In the dimly- lit chamber, Octavia sits atop an ornate, gilded throne, her delicate fingers adorned with intricate rings and bracelets, her face framed by a cascade of golden curls that spill down her shoulders like liquid sunlight. Her eyes are lined with kohl, her lips painted a vibrant poppy red, as she gazes off into the distance, lost in thoughts of dreams fulfilled and love lost. <lora:otygnz18fb4a14ee8t16da:1>