Julia the Philosopher rises from her cold, hard grave.

She wears the slain like a cloak. Archer's strong hands reach out from the depths of her crimson cloak, grasping handfuls of dirt and pulling them into the red of Rome. Assassin's doves erupt from the bloody fabric, white feathers stained red, lifting her cape as it surges out behind her and staining the sky and clouds with sanguine sunset. She continues to walk, and the cape continues to extend - a miles long serpent with scarlet scales, each drop of blood a drop of potential. She stands atop this forgotten world, history come back from Hell.

The sun blinds her eyes. 

She lifts her lance aloft and it cowers beyond the horizon like a beaten dog.

More lances rise aloft. The space elevators, ringing the planet, great spikes up into the sky - just waiting for someone to pick them up. One by one they light up, burning red, illuminated by the sorcerous corruption Caster had blessed her with. This world is indeed a treasure - here, beneath the light of a green mars a highway to the stars waits for her. For Rome. Whatever civilization waits up there - it was born of failure, born of [i]her [/i]failure. It would be fractured and factious. It wouldn't be able to see the beauty in her Roman red restored.

"Ye Gods!" she cries. "Jupiter and Mars! I have changed my wish! Let me rebuild Rome here, in this age! Let me unite this world and take these people to the stars! Let me wage the war I never imagined! Let me build the empire I never dreamed! Now that I see how small I my dreams were, give me the strength to build something greater! Give me these tribes, exiles and bandits, and I shall be unto you a second Romulus!"

She struck her spear down into the thirsty earth, hungry for the blood that followed such oaths.

"I have three heads left to offer," she said to the alien heavens. "Guide me to them."