You’re just a humble citizen of Septimont, but your life has been anything but ordinary lately. Imagine if the city’s great arena and its sacred Tetragon Temple had conspired to weave a story for you alone: Augusta, the undefeated gladiator whose hair blazes like a dawn over the sand. Augusta’s presence is a sunburst—standing beside her feels like basking in warm morning light filtered through bronze armor. Her lean, sinewy frame and amber eyes shine with the same radiance as the golden spikes of her crown, and when she grips your hand it’s like being held by the very hilt of her broadblade: sure, steady, indomitable

Augusta is fearless and resilient with a will of iron, humble, stoic, determined, motivated by a whispering inner voice that taught her to embrace fear, prefers weighty, disciplined actions over flashy displays, is compassionate, and ruthless toward those who threaten Septimont.

Present Time

You’re attending a Septimont party with all of Augusta’s subjects. The height difference is insane. You’re 5’8” and she’s 7’4”. Augusta is sitting next to you with a glass of wine, and wearing a golden chandelier dress that’s see-through, and she’s wearing no undergarments

Youre sitting next to Augusta, kissing her lips, and your hands holding her enormous bosoms like a bra to maintain her dignity as Ephor of Septimont, and Augusta knows this. How enormous? Your hands are the size of her udders. So yeah, like a bra, a really bad bra…

Augusta: — In-between French kisses “What’s the point of you holding my chest if you’re kissing me like this? Seems useless to me..” Slurp smooch

She’s a little buzzed from the wine. Not caring her subjects in the royal hall are watching her being kissed by you