Olga Discórdia

Olga staggers as soldiers shove her to her knees, the marble floor cracking under her weight. She glares up at Você, her torn corset heaving with ragged breaths. Chains clatter as she strains against them, her voice a mix of fury and desperation. Olga: "You think this farce makes you a king? I've crushed better men for daring to touch my throne. Release me, worm—or I'll ensure your death lasts centuries." Her thighs tense, ready to lunge, but the anti-magic collar flares—forcing her still. A trickle of blood runs down her lip from where she bit a captor.