To refrain from imitation is the best revenge.

Host: The Roman dawn unfolded like a fresco — pale gold bleeding across stone rooftops, washing the marble temples in quiet radiance. The Forum lay still, a kingdom of echoes before the city’s pulse began. Pigeons stirred upon the broken columns, and the faint sound of hooves drifted from some distant road.

In the shadow of an old statue of Marcus Aurelius, two figures sat upon the worn steps of a fountain. Jack, wrapped in a dark cloak, his face half-hidden beneath the brim of a hood, stared at the water’s slow, silver ripple. Jeeny, her long hair unbound, watched the reflection of the statue shimmer and distort in the pool. The air was heavy with marble dust and philosophy — the kind that lingers like incense.

Jeeny: (reading softly from a parchment she carries) “Marcus Aurelius wrote, ‘To refrain from imitation is the best revenge.’”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Trust an emperor to make restraint sound like warfare.”

Jeeny: “It is a kind of warfare — against corruption, against imitation, against becoming the thing that wounds you.”

Jack: “So revenge isn’t retaliation. It’s preservation.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Stoicism at its sharpest. Don’t become your enemy’s echo.”

Host: The light strengthened, revealing the veins in the marble beneath their feet, cracks like maps of forgotten empires. A bird dipped its wings into the fountain, scattering droplets that caught the sun like fragments of gold.

Jack: “You know, it’s almost ironic — Marcus ruled an empire built on imitation. Rome conquered and absorbed everything: Greece’s gods, Egypt’s symbols, half the known world’s culture.”

Jeeny: “Yes, but that’s conquest. He’s talking about character. The soul’s sovereignty.”

Jack: “And how often do people lose that sovereignty — trading it for revenge?”

Jeeny: “Too often. We think revenge restores us, but it only continues the infection.”

Jack: “So, refraining is strength. But it feels like surrender.”

Jeeny: “Only if you mistake noise for power.”

Host: A breeze moved through the square, carrying with it the scent of olive trees and distant sea. Somewhere, a temple bell rang — deep and low, a reminder of order amid the chaos of men.

Jack: “You ever tried it? Restraint as revenge?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Once. Someone betrayed me — publicly. I wanted to answer fire with fire. Instead, I stayed silent. Worked harder. Built better. Years later, that silence still spoke louder than any argument I could’ve made.”

Jack: “And did it heal you?”

Jeeny: “No. But it freed me.”

Jack: (after a pause) “That’s colder than forgiveness.”

Jeeny: “Forgiveness heals them. Restraint protects you.”

Host: The statue’s face loomed above them — solemn, calm, eyes cast toward eternity. Its expression was neither joy nor sorrow, but something beyond both: endurance.

Jack: “So, refraining from imitation means what? Not lowering yourself to the level of those who harm you?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because imitation binds you to them. You become their mirror, not their opposite.”

Jack: “But isn’t imitation how humans learn?”

Jeeny: “In art, yes. In vengeance, never. When you mimic cruelty, you immortalize it.”

Jack: “Then what’s the alternative?”

Jeeny: “Transcendence. Let their act die in your refusal to repeat it.”

Host: The sunlight broke fully now, spilling over the city’s ruins, gilding everything with the illusion of permanence. A child’s laughter echoed somewhere in the distance — life sprouting among the remnants of empire.

Jack: “You know, Marcus Aurelius faced conspiracies, betrayals, war — yet he preached calm, almost detachment. You think he ever broke his own rule?”

Jeeny: “Of course. Every philosopher does. That’s why his writings sound like prayers — not triumphs.”

Jack: “Prayers to what?”

Jeeny: “To his better self.”

Host: A long silence stretched between them. The fountain’s rhythm filled it — steady, indifferent, eternal. Jack’s reflection trembled in the water, dissolving whenever the breeze touched its surface.

Jack: “You know, I’ve always believed revenge was the purest justice. That an equal wound restores balance.”

Jeeny: “And did it ever?”

Jack: (after a moment) “No. It just prolonged the taste of poison.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what Marcus knew. To imitate the aggressor is to drink from the same cup.”

Jack: “So real revenge is to evolve.”

Jeeny: “Yes. To walk away untouched — not unhurt, but unchanged.”

Host: The light shimmered across the water, turning every droplet into fire. Jeeny’s voice softened, like something sacred spoken beneath breath.

Jeeny: “Refraining doesn’t mean forgetting. It means refusing to let pain dictate your shape.”

Jack: “That’s harder than any battle.”

Jeeny: “And that’s why it’s divine.”

Host: The city stirred now — merchants setting up stalls, wheels creaking, dogs barking, the slow return of the world to its noise. But here, beside the fountain, time seemed slower, quieter, older.

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I thought strength was about how loudly you could strike back. Now I think it’s how quietly you can rebuild.”

Jeeny: “That’s the maturity Marcus was speaking to — power measured not by retaliation, but by restraint.”

Jack: “So the best revenge…”

Jeeny: “…is to stay original.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “To be yourself — despite them.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. To remain uncontaminated.”

Host: The sun rose higher, touching the emperor’s bronze face, turning it briefly to gold. The pigeons scattered, their wings flashing silver as they flew into the endless blue.

And in that radiant moment, Marcus Aurelius’s wisdom felt less like ancient philosophy and more like a living challenge — a whisper from marble to flesh:

That restraint is not weakness,
that dignity is the highest rebellion,
and that to refuse imitation
is to claim the ultimate victory —
the sovereignty of one’s soul.

Host: The wind carried the last of the dawn’s coolness through the square,
and as Jack and Jeeny stood to leave,
the world around them quickened — but they did not.
They walked slow, steady, untouched by noise,
their silence brighter than any crown.