"Devouring his soul? Is that what the Red Spice does? I don't want to do this. Stop the ceremony."

"My goddess, I can't do that. Once the consumption has begun, there's no way--"

"Stop it! Now!"

"I'm sorry. It's too late."

"No! Stop it now..." But as Livia spoke, she realized how futile her pleas were. It was at that moment that the true power of the Red Spice began to take hold.