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Octavia and the Washing MachineOctavia was sweating. She had been here before, many times. It had never ended well. It never would. There was no way today could possibly end well, she knew without a doubt. She would have rather performed in front of the Princess to earn pardon for a death sentence than face this terrible foe once more. The dreadful beast stood at the other end of the room, its eyeless face piercing her soul. Octavia breathed deeply, trying to calm her nerves. She may have been defeated before, but she had survived each time. And she had never lost anything irreplaceable, with the exception of that one house.
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Come on, Octavia, she told herself. You're making it worse than it has to be. You can beat this. You are a warrior, and an artist!
The young mare stood up straighter, putting on a brave face. "Alright", she muttered to the white beast across the room, "I've beaten all of you at least once. It may have taken a great deal of persistence and creative problem solving on my part, but I've beaten you