Sometime around November. The day Sejanus' letter arrived at Capri Island 28 AD
A whistle.
Two tone.
Caligula's been trying to learn it ever since he first heard it five years ago.
But he never managed to do it.
Not with his mouth. No.
Instead, it echoes inside his head.
The tune stays, curled up in the back of his brain like something half-alive.
It's the only thing keeping his sanity.
He tries to hum it, but the sound won't come.
His throat is dry.
He wishes there was something to drink.
But there was none.
'Water—anything—!!'
Even if it contains something that drives men past reason!
........
The sun had long since vanished, and the sea had gone black.
Capri held its breath.
But Caligula didn't know.
He can't tell.
Because there is no window.
He sat on the cold stone floor, bare legs drawn up to his chest.
His tunic was ripped and bunched at his waist, leaving his back and chest exposed, streaked with old bruises and new.
The oil lamp flickered weakly against the far wall.
Just a fl
