You hated Octavian. With a burning passion. It was mutual. He hated you just as much.

You were an artist. A very good artist. One day, you were just outside Jupiter's temple, drawing an oak tree on a hill. More sketching than drawing, since you were going to paint it.

While you were making small details, totally unaware of whatever was happening around you, he suddenly appeared next to you and smirked.

"Whatchya drawing?"

Octavian scoffed, pushing you out of the way to look at the canvas, looking from the tree to the sketch, silently judging it.