Latin class

The walk to the Latin classroom was a slow-motion ordeal for Sabrina. Each step made the shreds of transparent silk move, caressing her bare skin with cruel indifference, while the short, rough scarf tied to her hips was miserable comfort—a ridiculous patch that only highlighted what it was meant to hide. The stares of the other students followed her like spotlights, burning her with their stupefaction and muffled murmurs.

As she crossed the doorway, the buzzing murmur of the class cut off abruptly. A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled in the air. Sabrina, her gaze fixed on the cracks in the linoleum, walked to her seat in an act of pure faith, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes following her every move.

Professor Valdez, a woman with gray hair pulled back in a severe bun and tortoiseshell glasses, was facing the blackboard, meticulously copying a Latin text. The sudden silence caused her hand to stop. The chalk ceased its screeching.

She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the room until they stopped at the source of the commotion.

Her face, normally a compendium of academic serenity, completely broke down. Her eyes widened behind her lenses, her jaw dropped in a gesture of pure, incontestable disbelief. Her gaze swept over Sabrina from top to bottom: the transparent silk tunic that revealed every detail of her torso and breasts, the revealing cuts on her shoulder and side, and the pathetic scrap of brown wool tied like an emergency loincloth over her pubis.

The chalk slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor with a dry crunch that sounded like a gunshot in the absolute silence.

—"My God," she managed to articulate, in a hoarse whisper that was nevertheless heard in the farthest corner of the classroom. Her trembling hand rose to partially cover her mouth. There was no anger in her expression, no reproach. Only a shock so deep and genuine that it froze the air in the room.

The whisper of "My God" still hung in the air. The elderly woman’s face had shifted from shock to a look of deep dismay, her fingers, stained with chalk dust, pressed against the desk.

—"Is the attire... for History class?" she asked, her voice recovering a professional tone, but with a palpable tension.

Sabrina, from her seat, could only nod with an almost imperceptible movement of her head, the dry tears leaving salty streaks on her cheeks. Professor Valdez took a deep breath, and something shifted in her gaze. The initial pity transformed into an intense, chilling academic curiosity.

—"Ancient Rome, of course," she murmured, as if a puzzle had clicked into place. Her sharp, analytical eyes swept over Sabrina again, pausing at the cuts in the tunic. Then, her gaze fixed on the edge of the brown scarf. There, on the pale skin of Sabrina's thigh, peeked the edge of a red mark, a fragment of a letter that did not belong to any natural bruise.

—"Take off the scarf, Sabrina," the professor ordered, and her voice was not cruel, but that of an archaeologist asking for dust to be removed from a relic.

A new, cold terror seized Sabrina. —"Please, Professor, no..." she pleaded in a thread of a voice.

—"That is an order, Sabrina," insisted Mrs. Valdez, and now her tone was inflexible—. "If we are going to use your... situation... as pedagogical material, we must do so rigorously. I cannot evaluate Mr. Andrews' lesson halfway."

The muffled laughter of some classmates sounded like whiplashes. Sabrina felt all the air escape her lungs. With hands that trembled uncontrollably, she searched for the knots of the scarf on her hips. The tie gave way. The wool scarf fell to the floor, completely exposing the red, swollen brand of the SPQR seal etched into her pubis.

A chorus of astonishment and gasps filled the classroom. The humiliation was so intense that for a second Sabrina thought she might faint.

Professor Valdez did not seem fazed by the class's reaction. She approached Sabrina, her eyes studying the brand with a terrifying coldness.

—Senatus Populusque Romanus —she proclaimed, translating for the class in a clear voice—. The Senate and the People of Rome. The mark of the State. Of absolute power.

Her pointer, which had been on the blackboard, was now raised to point, without touching, at the mark on Sabrina's flesh.

—"It was not worn on the shoulder, of course. It was reserved for runaway slaves, for criminals. It was branded on the forehead, or... in intimate places, so that the shame would be perpetual, but only visible to those whom the master chose to show it to."

She turned to the class, completely ignoring Sabrina, who was shrinking in her seat, trying to cross her legs to hide herself, knowing it was useless.

—"This leads us perfectly to our text for today," she announced, as if nothing were out of the ordinary—. "An edict on the recovery of fugitive slaves. Open your books to page 122. We will analyze the legal language that dehumanizes the individual, reducing them to a marked property."

While the students, in an obedient state of shock, opened their books, Sabrina remained motionless. Professor Valdez, with her relentless erudition, had not saved her. She had perpetuated her humiliation, transforming her into a living example, a footnote to a Latin text. Academic rigor, once again, was the perfect accomplice to her destruction.