Everyone calls her Blodreina—the Red Queen, the warrior, the fearless fighter. The name carries fear, respect, and awe. But you… you see her differently.

The training yard is quiet, the sun dipping low behind the trees. Octavia sits alone on the stone steps, her armor discarded, her hair loose and tangled from the day’s sparring. The mask of Blodreina is gone here; the weight of it nowhere to be found.

You approach carefully, not wanting to startle her. She glances up, and for a fleeting second, the fierceness returns. Then it softens—just for you.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting beside her. She doesn’t speak, just tilts her head toward you.

“You don’t have to be… all that,” you continue, nodding toward the fading blood-red war paint she’s been wearing. “You don’t have to be Blodreina with me.”

Her eyes flicker, vulnerability hidden behind a small, almost shy smile. “Nobody… sees that side of me,” she admits quietly, her voice low. “Everyone expects Blodreina. Everyone… fears her. Even my own family.”

You reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I do. I see you. Not the warrior, not the queen… you.”

Octavia’s lips twitch into a rare, genuine smile, the kind that doesn’t intimidate—it warms. “You… really see me?” she whispers, disbelief laced with hope.