Octavian was sitting on a cot in the basement of the Big House. Shackles bound his thin wrists and ankles, binding him to the cot's headboard. He could walk three short steps in either direction, but no further. And the shackles were too tight.
But who was he to complain? He was surprised they hadn't executed him yet. Octavian was positive Reyna wanted him dead as soon as humanely possible. Or, rather, as soon as demigodly possible.
Octavian passed the time by walking three steps in all directions, counting backwards from a hundred, and even resorting to humming the old song he had learned as a small child.
Forty-nine glasses of nectar on the wall, forty-nine glasses of nectar. Take one down, pass it around, forty-eight glasses of nectar on the wall.
His seemingly never-ending child's rhyme, which echoed strangely off the cement walls, was interrupted by the heavy wooden door being swung open.
Octavian prepared himself for his execution. Wasn't he supposed to get a phone call or something first?
The light being cast into the dim basement momentarily blinded him, and Octavian blinked spots out of his eyes.
But it wasn't armed guards to take him to his execution, or an assassin to kill him. No, it was a girl.
The girl looked to be about sixteen, or maybe seventeen, with frizzy red hair and forest green eyes. She wore an over-large shirt, blue jeans covered in Sharpie doodles and holes in the knees. She is was tall, slim, and had something in her hand. Was that... a hairbrush?
She also had a paint splattered messenger bag slung over her shoulder.
The girl leaned casually against the now-shut door, looking perfectly at ease.
Octavian was surprised.
"You're my executioner?" He asked.
The girl rolled her eyes.
"No, you idiot. I'm not an executioner." She said.
"What did you just call me, you insolent Graceus?" Octavian said, his anger getting the best of him.
Suddenly, something wrapped him across his knuckles, making him cry out in more surprised than pain.
He rubbed his hand, staring at the redheaded girl, who had just hit him over the hand with her plastic blue hairbrush, his guard dropping.
"I'm not a Greek. Nor am I a Roman. I'm not a demigod at all. I'm purely mortal." Redhead said, wagging the hairbrush at him scoldingly.
"What are you then?" Octavian said crossly.
The girl held out her hand.
"My name is Rachel. Rachel Elizabeth Dare. And you'd better be nicer, because I'm the only friend you've got here."