“There are two gates of sleep: one is called the Gate of Horn and it is an easy exit for true shades; the other is made all in gleaming white ivory, but through it the powers of the underworld send false dreams up to the heavens.”
Virgil does what Scott does not: create beauty through his art…words that survive the fall of empires and the death of the speakers of his native tongue.
This is some fake ass ivory gate shit bruh. A false fever dream, a thin echo of Gladiator.
Sad to see Marianne and Connell end like this after all they’ve been through.