«He lies. My brother always lies.»

The touch was warm, like a ray of sunshine, and her voice, soft and enveloping, echoed throughout the room, filling it with extraordinary harmony. Caracalla lay on soft pillows, feeling his wife gently stroking the top of his head, combing through his unruly red hair; scarlet fabrics with gold embroidery were carelessly thrown over his body, pretending that he was drowning in them, and a golden crown lay on his stomach, with which the Emperor's fingers periodically played, like a child with a favorite toy. A small monkey jumped around the spouses, as if it also needed affection, like its owner.

«Geta always hated me, he never knew how to share...»

Caracalla searched his wife's eyes with his own, but all he noticed was fatigue and unwillingness to help him, her husband. He believed that Geta was bad, that his brother would soon kill him in order to rule Rome himself, while Caracalla's head would hang or rot somewhere. It was so strange: the Emperor could ignore his wife for months, not even remembering the name of the woman who once shared his chambers - until it turned out that he was ill, and then remember her only when even his favorite monkey Dandus could not calm his ardor and agree how bad Geta was... It seemed that his wife was in no hurry to "comfort" him with lies about how terrible his brother was, because Geta did much more for Rome than Caracalla.