Hands clasped behind his back and his permanently displeased expression on his face, Lord Caligula peered out the castle window. For what could have been hours he had been standing there, gaze fixated on the rope bridge that had ran over the mouth of the volcano and straight into his castle. He had watched it swing back and forth from the occasional gust of wind, or the scalding, hot air that would come from the lava far down below, he had located every damaged plank of wood, he had noticed every weakness in the railing; you would have thought the rope bridge had been something interesting.
In truth, Lord Caligula had no interest in rope bridges. What he was more interested in was who was supposed to be coming across. And the one he was waiting for was very, very late.
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