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Chapter Text

Chapter Song(s): Paint It Black by Ciara (cover) & Toxic by 2wei (cover)

If asked how she found herself kneeling in a filthy jail cell awaiting her execution, Shadow Weaver would be forced to examine her recent failures. She had fallen from her place as the Horde's Tactical Battle Advisor and the circumstances were complicated. Her most promising ward, Adora, defected from the Horde. To the surprise of everyone except Shadow Weaver, the blonde revealed herself to be a hero of legend, She-Ra, Princess of Power. Catra, the sorceress' biggest disappointment, defiled her inner sanctum. To make her betrayal complete, the younger woman also severed Shadow Weaver’s connection to her Runestone and had her confined to this cell. 

Spending months cut off from the Black Garnet were hellish for Shadow Weaver. Her accommodations treated her to sweaty, pain-filled nights in the beginning. She couldn't keep down anything but water, losing more pounds to her already slim frame. At times she swore someone was in the cell with her.  Once her hair began to fall out, she resolved to eat every greasy scoop of raw ration bars on her plate. It would not do for her to wither away before she could enact her revenge.

Her time spent in the Horde's prison would be a vacation compared to the vicious animals and rotting First One's technology that awaited her on Beast Island. She wouldn't survive in her current state and there was no way of knowing what would happen to what was left of her powers in such an environment. Her next move was critical to her survival now that the Moons of Enchantment were in position. With their added magic, she could accomplish more even from her cell but she had less than an hour to make a decision. This night didn't have to end with her death. Even if it did, Shadow Weaver was not afraid of death. The threat of death never provoked the instinctual fear in her that it carried for others. 

With all of her life experiences, she had come to one definitive conclusion: there was no logical reason to fear it. Even as the Shoggoth plucked her from the floor like a pitiful piece of lint from a dark velvet cloak, she was merely startled that the spell had gone awry. Death was a fact of life. Everyone, every being on Etheria was capable of dying. Even Angelic Beings with their lifespans centuries longer than any Etherian could potentially die from something other than old age. 

No, she did not fear her end. She had endured death and faced its tremendous power. Its response was to burn an Eldritch mark across her skin before making her its vessel. Now the threat of death and surrender filled her with determination. She would not allow this defeat to be the end of her journey. Hordak and Catra needed to try harder to beat her. 

Shadow Weaver knew she deserved more. She could do more and if for no other reason than to spite Hordak then so be it. He tossed her away even after he knew how dangerous she was. It was a wonder he didn’t order her termination the moment she was captured. Her only surprise when Catra informed her that she would be transported to Beast Island, was that it took so long to happen. She was waiting for that decree the moment her knees hit the concrete floor of the cell. In all the years she worked under Hordak, the alien proved he was one note. For a seemingly ruthless conqueror, Hordak tended to delegate his executions to an abandoned First One's settlement. Shadow Weaver wondered if he'd ever killed anyone on Etheria or just let the elements take them when they were too wounded to fight back.

Shadow Weaver decided when it was time for her to yield and she wasn't ready yet. 

"Seriously?" Catra ground out. "You're hours away from being sent to Beast Island and you're ignoring me?" 

"Introspection, Catra," Shadow Weaver said finally and resumed caressing her ward's face. "When you get older, you ponder about life and your accomplishments. You consider how you'll be remembered when you perish." 

Catra shook her head violently. "That's not going to happen." 

Shadow Weaver hummed noncommittally. Catra’s concern was a factor she did not anticipate. So much like her and yet at times, they were not alike at all. The younger woman was brass to a fault. Her outright dismissal of their similarities proved that. Shadow Weaver stifled a chuckle to herself. Had she stayed loyal after Princess Prom perhaps she could have finally molded Catra into a worthy ward. Catra had taken her lessons to heart more so than Adora ever could. It was a pity Catra would not be able to accompany her to Bright Moon. 

"We're gonna show Hordak you can be useful. He'll have to let you stay," Catra continued. 

Stroking the tuft of hair at Catra's ear, Shadow Weaver said, "It will not matter, Catra." 

"No!" Catra shouted, jerking away from the hand. "You’re not even trying. Think of something so you can stay." 

Shadow Weaver shushed her and smoothed down Catra's mane of hair. It was nearly time before the guard's shift change and she needed to distract the younger woman. "Look at the trunk under my bed." 

Catra tilted her head. "There's nothing under your bed," She said at once then flinched, waiting for Shadow Weaver's outburst.

"There is a charm in place." Shadow Weaver revealed gently. "Take your time. If you make your eyes unfocused you will see a shimmer of the air and even you can breach the charm and drag out a small decorative box. That should be our solution." 

Catra hopped to her feet. "I'll find it." She vowed and left the cell. 

As she listened to Catra's footsteps on the metal walkway becoming softer in the distance, Shadow Weaver knew it was time. The swell of magic was close and she needed her strength for the journey ahead. She allowed her mind to turn warm with the memory of Adora’s chubby hand clutching her mask in adoration. The image in her mind slowly faded to the look of disappointment and betrayal that would no doubt mar Catra's face. Her heart clenched in regret. She shook off the feeling quickly. 

Shadow Weaver sighed and turned her head to the ruined rations splattered across the tray. She flicked the food away and grabbed the item hidden within. A few sharp buzzes broke the silence of her cell. The Sorceress waited for the final one. At the last buzz, she slammed the badge against the floor. The glitter of crushed lenses spilled onto its dingy surface.

The Sorcerer's Guild badge dug into Shadow Weaver's palm when she paused. The chatter of the guards moved closer then quickly moved away from her cell. None of them dared to check in on her. Equal parts of fear and respect for the former second in command kept them away. She lifted her hand and studied the minuscule pile of dust underneath. By her estimation, there were only enough crushed lenses for two spells, not the three she needed to ensure her safety. She would do what she needed to and if she perished after delivering her news to Adora then so be it. She had never placed limits on herself before. 

Limits were for the foolish. To limit oneself is to never know your full potential. The want for power was not evil as others thought. In her youth she was taunted and condemned. They assumed her lust for power was a destructive habit. It was simple self-preservation. She would not allow anyone to make her powerless again. Not after-

Shadow Weaver shook her head violently to stop that train of thought. She was not that girl anymore. She was not that woman anymore. She was wiser now. Her confidence in magic was unsurpassed and her strength would be enough to carry the Rebellion to victory. She scooped up the powder, steadied her arm, and drew the spell on the floor with haste. The motionless illusion appeared, obscuring her from anyone that might happen to look into the cell. Shadow Weaver felt the drain on her magic at once. She stifled a tired groan and sucked in a shaky breath through gritted teeth. There was no more time. She needed to finish her spell now. 

"I found this in your trunk just like you said. I don't know what your plan is but," Catra said, coming into the cell. Her head bent forward, eyes tracking over the weathered scroll in her hands. "I think I might be able to convince Hordak to go for it if I can rope Entrapta into agreeing somehow." She glanced up when there was no response from Shadow Weaver. Reaching forward to rile the woman from her place in the middle of the cell, she put her hand through the illusion. "You were just using me," She growled and lifted a clawed hand. 

"Do not dispel the illusion," Shadow Weaver said from her place in the corner. "Come with me."

"Come with you? Are you serious right now? You told me you would try to think of a plan to stay." Catra turned her head, peering at the kneeling woman. "This isn't what you said. It looks like you're about to escape."

Shadow Weaver waved her hand at the glowing lunar lenses primed in front of the illusion. "This is the only plan I have to survive. Will you come with me?" 

"Fine. Whatever." Catra turned her head away with a frown. "But what about earlier? Was that whole conversation from before just a lie to get your hands on magic?"

"Don't be naive, Catra. Staying was never an option. Hordak will not keep me around and I will not survive on Beast Island." Shadow Weaver explained. "I know too much. For me to continue to live in this cell is an affront to his authority." She shook her head. "He will not stand for it." 

"Answer me right now," Catra sneered, wrinkling the scroll in her grip. "Or I call the guards and you're on a one-way trip to Beast Island." 

Shadow Weaver tilted her head to the side and sighed. "Not all of it. You might recall I didn't ask you where my badge was before I informed you of my reasons."

"I can't believe you." Catra scoffed. A humorless laugh burst from her mouth as she stared forward. "You had to know I would stupidly bring it to you."

 "I hoped you would." Shadow Weaver closed her eyes, trying to track the Moons of Enchantment. "We don't have much time, Catra." 

"Where would we go?" 

"As far as my magic will take us." Shadow Weaver gestured to the glowing lenses once more. 

"I can't leave." Catra thumped a hand to her chest. "I'm finally conquering Etheria. I'm finally getting what I want for a change. I'm not letting you take that away from me." 

"Is this everything you want? Truly?" Shadow Weaver asked. "You have the potential Catra. You could be so much more." She held out her hand. "Two devious minds such as ours? We could do so much more." 

Catra thumbed her Force Captain badge. "I…" 

Shadow Weaver felt the Moons of Enchantment above begin to shift. She only had a few short minutes before the boost in power was lost. 

"No." Catra shook her head with a glower, pulling the taser from her belt.  "You lost your chance." 

"Catra." Shadow Weaver scrambled backward on her hands, reaching for the teleportation spell behind her. She never got the chance to finish the enchantment as the taser bit into her shoulder. Her muscles locked as the electricity traveled through her. It was an infinitesimal fraction of pain compared to what she'd experienced over the years but her weakened body succumbed to the comforting darkness she was acquainted with. Her final thought was that she hoped she would awaken before she docked at Beast Island.

Catra stared down at the prone body before her. Charging the taser again, she gave in to her anger and pressed it to Shadow Weaver. The small groan the older woman released wasn't enough to sate her betrayal. She longed to revive Shadow Weaver and make her understand what she did. She should keep at it. She should press the prod against the woman again and again. That's what she wanted. It's what Shadow Weaver deserved. She flipped the dial to charge her weapon once again. 

A sob escaped her throat before she could contain it. She roughly wiped her eyes but the bitter tears refused to be denied. Her vision clouded fully as the taser dropped from her hands. She fell to her knees a moment later. It was her fault for being foolish enough to trust the sorceress again. The Lunar lenses gleamed, a taunt in her peripheral. She swiped them away with no care as to the marks she gouged into the floor below. The illusion behind wavered and dispersed a moment later. 

She growled and punched the floor once, twice. Rearing back, she screamed in anguish. She did it again. She swore to herself she wouldn't care and yet here she was spilling tears for Shadow Weaver. The older woman told some lies about how she cared and she allowed herself to become vulnerable. Worst of all, Shadow Weaver almost ruined her career with the Horde. If anybody found out what happened she would be in this cell. She tore a piece of fabric from Shadow Weaver's sleeve and wiped up any evidence of her Sorcerer's guild badge. She found the broken pieces and placed them in her pocket. No one would ever know now. 

She probably was running away to Bright Moon. To Adora. Leaving her to fend for herself like always. Catra combed back her hair and grabbed her taser from the floor. This time things were going to go her way. Adora wouldn't win. The Rebellion wouldn't win. If Shadow Weaver thought she could escape the Horde, Catra needed to show her why she was the new second in command. 

Grabbing the scroll from the floor, she exited the cell. There was a lot of work to do before Shadow Weaver awakened. The older woman would owe her survival to Catra and she would spend every moment making sure she knew it. She would never allow herself to be lured in by Shadow Weaver again. 

Chapter Text

The cold embrace of water soaking through her robes shocked Shadow Weaver to consciousness. Tipping her head forward, she tried to stop the water dripping through the slash mark in her mask. She coughed and valiantly stifled her shiver as her head snapped to the culprit standing just inside the door of her cell. 

"Rise and shine," Catra called with a smirk, tossing the bucket on the floor. She watched in satisfaction as it bounced off Shadow Weaver's foot. "I'm taking you to Hordak." 

"Catra,” Shadow Weaver drawled. “How nice of you to provide a shower for me before I meet with Lord Hordak.” 

Catra's expression dropped at the other woman's casual tone. She spoke to the soldiers behind her. "Bring the sorceress. Let's not keep Hordak waiting." She pivoted and walked out of the cell. 

The two Horde soldiers stepped forward, detached her manacles from the wall, and hauled Shadow Weaver up by her arms. The sorceress held her head high as she was led through the dark hallways to the throne room. She entered the doorway to witness several troops standing in neat rows facing the runway leading to Hordak's throne. Though they were standing at attention, Shadow Weaver felt their eyes follow her every step. She did not need their soft eyes of pity roving over her dripping form. She had expected Hordak to make her disgrace a spectacle. It didn’t mean she had to cower from the situation. 

"Shadow Weaver," Hordak declared from his throne. "You betrayed your loyalties to the Horde when you disobeyed my direct order to relinquish the Black Garnet. Do you deny your traitorous actions?" He asked as he scratched under his imp's chin. 

Shadow Weaver didn’t bother to answer. Hordak wouldn't care if she pleaded her case to him. He had already decided on her fate. All of this display was to reassert himself as the fearsome ruler of the Fright Zone. 

Hordak stood and stalked down the stairs until he was standing in front of Shadow Weaver. "I want you all to watch and learn. There's nothing I am not willing to do to punish those who betray my trust. My former second in command has proven to be ineffective and worthless. To the rest of you, take a lesson from this," he said and pointed to Shadow Weaver. "This is what happens to failures." 

"It takes a failure to recognize a supposed one," Shadow Weaver said, holding eye contact with Hordak. She grinned internally as she heard the shocked gasps erupt from some of the soldiers on either side. "You may dispose of me if you like but you will never reach your goals, Hordak. You may send me to Beast Island or drop me in an endless pit but you are incapable of running the Horde on your own. My simple organizational skills have proven that. The only reason you're even acting now is that someone newer and more pliant happened along." She chuckled lowly. "Perhaps that is why you cannot manage to defeat a group of teenagers." 

Hordak's fists clenched as he stepped closer to Shadow Weaver. He bared his teeth, vibrating in anger. Just as he looked as though he might lash out, he calmed. "Save your little speech." He sniffed at her. 

"Hi." Entrapta dropped onto the floor beside the Sorceress with a chuckle. "I saved your life. You're welcome." 

"What does this mean?" Shadow Weaver asked. 

"Entrapta and Catra have interceded on your behalf. You should be thanking them." Hordak's mouth twitched into an almost smirk. "Instead of dissolving in a feral creature's stomach acid on Beast Island, you are being sent on a mission to Bright Moon. A missive has been sent to offer a parley in terms of a ceasefire. This of course is a ruse. You will infiltrate and deliver Bright Moon to me on a silver platter or you will know horrors that make Beast Island look like a vacation," he said.

"You are delivering me to Bright Moon as a prisoner of war." Shadow Weaver pointed out, holding up her handcuffed wrists. 

Hordak’s smile stretched far across his face. "You should be happy. Your talents are better suited for talking than your parlor tricks." He waved Catra forward. 

Catra grabbed Shadow Weaver's shackles, pulling the woman toward the exit. "Come on, troops. Let's move out."  

"Actually Catra I've decided you won't be needing a small army to go to Bright Moon. You may have these soldiers and Force Captain Scorpia," Hordak announced, pointing to the small party closest to the front. 

Catra frowned looking at Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio then back to Hordak. "I don't understand. We agreed on-" 

"And I changed our agreement. Is there a problem?" Hordak asked, glowering at Catra. 

"No, Lord Hordak," Catra grumbled. 

"You should arrive at Bright Moon no later than dusk. I expect a progress report by then." Hordak stated as he headed back to his throne. "You are dismissed."

Queen Angella tried her best to impress upon the importance of a nutritious breakfast to Glimmer before her daughter rushed off to her next adventure. Sometimes it was an exercise in futility but others, like today, it was a pleasant way to spend the morning before their respective duties separated them for the day. 

"Mom, you're not listening," Glimmer whined from her seat. 

"I heard every word," Angella told her daughter, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "You were talking about how you and Frosta worked together to take down the bots." She folded the napkin back across her lap. "I do get reports from the field, Glimmer." 

"Some stuffy report is not gonna tell how awesome we were." Glimmer flashed back and forth, punching the air. "We were like 'pow' and the bots were like 'clang, crash' and 'bam' they were deactivated." 

With an indulgent smile, Angella picked up her fruit juice with a distracted hand as she glanced through the pile of scrolls in front of her. She didn't tell Glimmer the reason she longed for this breakfast was the disorienting feeling that lingered since the Battle of Bright Moon. If she had to pinpoint when the feeling started, it would be just after she healed Glimmer. Those sentiments never abated even after the Rebellion defeated the Horde and She-Ra cleansed the Runestones across Etheria. 

If it weren't for the fact that she knew she could not fall ill to any of Etheria's germs, she would be convinced there was an ailment lurking inside her. The ombré haired woman felt unsettled like she needed to prepare for something on the horizon. She tried to act as normal as possible, for Glimmer's sake never letting on that something was amiss. 

Angella's eyes watched the movements of Glimmer’s soft cape as she teleported across the room. It was almost as soft as Kowl. She averted her gaze and focused on the General's report to distract herself from the thought. Even her biological need to hoard comforting items while distressed would not allow her to take the final piece of Micah that Glimmer had. She could never be that cruel. One of the extra capes would do. She was content to have the second-best piece added to her clandestine nest. She made a mental note to stop by Glimmer’s room before she retreated to bed.

While making the appropriate noises as Glimmer chattered about cleaning up the Whispering Woods, Angella was able to shrink her morning workload. She decided to take a break to give Glimmer her full attention when she spotted something odd. One piece of parchment appeared weathered with age and it was smaller than the others. She plucked it from the pile and began to read. 

With a sip of her juice, Angella frowned with the realization that the missive was from the Horde. Her eyes flitted across the page, trying in vain to understand why the Horde would be reaching out now and just how it arrived along with her morning communications without notice. Even odder, it was a message instead of a video call like that dreadful time Glimmer was captured. She inhaled and sputtered as she reached the end of the message. Her cup clattered against the table and juice spread across its surface.  

"Mom!?" Glimmer disappeared to avoid the mouthful of liquid being sprayed in her direction. She reappeared at her mother's side. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." Angella rasped with a nod. "We need to call a Princess Alliance meeting," She continued, eyes watering in an undignified display. "Now." 

Glimmer dropped her eyes to the scroll that brought her mother so much trouble. Her eyes widened as she skimmed it. "I'll go find Bow and Adora," she said quickly and disappeared from the room. 

The Sorceress fought to keep a smooth gait as the small party traversed the Whispering Woods. Unfortunately, after a half day's worth of travel, she felt her body tremble as she struggled forward. It had been some time since Shadow Weaver traveled in the Whispering Woods and the added factor of unpredictable, uneven terrain didn't assist her journey. Along her neck, she felt a prickling awareness that someone must be watching her. There were rumors of people living amongst the woods that time had forgotten. 

She glanced around and thought she saw a blurry figure in the trees but when she focused again in the same spot it was gone. She had nearly forgotten about the murmurs just out of the range of her hearing or the apparitions many reported from the Woods just after dusk. With so much of the Whispering Woods remaining unexplored, there could even be First Ones technology that could only be accessed by She-Ra. 

The cuffs fastened tight across Shadow Weaver's wrists caused her gloves to chaff against her skin as the skiff jerked her forward. Every yank from the skiff nearly took her off her feet. With every step she cursed Hordak. This time he had gone too far. Hordak expected her to bow to him once more just for a chance to be granted leniency. She gave all of herself to the Horde. Toiling for years under Hordak's reign and he tossed her away without a second thought. As shortsighted as he seemed at times, it was unlikely that he was counting on her involvement in any way. 

Hordak likely expected her to fail and for the Rebellion to execute her for her crimes. He had more secret plans and she suspected that only Entrapta knew the extent of what he was plotting. Shadow Weaver was certain Hordak's end goal was not to conquer Etheria. He never trusted her. He kept everything very secret and it took seventeen years before she had finally started to glean what he was up to.

It no longer mattered what Hordak had to offer if she completed this facsimile of a mission. He could have promised to reinstate her as Second in Command or allow her the chance to reconnect to the Black Garnet but he demanded she comply under threat of death. There was no actual incentive to complete the task.

Yanking away her connection to the Black Garnet was something Shadow Weaver had expected. Hordak had threatened as much every time he was in one of his maudlin moods. The Black Garnet made her feel more powerful than she had any of her other years but it had started to reject her since Adora left the Horde. No doubt it sensed that the planet's balance was needed. 

Catra using the opportunity to weaponize the Black Garnet and slither past Shadow Weaver for a promotion was also something the Sorceress had expected. She had spoken the truth to the younger woman. They were alike in numerous ways. Shadow Weaver had known the first time she saw that defiant spark a light in her heterochromatic eyes. 

Once upon a time, the sorceress had hoped she could mold that spark into something constructive but Catra proved time and time again she was not ready to be tamed. She was unruly and insolent and everything a young Light Spinner was until she too was brought to heel by her hubris. At that thought, Shadow Weaver tapped a sharp nail over her mask where she bore the only scar on her body not a result of the Spell of Obtainment. 

Catra was always going to try and surpass her but the young woman was not ready for true leadership. One could use no other proof than the recent Battle of Bright Moon. Of course, she'd felt the havoc Catra wreaked across Etheria. Having been connected to the Black Garnet for nearly two decades, it was similar to phantom limb pain. The Runestone fed off her just as much as she fed off of it. The dark magic stemming from the Spell of Obtainment had no doubt amplified the imbalance of Etheria. Catra got a taste of power and squandered it on her obsessive need to taunt Adora for attention. 

Shadow Weaver heard second hand during the changing of the guards that Bright Moon had nearly fallen under Catra's command. More than Shadow Weaver had done during her entire tenure as Second in Command they had bragged with derisive snickers as they marched past her cell. Just like an infant with a new bauble to study, Hordak and more so by extension the Horde had been cowed by Catra's approach to the War. Productivity was up and the Horde was conquering more territory but tactical advisors are only as useful as their scheming prowess. 

After a particularly swift turn of the skiff, Shadow Weaver continued to right her faltering steps. The far more interesting factor from Hordak's earlier declaration in the Fright Zone was Catra. She glanced at the younger woman from her peripheral. Through what had to be her misguided attempt at control, it was clear that Catra had neglected to tell Hordak about the Sorceress's thwarted escape.

She knew this had to be a petulant punishment that Catra had decided on. It was a battle of wills the younger woman was sure to lose. It was obvious that she didn't trust Shadow Weaver and the feeling was mutual. After the Spell of Obtainment, the Sorceress tried to embrace that some things were not going to go the way she wanted. Some things would be out of her reach and sometimes even when you gave your all to a cause you still ran the risk of falling to mediocrity. 

"Status report," Catra called suddenly to Kyle, interrupting the older woman's thoughts. 

Kyle immediately tapped on his tablet and faced the display to Catra. 

"What are you showing me?" Catra inquired with an unimpressed eyebrow as she looked at Kyle over the screen.

"Huh?" Kyle looked at the tablet again, eyes widening when he saw the zig-zagged lines of static. "I can fix it." He mumbled and slapped the screen.

"Ugh, Kyle!" Lonnie said, snatching the tablet away from him. "We are right on schedule and will be in Bright Moon just before nightfall." She told Catra. 

"We'll stop here." Catra paused her skiff and glanced through the treetops to the sky. "We move out again in ten minutes."  

Shadow Weaver walked to a nearby root and perched upon it. "Seems you've taken to leadership," she remarked and looked over the tired soldiers. 

Catra surveyed the area from her perch. "You could say it was my calling." She turned toward Shadow Weaver. 

"It must be easy with so many suitable candidates," Shadow Weaver said, glancing at Kyle who managed to trip over his own feet and splatter mud on the two unfortunate soldiers closest to him, Lonnie and Rogelio. 

Catra looked at the three. "Kyle, I want this mess cleaned up before we start moving again." She sneered and stomped over to Shadow Weaver. She cranked the winch on the back of her skiff until Shadow Weaver was closer to the back of the vehicle. The older woman stumbled behind her at the action. "Scorpia, get back here. It's your turn to guard the prisoner." 

Though it pained her to admit, Shadow Weaver was impressed that Catra was keeping all the details of the current plan so scarce. Outside of Hordak, Entrapta, and Scorpia, it appeared no one else seemed to know why they were going back to Bright Moon so soon after the failed siege. None of the idle talks among the soldiers helped her understand. All she had to go on was the not so veiled threat that she found a way to acquire Bright Moon for the Horde. 

"I can't believe Hordak even considered..."

Suddenly, the sorceress recalled a detail from the day before. There was a brittle parchment Catra held in her hands as she halted Shadow Weaver's escape. The seal cracked with age and the paper nearly disintegrated under the younger woman’s angry grip. She did request Catra bring her the ornate box but that never happened. Even with all of Shadow Weaver's instruction, the younger woman decided she knew better. Had she thought that scroll was what she wanted from the chest? How could Catra be so inept to assume her goals align with Shadow Weaver's? 

"...my Wild Cat brought up some good points and then Entrapta..."

Shadow Weaver thought the months spent in the Fright Zone's prison was a horrible experience but listening to Scorpia’s constant prattling on about nonsense interspersed with her adoration for Catra during the next leg of their journey was a torturous affair. 

"...I was so on board with the plan."

That got Shadow Weaver’s attention. "Yes." she drawled. "I do not recall being briefed properly on the plan." 

"Oh, yeah that's right. You are an essential part of it too. You see-"

"Scorpia!" Catra shouted at once. 

"Oh, shoot! You're right! My lips are sealed, bestie!" Scorpia saluted after miming throwing away a key. 

"Not your bestie," Catra grumbled back. She glanced at the other three watching the exchange. "What are you looking at? Did we make it to Bright Moon and I didn't notice?" she snapped. "March!"

Rogelio and Kyle moved in double time toward their destination. Lonnie stared at Catra a second longer before she followed Kyle and Rogelio's path. Shadow Weaver saw the self-satisfied smirk Catra sported at the results. She shot a glare over her shoulder at Shadow Weaver and sped up her skiff, causing the sorceress to jog to keep up. The structures of Bright Moon's castle gleamed ahead of them in the distance. Lonnie was correct, if they continue at their current rate they would get to Bright Moon in the evening. Shadow Weaver tried to control her breathing and struggled for balance as another sharp root snagged on the fabric of her robes. Her reprieve from Scorpia was short-lived as she heard the younger woman inhale. 

"You know you're kinda graceful for someone that's been walking through a forest with no shoes on." Scorpia glanced at Shadow Weaver with a tilt of her head. "Do you have shoes on? I mean I guess you've never needed them since you've always floated. I mean, that's totally fine. Catra doesn't wear shoes and she's-"

"I have shoes," Shadow Weaver replied for no other reason than to interrupt the tirade of words Scorpia was no doubt about the release. 

"Oh! That's good. I thought you might be like Catra with the claws and all." 

Shadow Weaver lengthened her claws until they resembled Catra's. Scorpia did a double-take as they returned to their original state.

"Magic. I get ya. Sometimes I wish my claws were retractable but what can you do?" Scorpia shrugged. She looked at Catra's back and shuffled so she was closer to Shadow Weaver. "You know Catra was really worried about you." She whispered. 

Before Scorpia could say anything else, Catra announced. "Rogelio, take the sorceress. Be ready when I give the signal we discussed."  

Scorpia eyed the tense way Catra opened and closed her fists and she knew that she had heard her. She bowed her head and scooted away from Shadow Weaver so that Rogelio could retrieve her. As soon as Scorpia was clear of Shadow Weaver, the Sorceress disappeared in a cloud of pink glitter. 

"Tell me…" Catra said slowly as she turned to peer at the space that used to hold the Sorceress. "...that you didn't just lose Shadow Weaver." Her eyes jumped to Scorpia. 

"I really, really wish I could tell you that, Catra," Scorpia said with a grimace. "But uh, I can't because well...uh. You...see she's gone." 

"I can see she's gone," Catra growled. "You're useless. Why did I even think you could do a simple thing like keep your mouth shut and watch a prisoner?"

Scorpia’s shoulders slumped as she looked at the shorter girl. "Catra, I'm sor-" 

"Save it. I don't have time for your excuses." Catra hopped down from her skiff. "Everyone fan out. She couldn't have gotten far in her state. Find her and drag her back here. Right now!"

"Should we call Hordak and tell him about Shadow Weaver's escape?" Lonnie asked.

"And who's volunteering to make that call?" When Catra's question was met with silence, she smirked. "Exactly. We aren't telling Hordak anything. We're going to find Shadow Weaver and proceed with the plan. Get to it. You have your orders." 

Chapter Text

Shadow Weaver felt compressed and weightless as she was whisked away from Catra's clutches. Sparkling pink light surrounded the sorceress on all sides. Her magic awakened and she felt it start to reach for the gleaming magic carrying her when it stopped. As soon as the magic dissipated, the sorceress found herself in a cluster of trees with Glimmer and Adora. 

"Listen up, lady." Glimmer whirled around at once. She pulled at the vibrant link of cuffs. "The only reason you're even here is because of Adora." She held up a glowing fist. "With all of your kidnapping and mind-wiping, I'm just itching for a little payback. But I'll give my mom a shot." 

"Glimmer, I've got this," Adora placed a calming hand on her friend's shoulder. She frowned, turning to Shadow Weaver. "Why is the Horde going to Bright Moon? What is your plan?" 

"Adora," Shadow Weaver said gently. "I've missed you, my child." She reached forward but found her hand smacked away. 

"Save it," Adora's frown deepened as she kept eye contact with the older woman. "We're past that. Why are you here?" 

"As much as I'd love to interrogate her, we have something more important to do." Glimmer reminded the blonde. 

"Right." Adora glanced at a nearby sap-covered tree. "We were in this area earlier before saving Shadow Weaver." 

Glimmer nodded. "The footsteps." She hurried to the bush where the footsteps ended. She gasped at the sight of Bow's quiver and folded bow stashed at the base of the plant. "Bow would never leave these behind. Something horrible must have happened to him." She exclaimed. 

Shadow Weaver crossed her arms. "You may find your archer at another time. Catra will scour the entire Whispering Woods for me." 

"I don't care." Glimmer called over her shoulder. "Once we find Bow then it won't matter because we can just teleport back to Bright Moon." 

"Maybe he's in that building over there." Adora pointed through the trees. 

Further ahead they saw a massive multi-floor building with sprawling vines creeping over its surface. Glimmer quickly grabbed Adora's hand and Shadow Weaver's sleeve before she teleported inside. They observed a large staircase, piano, and a gigantic collection of books. A fireplace's flame crackled merrily on the far wall of the room. 

"What is this place?" Adora unsheathed her sword. 

"It appears to be a combination of a museum and a library." Shadow Weaver informed the blonde as she walked around the display cases. "Most of the works are all dedicated to She-Ra in some way." 

The handle on the door to their right rattled. Adora turned, holding out her sword toward the potential danger. Glimmer encased her fists in magic while Shadow Weaver subtly tried to place herself behind the two younger women. Her magical pool was non-existent. Without a magical focal item or alternate Runestone, her spells would be useless against a threat. The door opened, revealing a figure of average height with a towering stack of books obscuring their face. 

"Who are you? What have you done to Bow?" Glimmer demanded, stalking forward. 

The figure just managed to keep the books from hitting the floor as he gasped. "What-" Bow's head appeared around a particularly thick tome. "Glimmer? Adora?" He tossed worried glances behind him.  "What are you doing here?" He whispered. 

"We're here to rescue you. Just give us the signal." Adora weaved her sword through the air at imaginary targets. "How many enemies do we have to deal with?" 

Bow shushed the blonde. "None." He came forward and lowered his voice even more. "I'm okay. Now please just leave." 

Glimmer’s eyes widened as she saw his outfit. A crisp long sleeve shirt and starched pants. His feet were tucked into sensible loafers. The most shocking part was the lack of midriff Bow usually sported. "Oh Bow, what have they done to you?" She wailed. 

Bow slowly lowered the books he held in his arms as he stared past his friends. "Uh...Adora, Glimmer. Can either of you tell me why Shadow Weaver is here with you?" He checked again to ensure the door behind him was still closed and added, "And in handcuffs?" 

"My mom called an emergency Princess Alliance meeting so we came to find you," Glimmer replied.  

"We also encountered the Horde on their way to Bright Moon," Adora said.  

"It is far more likely that they are looking for me before they continue to their destination." Shadow Weaver interjected.  

"Hold on." Bow squeaked, slapping the books on the piano. "The Horde is on their way to Bright Moon? Now? Why?" 

"My mom got a message and she completely freaked out. Which is expected when it said…" Glimmer paused and glared at Shadow Weaver before she shook her head. "Nevermind what it said. It's too crazy. Anyways, that's why we've been trying to find you. You need to come back with us to Bright Moon." 

"Bow, is everything alright?" A cheerful voice called out from another room. 

"Be there in a minute!" Bow shouted over his shoulder to the unseen person. He turned back to his friends. "I can't leave right now."

"Are you sure you don't need some help?” The same voice asked. 

"Everything's fine!" Bow tried and failed to sound upbeat. 

A gruffer voice spoke next. “We don't hear any research going on in there, mister." 

"Bow, what's going on?" Glimmer whispered. "Who's that?" 

Bow's hissed words ran together as the sound of footsteps got closer. "Okay really quick I need you to just go along with what's about to happen. My dads think I'm on a break from school." 

Glimmer stared at her friend, unblinking. "You're not an orphan?"

"And your dads don't know you've been fighting with the Rebellion?" Adora asked a second later.

"No, and they can't find out." Bow snatched Adora's sword from her and dropped it in a large vase. "I just need you to go along with the story. Just for a little bit and we can go stop the Horde.” He took his bow and quiver away from Glimmer and tossed them under a cabinet. He shrugged. “You know again." 

Shadow Weaver watched the panicked young man. "While I'd hate to derail this foray into paternal deception, your fathers will find out what you've been up to when the Horde appears on their doorstep." 

Bow shook his head. "No, they won't because you are going to tell them there's a historical emergency at the academy that we need to leave for immediately, Professor." 

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed to slits. "I did not agree to assist." 

"You don't exactly have much of a choice." Bow pointed out, crossing his arms. "The sooner we can get out of here. The sooner you'll be further away from the Horde." 

"If I must." Shadow Weaver acquiesced. 

"Good." Bow blew out a breath.  "Also, Adora and Glimmer we all study there as well. You got it? Okay, good." The door opened to reveal two men and Bow swept a hand towards them. "Glimmer, Adora, Professor. These are my fathers, George and Lance." 

Lance sported a wide grin. "Adora and Glimmer! It's so nice to finally meet you." 

"We half expected Bow to have made you up in his letters," George, the shorter of the two men with close-cropped and graying hair, revealed. His most prominent feature was the groomed handlebar mustache. 

"Bow is so shy." Lance agreed with a nod. His neat, long dreadlocks swished around his shoulders. "It's hard for him to meet new people."

Bow just groaned from behind the hand pressed to his face. "Lance, George this is Professor Sha-" he trailed off trying to think up a name on the spot. 

"Shasa. Shasa Wise. Professor Wise. Yup, that's what she's called." Adora chirped from his side. 

"Oh my. What's happened to her?" Lance's eyes widened at the sight of the disheveled Shadow Weaver. 

Adora's face fell. "We were uh-" 

"Attacked by bandits." Glimmer blurted out. 

Bow jumped as if he had been prodded between his ribs. "Bandits?" 

"Bandits?" George echoed.

"Yeah," Adora elongated the word with a manic smile. "We were in the Whispering Woods just coming to visit Bow when bandits attacked. The professor here was almost caught too but we managed to escape with a little..." She lifted her fists.  

Glimmer elbowed Adora and shook her head. 

"...Running. Lots of running away to safety." Adora amended, lowering her hands. 

"You spent your break traveling with students?" George directed a skeptical brow at Shadow Weaver. 

"It was an extra credit project that got away from us all." Shadow Weaver explained. 

"Do we have to worry about bandits coming to our home?" George asked sternly. "All the weapons here are purely for display." 

"Oh no." Shadow Weaver shook her head. "We managed to lose them quite a few yards back." 

"Do I know you?" George tilted his head and studied her intently. "I feel as though we've met before." 

Shadow Weaver gestured to her mask." I just have one of those faces," she said with a light chuckle. 

Lance gave her a polite laugh while George inclined his head in acknowledgement of the joke. Glimmer, Adora, and Bow laughed a moment later. It burst from their mouths and was painful to hear like the trio was choking on air. 

"She's such a kidder." Bow's smile became so wide that it could pass as a grimace. "Good one, professor."

"Well, please use our bathroom to freshen up. I'll find some tools to get those shackles off," Lance said, pointing to the hall. 

"If it's no trouble." Shadow Weaver replied in an innocent tone. 

Shadow Weaver's true desire when she reached the bathroom was to sink into a warm bath filled to the brim with fluffy bubbles. The smell of filth and a sour body was near overwhelming. Unfortunately, there was no way to have the luxury. She couldn’t afford to be vulnerable if and when Catra tracked her to the Library. She grabbed a nearby basin and filled it with soapy water. 

Removing her robes, she carefully washed her body, ignoring her prominent ribs and dry skin. She pried off her broken mask and scrubbed her face free of sweat and grime. Thankfully the shackles had enough slack to finish her task. Once the water in the sink ran clear, she filled her cupped hands with water and gargled until her mouth no longer tasted like she had cleaned the floor of her cell with her tongue. She ran a hand through her sweat-slicked hair, wincing as her fingers got caught on a knot. Pinching the closest limp strand draped over her face with disgust, Shadow Weaver sighed. She looked longingly at the shampoo and conditioner on the counter. It was a dangerous gamble to begin addressing her hair. On any normal occasion, it would take no less than an hour to tame the locks. 

Wringing out the soiled towel, she balled it up and tossed it in the nearby wicker clothes hamper. A shrieking roar and crash sounded below her feet. Shadow Weaver yanked on her robe and quickly pressed her mask back on her face. The sorceress rushed downstairs in time to see Adora running away from a creature.

“It’s an Elemental. I got this,” Adora reassured the room breezily as she grabbed her sword from the vase in the corner. The blonde held her sword high into the air. “For the Honor of Grayskull!” 

“Adora, wait!” Bow pleaded but it was too late. 

Shadow Weaver was captivated by the powerful glow of the blonde’s magic. She-Ra stepped forward and planted her feet, trying to stop the charging Elemental. It tossed its head and sent the Princess flying across the room. Lance and George gasped in shock and turned accusing eyes to Bow.

The younger man flinched. "Adora has a sixth major in She-Ra?" 

"Are you telling us or asking us?" George frowned. 

The Elemental roared forward, smashing the display cases to the ground. Glimmer teleported onto its back and sent a barrage of energy blasts at it. The Elemental swayed violently, trying to dislodge her from its back. 

"Hold on, Glimmer. I'm coming." She-Ra morphed her sword into a shield and flung it at the Elemental. It bounced off its metal shell, knocking Glimmer from harm's way. 

"They really get into their studies." Bow pumped his fist in the air. 

Shadow Weaver glanced at the young man. "Are you truly going to continue this ruse?" 

"I could if you'd just let me have it, Professor." Bow grumbled out. 

"You need to create cover from any debris that could be flying this way. Might I suggest the table?" Shadow Weaver gestured at the furniture as another crash came dangerously close to the group. 

The small group ducked and ran for the now overturned table. As soon as they were crouched, Lance whirled around to his son. "Bow, are your friends Princesses?" 

"Uh…" Bow avoided his fathers' eyes and exchanged a look with Shadow Weaver. 

She-Ra transformed her sword into a lasso and ran back to help Glimmer. “Shadow Weaver, can you help restrain the Elemental for me?” she called out. 

“Shadow Weaver!?” George turned a glare on the woman beside them. 

“You might have noticed I am no longer in possession of my piece of the Black Garnet.” Shadow Weaver responded to Adora, motioning vaguely across her broken mask. 

“You brought the Horde’s second-in-command to our home?” George asked his son. 

“I don't think she’s the second-in-command anymore," She-Ra shouted as she soared through the air once more. 

“She-Ra!” Glimmer snapped at the hero. “It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s squash this bug.”

“Right, I'm on it,” She-Ra nodded sharply. She raised her hands, trying to get the Elemental's attention on her. “Hey, over here!” She watched as the Elemental swerved away toppling bookshelves. “That isn’t working.” She said to Glimmer. “Why isn’t it stopping?”

“Elementals are lesser guardians placed in a location by First Ones.” Shadow Weaver responded. "The creatures only attack when they are protecting something." 

“That’s right. What could it be searching for?” Lance inquired aloud. 

“We found it near the Runestone shard," George informed them. 

“That must be it.” Bow ran over to the cabinet and slid to the floor. He stretched his arms as far as they could but was unable to reach his weapon. He rolled onto his back and ripped away a chunk of fabric along his abdomen. Arming himself, he quickly notched and shot an arrow toward the glass case. It crashed through the barrier and pulled the shard to him as the Elemental charged toward him. The archer held up the shard to the creature and angled his body away, bracing for any hits likely to come from the creature. It sniffed at the shard and took it from his hands with its mandibles. Luminescence filled the room and the Elemental was dormant once more. 

"That's my Bow!" Glimmer whooped, jumping into the air. She-Ra moved to stand beside them with a grin. 

“What is going on!?” George demanded, huffing out angry breaths.

“Dads, I don’t go to the Academy of Historic Enterprises. There is no Academy." Bow dropped his head with a sigh. "The truth is I fight with Adora and Princess Glimmer in the Rebellion. I can't keep lying about it anymore even if I know I'm breaking your hearts.”  

George placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "Bow, all we've ever wanted was for you to be happy." He hugged his son tight. "And what's breaking our hearts is that you thought you had to hide from us about who you are." 

"But I'm a fighter and you hate fighters." Bow argued. 

"I could never hate you," George responded fiercely. 

"We had no idea you felt that way," Lance revealed. "We were just encouraging you to pursue something great. If fighting in the Rebellion is what you want to do, we wholeheartedly accept it." 

Bow's eyes filled with tears as he launched himself at his fathers. Adora powered down and Glimmer sniffled as they watched the family embrace. 

"Princesses, this is a family hug," George informed them. "Glimmer, Adora. Get in here, you're family too." 

Shadow Weaver stifled a disgusted groan at the scene. She suspected being with the Rebellion had made Adora soft despite the short, angry dialogue they exchanged earlier. There was no time for sappy family reunions. The sorceress cleared her throat. "As touching as this is, we need to go." 

“Now then." George pulled back from the hug. "Does someone want to tell me why Shadow Weaver is here?”

“Well you see...that's gonna take a lot of explaining,” Adora started, chuckling nervously.

Glimmer waved her hand dismissively. “She was a Horde prisoner and we rescued her on the way here.”

Adora blinked. “Yeah, that's pretty much it.”

“The Horde had you in prison?” Lance inquired. 

“Catra had me in prison.” Shadow Weaver clarified. 

Lance's brow wrinkled in confusion. “Who is that?”

“No one of importance.” Shadow Weaver tossed her head to the side. 

“No wonder she threw you in jail.” Glimmer mocked.

“We’ll come back to that. With all that noise the Horde is sure to come to investigate. Dads, I came to ask you about a message we got.” Bow grabbed his tablet taped underneath the piano. "On one of our missions, we received a message from an unknown source." 

"Serenia portal Mara." Lance read as the two men studied the screen. "What do these other words mean?" 

"I don't know," Adora shrugged. "It's too degraded to read the rest." 

"I know about Serenia." Shadow Weaver offered casually. 

"You know what this is?" Bow sounded dubious.  

"Serenia is not a 'what' but a 'who'." Shadow Weaver corrected. 

"And?" 

Shadow Weaver chuckled. "I will tell you what I know once we have escaped the Whispering Woods and made it to Bright Moon." 

"Forget it." Glimmer huffed out, stepping in front of Shadow Weaver. "We don't need her help. She'll just try to make this all about her." 

"Shadow Weaver, thanks but no thanks. If anyone knows what this is, it's my dads," Bow replied. 

Shadow Weaver used a finger to right a tilted display. "Your fathers may be impressive historians of note but I have studied Etheria from the core of its magic to the legends of its dark past." 

Glimmer scoffed. "Dark past?" 

"Etheria has no dark past," Lance argued. 

"Seems someone has missed critical information during their travels." Shadow Weaver observed. 

"What do you think, Adora?" Bow inquired. 

Adora's eyes darted back and forth before she finally answered. "Shadow Weaver does know a bunch about Etheria. All the maps and resources that were made and updated in the Horde came from her." 

Glimmer groaned. "Was she the one that told you all of that?" 

"We need to focus," George informed them. "Lance, what does this pattern look like to you?" 

“Oh, wait do you think it's-?" Lance muttered to himself and scurried away. He went to the far corner of the room and uncovered a large orb. He started wheeling it towards the center of the room. 

"Now, Bow I want you to look at the message. Really look at it." George emphasized, pressing the tracker pad back into his son's hands.

"It's not a message at all is it?" Bow surmised. 

"Oh, there you are! Now you've got it!" Lance encouraged him with a smile.

He and George situated the projector and switched it on. A night sky was displayed over every inch of the room. 

"Stars." Glimmer gasped as she stared at the numerous constellations.

"Our research shows that the First Ones used them to navigate and named constellations after mythical heroes, including Serenia," George informed them. 

Adora nodded her head, realization dawning. "So Serenia is a constellation?" 

"And it was also a person," Bow said, glancing at Shadow Weaver. 

"In much of our research, we always see this constellation over one place during the Summer Solstice." George continued. He pressed a button, revealing a map projected under the constellation. "And only over one place." 

Glimmer squinted at the holographic territory. "The Crimson Wastes." 

"To get answers to what happened to Mara then that's where we have to go," Adora announced. 

"What!?" Lance exclaimed with a swift shake to his head. "You can't go to the Crimson Wastes. It's a no man's land. A giant lifeless desert. It's too dangerous to explore. No one's ever gone to that place and made it back alive." 

"But-" Adora objected. 

George turned off the device and the stars fizzled out. "Promise me, you kids will stay away." 

Shadow Weaver walked forward. "You cannot ask that of Adora. It is her destiny to find and unlock all the power her Runestone has to offer." 

The building shook suddenly and a thud sounded from outside. Plaster and dust fell from the ceiling. 

Lance ducked, waiting for another attack. "I thought you said there would be no bandits?" 

"Dad, that was one of the lies." Bow reminded him. 

An uneasy smile spread across Lance's face. "Oh right." 

"That must be Catra." Adora's hand immediately reached for her sword again. 

"How do you wanna handle this?" Glimmer tilted her head in Shadow Weaver's direction. 

Adora readied herself to transform back into She-Ra. "We still need answers about the Horde plans." 

"What makes you think we would get the answers from her?" Glimmer crossed her arms. "From what you told me except the keeping you alive part, she's never don't anything to help you." 

"'She' is right here in the room." Shadow Weaver stated pointedly. 

"And no one is talking to you." Glimmer jabbed a finger at the Sorceress. "This is Adora's decision." She grabbed her friends' hands and pulled them into the hallway. 

“Glimmer, you saw what Catra was doing to her. We can't let her go back to the Horde right now." Adora shook her head. "Not like this. We'll...we're gonna just have to try and trust her." 

"Trust her?" Glimmer shook her head in disbelief. "You want us to trust Shadow Weaver?" 

"Catra is not her favorite person right now." Adora smoothed her hair back. "I mean she was never her favorite but it doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is I think Shadow Weaver can help the Rebellion."

Bow shook his head. "I don't know, Adora. It's just that it's Shadow Weaver."

"I know. I-I know it is, guys." Adora bowed her head and mumbled. "I kinda have a good feeling about this." 

“Adora, no." Glimmer moved until she was standing directly in front of her friend. "This isn't like when I brought you to Bright Moon because you saved us. It's clear that seeing Shadow Weaver again is getting to you. Can't you see she's just trying to get in your head again?” 

“No. It's not that." Adora's hand tightened on her sword. "You don’t understand. She’s…I’m…” She peered at Shadow Weaver in the other room, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Even Shadow Weaver?" Glimmer swiped her hands in front of her body. "She's evil. Evil people don't change, Adora. She's just gonna hurt you again." 

"It's the right thing to do and we have to be better than her. We are better than her.” Adora closed her eyes and sighed. "Nevermind about trusting Shadow Weaver, can you trust me?" 

"Of course we trust you," Bow told his friend softly. He turned to Glimmer and raised his eyebrows in question. 

Glimmer huffed and tossed her hands in the air. "Okay, fine. We'll give her one more chance but if she messes it up I reserve the right to introduce her to some 'fist to face justice'." 

Adora laughed. "Thanks, guys." The friends embraced and walked back into the room. 

"So just to be clear," Lance's mouth gaped open. "You raised Adora?" 

Glimmer guffawed. "Oh yeah, she raised her alright. It's great seeing that Adora learned the traditional lesson on how to sleep with a dagger under your pillow." 

"Never allow your enemy to take you unawares." Adora recited with Shadow Weaver echoing the sentiment. 

"That's not normal." Lance frowned, glancing between Adora and Shadow Weaver. "You know that's not normal, right?" 

Shadow Weaver met his gaze. "I gave Adora the tools she needed to prepare her for the world." 

George stepped forward. "You intended to make her the perfect child soldier you mean?"  

"I won't accept judgment from someone who didn't know where their son was for the last handful of years." Shadow Weaver intoned slowly. 

Bow stopped his dad when he saw him move again. "Okay, that was way out of line." He glared. 

"I have never questioned someone's right to have children before today," Lance muttered to his husband. 

They held onto each other again as the glass of the skylight shattered. A boulder soared through the air. 

"Careful!" Lance called out but was unable to do anything but watch helplessly.

“Watch out!” Adora dove and shoved Shadow Weaver out of the way as the boulder smashed to the floor. 

Shadow Weaver landed on the floor and all the air rushed from her lungs. Her head smacked against the floor as light and pain flashed in her vision. The light quickly faded and fought back against the dark spots invading her sight. She saw the size of the stone just over Adora's shoulder. If it weren't for the blonde she could have been gravely injured. She focused back on Adora who was regarding her strangely. In her desperation to stop herself from falling, she must have grasped Adora. 

She had acted on instinct and was confused why her ward was staring at her with such an odd gaze. She remembered just a few moments ago when Lance, George, Bow, Glimmer, and Adora were engaged in a hug. It was the same look. That same softness and warmth were now being directed at her. 

Shadow Weaver tensed. Her arms flew away from Adora to her sides. "Are you harmed?" 

Adora reared back in confusion. "No?" 

"Then you are well enough to stand?" Shadow Weaver emphasized the last word. 

"Oh!" Adora shot to her feet. 

“Adora!” Glimmer and Bow rushed to their friend's side. “Are you okay?”

Adora nodded and smiled. "I'm okay." 

“It would appear this is Catra's version of a second warning.” Shadow Weaver stood. She dusted herself off on instinct and breathed harshly through her nose when she remembered the ruined robe she had on. 

George eyed the boulder and frowned. "How can she be so sure you're here?" 

"It is not a complicated deduction." Shadow Weaver combed her hair back out of her face. "This is the closest standing structure on her path." 

Adora quickly became She-Ra again. "Let’s go deal with Catra." 

"Whatever you hear, please stay in here," Bow pleaded to his fathers. 

"What?" Lance sputtered as the best friends walked out. “You can’t leave her here.”

“She won’t hurt you,” Adora reassured the two men. 

“Yeah, she’s got no magic,” Glimmer taunted the older woman. “She’s harmless.” 

Shadow Weaver’s eyes narrowed. “You would know all about that wouldn’t you?”

“I bet I’m more powerful than you.” Glimmer snapped. 

“That remains to be seen.” Shadow Weaver drawled. 

The door clicked close behind She-Ra, Bow, and Glimmer. Shadow Weaver turned to face George and Lance. 

George crossed his arms. "And why aren't you out there?" 

"My help hasn't been requested." Shadow Weaver stated plainly. "Earlier you said you had a tool that would remove these." She lifted her hands, displaying the handcuffs. "Where are they?" 

"You're unbelievable." Lance spat. His expression became thunderous as he pointed to the older woman. "We're not letting you go now that we know you're a prisoner of war and a terrible woman." 

"I suppose that comment earlier pressed a raw nerve." Shadow Weaver admitted. "It is of no consequence. I'm sure Adora can remove them in Bright Moon." 

"I don't think you get a chance to ask any more favors from her." George stepped in front of his husband.  "Adora is out there fighting your battle for you. From the distrust, we saw from Glimmer and Bow you have not been great to Adora either. If you care about her at all you will go out there, give yourself up, and never bother Adora again." 

Shadow Weaver prickled internally at the assumption. If she cared indeed. Who were these men to dare to judge her? Yes, her teachings could be what some considered harsh when she raised Adora, but they were necessary. If anything these so-called historians should show some gratitude. Adora showed them what scholars and historians only dare to dream of seeing. They witnessed a legend in their living room. Only with her child-rearing did Adora survive long enough to become the legendary Princess of Power, She-Ra. 

The sorceress of course sensed the power within the tiny blonde baby when Hordak dismissed her as a nuisance. Adora was destined for even greater things. Far be it for Shadow Weaver to deny the blonde a chance to reach her full potential. Without She-Ra, Etheria would fall completely to the Horde. She cast another narrowed gaze at the men behind her. Both men tensed as she continued to regard them silently. 

Her eyes then tracked past them across the Library. Its ancient displays were shattered and crushed by the now unmoving Elemental. She considered activating the creature again and prying the Runestone shard from its grasp. It would be enough to teleport away but without the added magic from the Moons of Enchantment, it was unlikely that she would survive the spell. It seemed she only had one clear option. 

"Hey Adora," Catra purred as soon as She-Ra came into view. "Hand over the sorceress," She demanded. 

"No way. Not after the way you've treated her," She-Ra responded with a frown. "We'll escort her to Bright Moon."

"Are you kidding?" Catra chuckled.  "You suddenly care about Shadow Weaver?" 

"We saw her running behind the skiff. She could barely stand." She-Ra pointed out. 

"You don't know what she's been like since you've left!" Catra shouted before she calmed down. "And because you left, you don't get to say what happens to prisoners in the Horde." 

"We don't deny them their dignity," She-Ra argued. "Catra, you can't be okay with treating her like this. This isn't right. Give her to the Rebellion. It would be the decent thing to do."

"Are you seriously talking about decency right now?" Catra cackled. "This is Shadow Weaver. There's nothing decent left in her." She moved her skiff forward. "She's still my prisoner until you decide whether or not you want to proceed with the treaty." 

"Back off, Horde scum." Glimmer spat. "You want us to consider anything then you'll let us take her to Bright Moon." 

Shadow Weaver pushed the doors to the Library open with a flourish. She held up her hands, walking to the Horde. "There's no need for more destruction, Catra."

Catra rolled her eyes. "You definitely don't get a say in this. Besides, you only came out here to save your precious Adora." She ground out. 

Shadow Weaver pointed up to the waning moon. "By my count, we are behind schedule by nearly two hours and you know how Hordak loathes delays." 

Catra's glare jumped from the Best Friends Squad back to Shadow Weaver.  She hated it but the older woman was right. She's skating on thin ice. She should arrive in Bright Moon at once to hold off the worst of Hordak's ire. "Fine, I'll personally make sure you stay put for the rest of the trip." She snapped her fingers and Rogelio shot a net at the Sorceress. She watched in satisfaction as the older woman hit the ground. 

Shadow Weaver gripped the grass under her palms. She gouged the ground trying to rise to her feet. The weighted material tightened around her form as she struggled. She allowed herself to go limp and waited to be carried to a skiff for transport. Before she was picked up, she saw She-Ra's crestfallen expression as Glimmer teleported her and Bow away. 

Shadow Weaver had never seen the beauty of Bright Moon's palace up close. She had seen pictures and holograms of the golden castle but seeing it now she could understand why it was the crowning jeweled structure of Etheria. Unfortunately, she didn't have any time to enjoy its glorious architecture as she was all but dragged to the edge of the castle grounds by her bound wrists. Catra finally saw that it was more efficient for the Sorceress to walk on her own than to be carried by one of the hapless soldiers much shorter than her. The tanks and skiffs of the Horde had barely broken the tree line when they were entangled in vines. The Princess Alliance stood behind Glimmer staring down the Horde. 

Frosta dropped her fists to her sides and at once they were covered in ice. "Stop right there, Horde scum!" 

Catra chuckled,  jumping down from her skiff. "No need to be so hostile. I thought Sparkles would have told you this is a peaceful parley. If you don't let us pass, we'll just have to treat it as an act of war." The Horde soldiers stood their ground, waiting for Catra's instruction. 

"Oh, that's pretty rich coming from you." Glimmer barked out a laugh in disbelief. "You tried to attack us just minutes ago. Let's also not forget a couple of weeks ago. We're still trying to repair parts of the Whispering Woods." 

"Tell your mommy she holds a life in her hands if she does not listen." Catra snapped her fingers. "Bring her out." 

Kyle shuffled forward and adjusted his taser. With a tiny whimper, he prodded Shadow Weaver. The low voltage zap from the baton caused the sorceress to scramble forward. Her muscles refused to coordinate the proper movements through her body. 

She-Ra's eyes widened until nearly all of the whites of it were visible. She frowned and shook her head. "Catra, what did you do?" 

"Yes, Catra." Shadow Weaver wheezed out then cleared her throat. "Would you care to tell She-Ra about the impeccable care you've given me this past five months?" 

"Five months? All those inside jokes..." She-Ra breathed. Her mouth opened in sudden realization. "You've taken this too far." She shouted.  

"My job was to get the Sorceress here in one piece and speak peacefully until you decide whether or not you agree to the treaty." Catra stated casually. She nodded to her group and started to turn her skiff so they could retreat.  "But if you don't want to do that. We'll just have to go back to the Fright Zone." She sent a mocking salute over her shoulder. "See you on the battlefields, Sparkles." 

"Whoa, whoa. Wait." Glimmer flailed both arms and sputtered. "That was- You were serious? You want my mother to marry Shadow Weaver to end the war?"

Queen Angella landed on the grass behind the Princess Alliance. "The Rebellion will discuss the issue and you shall have my answer." 

Shadow Weaver felt her magic stir as soon as Angella landed. She twitched her fingers and felt the resounding tug in the form of dark magic. She watched with interest as Angella’s face showed a barely-there flinch. The Bright Moon guards marched from the castle in triple time. They stood shoulder to shoulder around the queen, creating a buffer from the Horde. 

The moment passed as Glimmer reached for her mother. "Mom, you-" 

She-Ra reached toward the winged woman. "Queen Angella-" 

"Commander Glimmer, She-Ra. Please send word to Mystacor and come to the War Room." Angella stated. 

Shadow Weaver leaned against a tree as her mind kept going back to the ‘plan’ she was finally informed on. Once again, Shadow Weaver marveled at Catra's lack of foresight. The treaty proposal the younger woman and Hordak started should not be invoked lightly. Its original purpose, before Shadow Weaver received the seal, united the North and South Fright Zone territories and garnered over a century of peace between the lands before the Horde invaded. It was this treaty why the Scorpion people wanted to surrender to the Horde when Hordak initially arrived. The Fright Zone's monarchy didn't want to risk a civil war on top of an alien invasion.

If Hordak and Catra thought she would sit idly by while they had practically sold her to Bright Moon then they had underestimated her intelligence and usefulness. She would not go back to the Horde. She didn't need the Black Garnet or Catra's supposed charity. One conversation with Queen Angella alone and her royal title in Bright Moon was guaranteed.

The small Horde party was swiftly backed into the trees of the Whispering Woods while the Princess Alliance Rebellion retreated to their War Room. The General stood in the middle of the guards, assessing each of the Horde Soldiers, Catra and Shadow Weaver for any incoming trouble. In a few minutes, which appeared entirely too swift by Shadow Weaver's assessment, the Princess Alliance teleported back on the Bright Moon grounds. They walked forward and the General nodded to the women beside her. 

Angella carefully stepped ahead of the procession of Princesses. "The Rebellion has accepted your parley. In three days or less, we will revisit the option of combining our kingdoms for lasting peace on Etheria.”

Shadow Weaver stood straight. “Queen Angella, if we could converse for a moment to review policies.”

Angella moved until the wall of guards made a gap just large enough for her to be seen. She spoke in a calm, measured voice as lilac eyes pinned Shadow Weaver in place. “This is the beginning of our allotted parley. If the time ever arrives where I would consider allowing you to rule with me we will have a conversation.” She promptly ignored the other woman and turned to the General. “Bring the Horde party to the banquet hall. We have a Treaty Feast to prepare.” She announced and returned to the castle.

Chapter Text

From the head of the table, Queen Angella watched the Horde soldiers shuffle into the dining room encircled by Bright Moon guards. The guards stepped back away from the soldier’s seats. As soon as everyone was seated, the queen nodded to her staff and they began to stream into the room with various dishes. The table was quickly filled with butternut squash soup and hor d’oeuvres. Bread baskets and large bowls of mixed salad lined the middle of the table.

All of the serving staff retreated next to the guards at the edges of the room, waiting until they were needed. The Horde soldiers stared at the Princesses across the table, neither group willing to make the first move as if having sustenance was now a universal sign of weakness. Shadow Weaver watched the open hostility in amusement as the Horde troops eyed the food on the table like they were facing down feral animals.

Scorpia realized she was farthest away from the table and scooted forward. Her large frame hit the edge of the table, jostling it. The dishes clattered against the surface and lettuce from the nearby bowl spilled in front of her place setting. “Oh shoot!” She tried to scoop some of the greens back into the bowl. Every leaf she attempted to pick up was swiftly shredded by her claws. She managed to pinch one piece back into the bowl but she sat her claw down too quickly, flipping the bowl over completely. “Whoops.”

“Scorpia, it would be best if you stopped your efforts.” Shadow Weaver pointed to the server waiting behind the ivory-haired young woman.

Scorpia gave the server a grateful smile as they efficiently cleared away the salad. Another filled bowl was replaced and the server stepped back to their place on the back wall. Scorpia noticed a crumpled piece of salad stuck to the end of her claw. She tried to flick it off discreetly but it didn’t budge. Finally, with one final shake of her claw, it sailed across the table and landed in Perfuma’s hair.

Scorpia gasped. “I am so sorry.” She stood and shoved the table a few inches as she reached forward.

All the Princesses on the other side of the table tensed and Frosta jumped onto her seat, glaring at Scorpia. “Don’t touch her.” She snapped.

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna...” Scorpia paused and looked at the tensed set Princesses. “She sat back down, bowed her head, and attempted to make herself as small as possible.

“It’s fine, Frosta.” Perfuma took the small piece of lettuce out of her hair and wiped it on her napkin. Glancing at Scorpia, Perfuma sent a small smile before staring past her shoulder.

Further down the table, the sweet and buttery smell burrowed itself into Kyle’s nose. He caved and reached for one of the bread rolls, ignoring the eyes on him. His hand just brushed its crust when Lonnie swiftly elbowed him in the side. “Ow, what?” He rubbed his ribs. “I just wanted to try one.” He whispered.

Lonnie eyed him and shook her head once. Kyle’s face fell as he lowered his hands back in his lap while Lonnie started to glare back across the table. The doors slammed against the walls on either side with a bang and everyone moved their attention to the commotion.

Castaspella burst through the entrance. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Angella bit back an irritated sigh as she remarked. “You were notified over an hour ago.”

Castaspella crossed her arms. “I knew you were going to mention that. I was waiting for the second message that would clarify that this was a joke.” She observed the sorceress at the end of the table and marched over. “Shadow Weaver. You will answer for the crimes you committed during your time as my brother’s teacher.”

“Oh, yes.” Shadow Weaver drawled as she rested her head on her knuckles. She regarded Castaspella.  “Sweet, talented, Micah.”

Castaspella snarled and lifted her arms. An attack spell sprang to life in front of her palms. “Don’t you dare take his name in vain.” Her magic buzzed quietly in the large room.

 “Castaspella, you can’t harm her.” Angella’s voice was quiet but Castaspella was startled as if the queen had yelled right in her ear.

“You’re not serious?” Castaspella glanced again at the angry expressions of the Princess Alliance and the distrustful ones from the Horde Soldiers. “Angella?” she asked.

“I’ve only accepted the parley,” Angella told her. “Nothing more.”

Castaspella canceled her magic. “You’re on borrowed time, Shadow Weaver. The second you’re not under her protection, I’ll be there to throw you in the darkest prison I can find.” She vowed.

“As dramatic as always.” Shadow Weaver intoned. “I am waiting with bated breath.”

“Speaking of, do us all a favor and allow us to enjoy our meal without your odorous presence.” Castaspella snarked as she made a show of stepping around Shadow Weaver.

Angella peered at Shadow Weaver from across the long dining room table. She remembered the intimidating wraith commanding the Horde troops from her perch in the battlefields. She still appeared formidable but the effect was significantly lessened by the layer of dirt in her hair and the rumpled clothes. Adora informed her that the woman was in prison for months. If she had not been looking for it she would not have noticed her labored breathing. It was unlikely that she had eaten anything all day. 

"Shadow Weaver, you must be exhausted after your journey. Would you like to clean up in one of our guest rooms?" Angella offered. “We could bring you your meal separately.”

"I don't think I've ever actually seen you eat anything ever." Adora wondered aloud.

"She probably survives on the hopes and dreams of children," Castaspella whispered not at all.

Shadow Weaver’s eyes narrowed. “It’s likely to be sweeter than protein sludge from the floor.” She turned pointedly to her right. “Don’t you agree, Catra?”

Adora shot a glower at Catra from which the brunette involuntarily flinched. Angella kept her face blank and motioned for the servants to begin removing the untouched first course from the table. It was going to be a long meal.

Catra seemed to recover and slammed her hand on the table. “She’s just fine where she is. And she's not going anywhere without me."

One of the Bright Moon guards thumped her staff against the floor. "Show some respect when you address the queen."

“What a concept.” Shadow Weaver chuckled. "Catra and respect are mutually exclusive terms."

Castaspella muttered under her breath. "I wonder where she learned that."

“I will manage," Shadow Weaver raised her voice over Castaspella’s remark as she replied to Angella's earlier inquiry. 

Adora quickly snatched up a dinner roll as the breadbasket was picked up in front of her. She slathered it in butter and attempted to shove the warm bread into her mouth. She winced and paused with the roll halfway to her mouth as she realized all eyes were on her. She blushed and slowly placed the bread on her empty saucer. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Adora," Shadow Weaver responded to her ward then returned her attention to Angella. "She’s always had a very healthy appetite."

"Yeah, unlike the rest of you," Frosta observed.

"What's wrong?” Mermista scoffed and pointed to the various dishes. “Is our food too good for you?"

"You call this food?" Lonnie demanded.

Glimmer rolled her eyes. “Of course it's food!”

"Uh, what is this exactly?" Kyle stuck his finger in the steaming bowl of liquid and wiggled it once it burned. "It looks like tainted water."

Rogelio hissed at Lonnie and chuckled.

"Yeah." Lonnie laughed with him. "Or that."

"Oh right. The Horde only eats ration bars," Adora said mostly to herself. She looked at the soldiers and pointed to her dish. "This is called soup. You use a spoon and drink it." She picked up the utensil to demonstrate.

Soon enthusiastic gulping and slurping from the Horde soldiers filled the room. Shadow Weaver amused herself with the thought of a Fright Zone revolt because the soldiers wanted something as simple as soup to eat. It was unlikely that their palettes would allow them to ingest the ration bars again after such decadence. The Sorceress released a sigh under her breath and ignored the hunger pangs in her stomach. The foods’ smell was more than mouth-watering. Everything is no doubt prepared to perfection by the royal chefs. For the first time in a long time, she cursed the necessity to wear her mask.

A sudden pinging clang of silverware against china startled Shadow Weaver from her thoughts. Her eyes snapped to Scorpia as she fumbled with her spoon in an attempt to try the soup from her bowl. The ivory-haired younger woman cringed as the spoon clattered into her bowl once more.

Angella tried to politely ignore Scorpia’s plight but she saw that the Princesses were no longer disguising their interest in watching her eat. “Would you like something else prepared for you, Scorpia?”

“Uh, no.” Scorpia shook her head.

Bow looked unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Yup.” Scorpia gently pinched the spoon. “I almost got it.” She declared triumphantly. Her face fell as the spoon dropped onto the table.

Perfuma produced a thin, hollow reed stalk and passed it to Scorpia. “This should help.”

Scorpia’s eyes widened. She looked from the reed to Perfuma. Taking the reed from the table she carefully placed it in her bowl. She drank deep of her soup and immediately began coughing. The reed straw dropped back to the table. She thumped her chest with a wheeze. “Sorry.” She waved her claw to the room. “Sorry, everybody. It’s just hotter than I expected.”

While the circumstances were far from ideal, Shadow Weaver decided she needed to try again to speak to her future spouse. “Angella.”

Angella slowly finished chewing her salad. She carefully placed her utensils back into her plate before she looked up. “Shadow Weaver.” She returned.

“Traditionally during the Treaty dinner, we would begin talking terms.”

“Perhaps times should change,” Angella remarked coolly.

Catra smirked from her seat on Shadow Weaver’s right. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Shadow Weaver moved her hands under the table. Her fingers wiggled, tracing a familiar spell in the air as her eyes bored into the queen. The ombré haired woman drew in a sharp breath. Angella hastily drank from her glass and cleared her throat. The Sorceress smirked under her mask. Another magical pool was close. She just needed to bide her time until the chance to access it fully presented itself.

The moment the last course was collected, Angella stood from the table. "The Treaty Feast has concluded and now we will discuss your lodgings during the parley."

“As long as you’re banishing the Horde deep into the Whispering Woods we should have no issues.” At Angella’s expression, Castaspella sputtered. “You can't seriously be thinking of allowing the Horde to stay inside Bright Moon’s castle?”

Angella took a breath. "Castaspella, I have thought about this decision and I’m certain this will be the best option for everyone.”

"I'm not sleeping anywhere with Horde scum nearby." Frosta griped.

“I don’t really want to sleep near the Sparkling Blight Queen either.” Lonnie retorted.

Glimmer balked. “What? My mom is not-”

 “This is not up for discussion.” Angella swept a hand toward the group, cutting off whatever Glimmer was going to say next. “The Horde soldiers will camp just inside of the Whispering Woods.”

Adora frowned. “What about Shadow Weaver and Catra?”

“As per the treaty’s terms, they will be allowed to sleep inside of the castle.”

“No way!” Glimmer shouted.

Adora blinked. “What?”

“Uh no, I don’t think we can trust them.” Mermista hissed.

Any niceties that lasted while everyone got full on the feast evaporated as the last course was served. Shadow Weaver watched as the dinner table was filled with scathing insults hurled back and forth between the Princess Alliance and the Horde soldiers. 

"I have a better idea," Glimmer jumped to her feet. "Let’s just send all of you back to the Horde. We don't need your help and we definitely don't need Shadow Weaver ruling Bright Moon."

"Princess,” Shadow Weaver drawled. “Is that any way to treat your new stepmother?"

"I don’t blame you, Sparkles. She’s more like an evil stepmother." Catra snickered.

"Evil?" Shadow Weaver narrowed eyes at Catra. “You’re one to talk aren’t you?”

“Silence!” Angella flared her wings and glared down at all the occupants of the dinner table. “This parley is about peace between kingdoms. We will consider all options. If you cannot allow yourself to be a part of that, leave now.”

Shadow Weaver found herself impressed by the command of the room Angella wielded. She was confident and decisive to the point that even the Horde soldiers didn’t want her gaze to fall on them any longer as evidenced by their ducked heads. Though their reactions to her annoyance could have more to do with the propaganda posters lining the walls of the Horde. Some mental programming was difficult to shake. The Sorceress decided she would make every effort to bring Angella to her side. If she secured the queen then surely all the other Princesses would follow suit.

Angella permitted a small smile, satisfied with the silence she received from her declaration. “The Princess Alliance will go to the rebel campgrounds to ensure there is a seamless transition for the Horde soldiers.”

Glimmer’s cheeks puffed out as her face started to flush.

Angella slid a glance at her daughter. “Is there an issue Commander?”

“No, your majesty.” Glimmer ground out as she disappeared from the table.

Adora tried to smooth over the tension in the room. “Come on guys, I’ll find you a good spot.”

“Castaspella and Juliet please accompany me.” Angella left the room with her guards.

Catra and Shadow Weaver were escorted through a long hallway with no distinctive features. Shadow Weaver was certain it was chosen far away from any other rooms to give the castle's inhabitants the illusion of safety.

“Here is your guest room,” Angella announced as they stopped at an ornate door.

Catra paused mid-step. “Hold on, shouldn’t it be guest rooms?”

“You expressed your unwillingness to part from Shadow Weaver so you will be sharing this room for three days,” Angella stated matter of factly. “Or less.” She added a moment later.

“It will also be efficient because we can just guard one room,” Juliet interjected.

“And we only need to ward one room,” Castaspella added.

“Warding?” Shadow Weaver inquired. “How are we supposed to be present for a decision we are not privy to? You are toeing a very thin line on the parley terms, your majesty.”

“Call it what you wish." Angella sniffed haughtily. “I won’t endanger the lives of anyone in Bright Moon until we have decided on the treaty.”

Shadow Weaver remained in the doorway. "Shouldn't you spend this time trying to get to know your future spouse?"

"Nothing has been decided." Angella spat back shrilly.

“I suppose it hasn’t.” Shadow Weaver chuckled, her tone dripping with smugness. “I’m sure you’ll make the best possible decision.”

Angella narrowed her eyes but didn't respond. She, Castaspella, and Juliet left the room. Shadow Weaver heard the hum of magic shortly after. The door glowed with the blue signature of Castaspella's magic.

"Argh. Stuck in a room for three days with you." Catra moved to the door and reached her hand out. She was immediately shocked by the barrier.

"It seems Castaspella has gotten better at casting wards." Shadow Weaver observed. She took her time eyeing the large space. It was a lavish room with cathedral ceilings. She noted the large vanity and severed bell pull next to the mirror. The twinkling crystals located in several intervals across the room winked glints in the moonlight. The large canopy bed dominated the center of the room. She was excited to see the tea nook and anticipated appreciating it eventually without Catra’s company.

"You knew this was going to happen?" Catra accused, cradling her hand.

"Hordak probably suspected as well." Shadow Weaver explained as she explored the room. "What else would you expect Bright Moon to do with a hostile party invading their lands?"

“I don’t care how they react.” Catra pointed out. “As far as the Rebellion knows this is supposed to be a peace treaty parley.”

Shadow Weaver hummed. "Would the Fright Zone act differently if the roles were reversed?" 

"Fine." Catra slowly turned. “This room is insane. Why would anyone have an open waterfall in it?”

“Does this make you nervous?” Shadow Weaver asked, her tone breezy.

Catra bristled and whirled around to the Sorceress. “No.”

“Of course.” Shadow Weaver agreed. “My mistake. Catra isn't afraid of anything anymore. I forgot that you think you’re strong and clever and trying desperately to prove you’re smarter than Entrapta.”

“How does it feel to know that you owe your life to me?” Catra shot back. “That you finally get to see your precious Adora and she’s not on your side?”

“Tell me Catra, how does it feel to know Adora doesn’t trust you anymore?” Shadow Weaver taunted. “Adora doesn’t need you anymore and she was nicer to Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle than she was to you?” She nearly wept when she discovered the door leading to a luxurious bathroom.

“Shut up!” Catra growled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She smoothed back her hair with a grin. “I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not gonna work.” She stomped forward and snatched the glowing link on Shadow Weaver’s cuffs, turning the older woman around. “You’re forgetting you’re the one that’s captured. No one really cares what happens to you.” She shoved her at the wall.

Shadow Weaver stumbled until her back hit the wall. She tried to shove Catra backward. “Release me.” She hissed lowly.

“Or what?” Catra smirked as she felt the weak pushes against her shoulders. “You haven’t been connected to the Black Garnet. Your magic is gone. You don’t have any power here, old woman.”

Shadow Weaver stopped struggling and went limp. She focused on controlling her breathing as she spoke. "You think this is what you want, but you’re wrong." She informed Catra.

"How is this something I wanted?" Catra recoiled and pointed at the older woman. “You told me to go find the treaty in your chest under your bed.”

Shadow Weaver shook her head. “I told you to search for something to help me. There were no specific instructions because I was supposed to be gone before you arrived.”

Catra stepped back as she barked out a laugh. “And how’d that work out for you?”

Shadow Weaver’s only response was to step into the other room, slam the door, and lock it with a loud click.

When Shadow Weaver returned from the bathroom, she saw Catra on her tablet. The younger woman had a deep frown on her face as she stared into the screen. She heard Scorpia’s frantic babble from the small speakers.

Catra squinted at her screen. “Is that a flower crown on your head?” she asked suddenly.

“Hm?” Scorpia blushed. “W-what do you mean?” Her claw tentatively raised in the air and shot back down out of frame.

“On your head!” Catra snapped then pinched the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t free time. You’re supposed to be doing reconnaissance. Remember you’re a Force Captain and you’re not here to make friends.”

“There’s nothing more to see out here. Everyone just…uh does arts and crafts. No one talks around us because we’re from the Horde. It took Bow and Adora a really long time to explain we weren’t attacking.” Scorpia’s attention drifted off-screen and into the distance.

“Scorpia!”

Scorpia jumped. “Have you ever had a cupcake before? We’re not allowed back in the castle or I’d bring you one.”

Catra frowned in confusion then bared her teeth. “What?” she demanded. "What are you talking about?" 

“Be right there, Lonnie.” Scorpia waved happily to her left.

“Don’t hang up. Get back here! Scorpia!” Catra watched the screen go dark and she gripped the tablet tighter. She growled and resisted the urge to toss it across the room. “Those useless, lazy disappointments," she growled.

"Unsurprising." Shadow Weaver said, stepping further into the room. "The Horde does not have parties or sweet foods or games or free time."

Catra opened and closed her fist at her side. "They better not get used to it. As soon as the Rebellion rejects our proposal I'm gonna personally drop you off on Beast Island then I'm gonna finish conquering Etheria."

"I didn't think you would be so naive as to think you still have a place in Hordak's plans." Shadow Weaver tossed the damp towel near Catra. "Hordak is not going to utilize you when you return. Entrapta has surpassed your-” 

"I don't want to talk about this with you. Besides, we could be overheard." Catra smirked and placed her hands on her hips. "Not very tactically sound, old woman."

"Castaspella has betrayed her biological predisposition to be a great sorceress. She has failed a simple incantation. It is losing potency and thus releasing a louder vibration than it should. As long as we don't shout, no one will be able to hear us over the hum of magic."

"Really?”

“Really.”

“Fine. I still don’t want to talk to you.” Catra pinched the towel on the floor and hurled it back at the older woman. 

Shadow Weaver stepped out of the way of the projectile. “The feeling is mutual I assure you.”

“What do you think they’ll decide?” Catra blurted out suddenly.

Shadow Weaver kept her attention focused on the book she found on the side table in the corner of the room. It was a tawdry, well-thumbed book she wouldn't normally bother reading but anything was better than Catra's presence. The girl in question was prowling back and forth across the room like the appropriate appearance of a caged animal. She slowly turned the page. “Oh, have I been bestowed the privilege of talking to you?” 

Catra ignored her and dragged a claw against the wall. "What is taking them so long?"

"Are you finished?" Shadow Weaver sighed, rereading the line over the crunch of the destroyed plaster from the wall. She ignored the resulting glare. 

"What are you gonna do about it?" Catra extended an index nail to the window and tapped it in warning.

"If you continue making your petulant noises, I will drop you in the waterfall near the window." Shadow Weaver threatened, hands tensing on the book. 

A guffaw burst from Catra's mouth. Her chuckle was punctuated with a minuscule squeal as she leaned against the window as she laughed. "Thank you." She wiped her eyes free of tears. "I needed that. You can't catch me without your magic, old woman."

Shadow Weaver flipped a page, placed her bookmark, and closed the book. "How old am I, Catra?" She turned to the younger woman.

"What?" Catra furrowed her brow. "I don't know. Why would I care?"

"You've never wondered?" Shadow Weaver transferred the book to her other hand. "I know you had access to my files. You never tried to figure out my exact age?"

"No." Catra scoffed. “Why should I care?”

"You call me an ‘old woman’, never knowing if I'm just older than your peers or if I've outlived the queen."

"I-" Catra started. "I know you're way older than Force Captain Dumbface."

"Perhaps." Shadow Weaver allowed with a quick tilt of her head.

If someone had questioned if the Sorceress preferred sharing a room with Catra, she would have expressed her consideration of returning to the musty Horde prison cell.

Catra’s ears twitched. "The guards are coming."

"Finally." Shadow Weaver stood, waiting for the guards to reach the door. 

The door opened and two sets of guards poured into the room. Juliet walked in after them, holding her helmet under her arm. "The Queen wishes to see you both."

Castaspella held up her hand before the two women walked forward. "You will be cuffed for this visit for the Rebellion’s safety.”

Catra’s tail fluffed in anger. "How are we supposed to defend ourselves?"

"That's not my job." Juliet retorted. "I only vowed to protect the Queen."

"I look forward to your protection," Shadow Weaver held up her wrists for an additional set of shackles.

Juliet ignored the sorceress and snapped the Bright Moon manacles behind the Horde ones. Shadow Weaver heard the drone of the magic before it activated. Her magic would have been stifled if it had not already hibernated within her. The sorceress vowed to test the limits to her magic the second there was a distraction. Catra was quickly restrained as well. Though the younger woman pulled at them, testing their strength.

“Don’t even try it,” Castaspella informed Catra. “You can’t break them. I made them myself.” She boasted.

Shadow Weaver hummed." Should we expect these to fail?"  

"Just-" Castaspella's face flushed until she resembled a huffy plum. She jabbed her finger down the hall.  "Start walking!" 

As Shadow Weaver walked into the conference room, she was struck by the stark difference of the atmosphere in the conference room compared to the rest of the castle. All of the Princesses’ high-backed chairs were pockmarked with age and disuse. The massive table appeared to stretch further than the length of the room as they were led in front of it. The stale air was peppered with the stark artificial citrus scent of furniture polish. The light wooden table appeared hurriedly cleaned in preparation for the meeting. As was now custom since the short time Shadow Weaver was in the castle, she and Catra were surrounded by a small squadron of Bright Moon guards.

Catra smirked. “Hey, Adora.” She raised her hands to show off her bonds and gave a little wave.

Adora crossed her arms, glaring as she gave a short, jerky nod.

Angella regarded Shadow Weaver and Catra with a narrowed and disinterested glance. “You may now disclose your best reason that the Rebellion should consider this treaty.” She waved a hand over the missive from the Horde.

Catra kneeled in front of the table. “Your majesty, peace is what we are proposing. Lord Hordak has seen the error of his ways and cannot continue to sustain the Fright Zone and the war at the same time. With our kingdom’s alliance, we can begin to heal Etheria.”

Shadow Weaver waited for the reaction of the Rebellion. An impassioned speech must rely on your actions as well as your words. The queen appeared unimpressed with Catra’s answer while The Princesses looked contemplative. It was a decent attempt at verbal manipulation but Catra fell short of her mark.

“If that’s true then after the Battle of Bright Moon, why wasn’t this proposed sooner?” Angella pressed a button on the small hologram in the middle of the table. It projected the images of a defrosting Whispering Woods. “Where was your assistance during our clean-up of the Whispering Woods?”

Catra's eyes dropped to the floor. “We needed time to recover.” She admitted.

“Because we thrashed the Horde.” Frosta chimed in, punching her fist to her palm.

Catra’s tail bristled then continued to sway lazily behind her. “We don’t need to fight about who won.”

Glimmer crossed her arms with a smirk. “That’s easy to say when you lost.” She then reached out a hand to high-five Frosta.

“You are failing to mention the factor that hinges on the Peace Treaty.” Angella pointed out, keeping Catra arrested in her stare. “What would my marriage to Shadow Weaver provide for the Fright Zone?”

“It would provide a chance...”

Shadow Weaver listened to Catra's explanation with half an ear. It was likely a rehearsed speech provided by Hordak that would provide nothing of substance to the conversation. She was threatened by the false lord to relinquish Bright Moon to him. It was shocking Hordak considered a marriage treaty route to bring Bright Moon under Fright Zone rule. Having more than enough time to consider her most current events, she noticed he didn’t provide a timeline for his request and sent his current second-in-command into enemy territory. Shadow Weaver didn’t need to be privy to much more to cement what she’d already suspected. 

“And you? Don’t you have anything to say?”

Shadow Weaver glanced at the queen’s expectant gaze as she began to speak. “Our kingdoms have spent too long fighting each other. There have been many losses on both sides. Lives were cut down in their prime and kingdoms walled off and separated out of fear. Etheria must be reunited to its former glory if we are to be stronger.” She clasped her hands together. “You asked what the Fright Zone would gain from this alliance and I’m here to tell you that you cannot afford to be without the Fright Zone.” There was much more that she wanted to say but now wasn’t the time. She needed to speak to Angella alone.

Netossa frowned. “Are you threatening another attack if we don’t agree?”

“Not at all.” Shadow Weaver shook her head. “The might of the Horde and the Princess Alliance would be more than enough to defend the planet against any force. We would be stronger together.”

Angella’s eyes dragged from Shadow Weaver to Catra. Her expression was impassive. “We will discuss this further. The guards will escort you back to your room.”

“What was that?” Catra started as soon as the hum of the containment spell sealed off the guest room. “Do you want to go to Beast Island?”

“The last we spoke, I was instructed that you were in charge of this mission.”

“When has that ever mattered?”

“Have you given any thought to why you’re here?”

“That’s so easy. Hordak knows I’m the only one that’s capable of keeping you in line.”

“You are the mongrel between the two of us. I don’t need to be ‘kept in line.’”

“You tried to escape twice.” Catra flicked a piece of dirt from under her nails. “Two failures. I’m good at my job.”

“You are deluding yourself. Hordak doesn’t care about Bright Moon.”

“You’re a prisoner. Your opinion about what Hordak would and wouldn’t do doesn’t matter to me.” Catra kept her eyes trained to the door. “What is taking them so long?” She stalked back and forth across the floor. “It’s just a ‘yes or no’ offer.”

Shadow Weaver picked up the previously abandoned book. “I’m sure it was your rousing speech that gave them quite a lot to think about.”

“I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

“You should be used to it. You’ve done nothing all your life.”

“What was that?” Catra tilted her head and used a hand to cup one of her ears. “I couldn’t hear that over my second-in-command position.”

Shadow Weaver inhaled to respond when the magic on the door dispelled. 

Juliet appeared in the doorway. Castaspella stood behind the general. “The Rebellion has not come to a decision yet. You will continue to remain in the guest room until one is reached.” Juliet informed the room’s inhabitants and left.

Shadow Weaver dropped the book back to the chair and made her way to the canopy bed in the middle of the room.

Catra grabbed Shadow Weaver’s robes and yanked her back onto the floor before she attempted to climb into the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Shadow Weaver smacked Catra’s hands away from the fabric. She huffed as she saw the deliberate tear along the bottom hem. “I was getting into bed.”

A large smile appeared over Catra’s face before she bent over in laughter. “Oh, that was a good one. Who knew you could be so funny, old lady?” she pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. “You’re sleeping over there.” She pointed to the sparse pile of cushions on the floor next to the waterfall.

Shadow Weaver tilted her head and regarded Catra. She took note of the sharp claws on the younger woman’s hands and feet and decided it might be more valuable to her time if she didn’t fight the relocation. The eyes on her mask were dimming rapidly. If she didn’t lay down soon she would pass out and wake up to even more aches and pains she didn’t need nor want to deal with.

“If you insist,” Shadow Weaver spoke congenitally as she moved to the cushions across the room.

Catra eyed the older woman as she walked away without a fight. She watched the sorceress sink gingerly to her knees before settling onto the fluffy cushions. The Sorceress rose on an elbow and gazed back at Catra.

Narrowing her eyes at Shadow Weaver, she moved closer to the canopy bed. She climbed into it and immediately sank into the downy material. She shrieked and tried to fight her way out of the bed. Her claws sank in and the blanket ripped. Feathers exploded from under her hands and fell back to the bed like a snowstorm. Catra growled and tried to swat the feathers from the air. She dragged a rough hand through her hair, trying to clear it. She quickly turned and glared when she heard a low chuckle across the room.

“You are more amusing than even I, Catra,” Shadow Weaver released a relaxed sigh. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and prepared to sleep. The pillows shifted under the weight of Catra trying to get into the pile. The Sorceress sat up quickly and pushed Catra away from her. “You are not sleeping here.” She hissed.

“Move over before I throw you in the waterfall.” Catra glowered under her wig of feathers. “The bed is ruined and I’m not sleeping on the floor.” She moved over the cushions with just the heel of her hands, trying not to sink her claws anywhere on the cloth. “It’s not like I wanna get too close to you.”

“And yet all of your actions have shown me otherwise.”

"I don't!" Catra moved carefully on the pillow pile. “At least you don’t smell like the Horde’s trash chute.”

Purposely putting a chasm of space between them, Shadow Weaver closed her eyes and tried to descend into sleep. The pillows behind her shifted suddenly and she felt an elbow in her spine. She took a deep breath. After the meeting with the Rebellion, appearances were everything. Even though a war that had spanned over two decades could suddenly be eradicated by a well-timed treaty, the Princesses didn't trust the Horde’s proposal. 

An errant claw jabbed her through her layers causing Shadow Weaver to once again push the younger woman behind her. Catra grunted and jumped back onto the bed, nearly sending Shadow Weaver sprawled across the floor.

“Catra.” Shadow Weaver got on all fours and narrowed her eyes. “Stop. Your. Moving.”

“I can’t get comfortable. Everything is too bright, too soft, this entire kingdom makes no sense.” Catra griped. “How-"

Shadow Weaver snapped. “You should be on the floor like the feral child you are.”

“I should have dragged you to Hordak when you tried to escape.”

“Then why didn't you?”

“Because you were going to die,” Catra growled and lurched at Shadow Weaver. “I know it and you know it.” 

“I would have been fine without you." 

“You can’t even admit it, can you?” Catra stared into Shadow Weaver’s eyes, unblinking. “You lost. You lost to me. Then you made me believe that you cared about helping me.” She shook her head, her bottom lip trembled then twisted in disgust. “And I hate you for it.”

“I won’t apologize for trying to prepare you for the world.” Shadow Weaver crossed her arms. “Were you expecting a ‘thank you’? As I recall before you shocked me to unconsciousness, I offered you a chance to go with me.”

“Why? You don’t need me. Even when you finally acknowledged me as Force Captain it was just because you needed me to track down Adora.”

“I would have thought that particular task would have made the top of your list.”

The rhythmic clunking of a guard got closer to their door. Catra and Shadow Weaver paused, listening for any indication that they were coming into the room.

“Our goals for once are aligned, Catra. Once I secure Bright Moon, we can go our separate ways.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said ever," Catra admitted. "You’re also lying to me but I don’t care. I'm the only one that can save you now.”

If Catra approached this assignment as she studied all of her other assignments, she was not aware that Shadow Weaver was completely protected the second Angella took the oath of marriage. While the Horde’s goal was most definitely not hers, Shadow Weaver would be certain to make sure the Rebellion and by extension Angella accept her. 

Shadow Weaver fluffed the pillow under her head and settled to the edge of her side of the improvised bed. “Stay on your side.”

“Gladly.”

The sensation of her hair matted to the back of her neck was the first thing Shadow Weaver felt when she woke up. Everywhere her robes touched were slicked with sweat. She nearly leaped from the makeshift bed when she felt vibrating on her feet. Lifting her head, she spied Catra sleeping at the end of the pillows. Of course, she remembered, Catra was sleeping uncomfortably close to her. Pulling her feet back, she was annoyed to see Catra grapple her feet in her sleep. Too exhausted to move, she deigned to stay put with a sigh. The surface was too small to be serviceable for her let alone two people. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to remember what woke her. Being taunted by memories in prison was commonplace for every hour.

Blurred vision and an itching sensation in both eyes forced her to concede to the need to blink. The remnants of her dream leaped from her subconscious. Her eyes popped open immediately, unwilling to dwell in a waking nightmare. Her eyes flicked around the room and back to the ceiling. Her eyes slipped close and she was thankful for a dreamless sleep.

Shadow Weaver stared down at Bright Moon’s campgrounds. Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio, and Scorpia were sequestered just inside the Whispering Woods. Shadow Weaver saw the troops and the Bright Moon rebels patrolling alongside each other. Only a scant two feet of space separated the perceived property lines. 

Though not yet a full day, time spent in the room with Catra was entirely too long. Between the constant cagey pacing, growled snarks, and the younger woman's insistence of shuffling her feet, Shadow Weaver doubted she had the patience to resist the urge to submerge Catra in the various water sources in the room. If only she could take a moment to herself that didn't involve being locked in the bathroom. 

Shadow Weaver knew that Catra was well aware of how much the Sorceress abhorred repeating herself but making idle conversation was the lesser of the two evils. She decided to be calm and not allow her temper to rule her decisions. She needed to appear to be the best choice for Queen Angella had and her hands were tied once more only this time metaphorically as well as physically.  

The only other reprieve from Catra’s presence was when their meals were delivered. She picked up her tray from the cart and moved back to the darkened corner of the room with her back to Catra. She noticed the care the Bright Moon's chefs exhibited in their food presentation. The meal’s appearance was enticing edible art. Shadow Weaver grabbed her utensils and began to eat dinner.

Catra poked the pale substance on her plate with a tentative claw. The scent was appetizing even though it seemed to be covered in tiny ground plants. Her only dilemma was she didn’t know how to consume it nor did she trust the Princesses. She subtly watched Shadow Weaver and tried to figure out what to do next. The older woman had her back turned to her, a hand used the fork to cut away a flaky piece and moved it carefully to her face and Catra heard the sound of chewing. She looked back down to the blob and put a small chunk of the odd food in her mouth. Her face scrunched as the flavors washed across her tongue. It was the best thing she ever tasted. She placed a larger portion in her mouth barely remembering to chew.

Shadow Weaver chuckled. “I’m not surprised you are enjoying dinner. Roasted fish is not a delicacy you would ever have in the Horde.”

Catra started. In devouring her meal, she didn’t notice that Shadow Weaver had finished her plate and was now watching her with what sounded like undisguised amusement. 

Catra’s brow wrinkled as she took another glance at the remainder of the food. “Roasted…fish?”

“Yes, fish.” Shadow Weaver confirmed. “An animal that has scales instead of skin and breathes underwater using gills.” She stated. “I’m sure you can ask the guard for more. It certainly would not hurt the Bright Moon’s coffers.”

“No, I had enough.” Catra dropped her plate back onto her tray.

“As you wish.” Shadow Weaver drawled.

Catra purposely pushed her tray away. "You really think they'll agree?"

"As I have answered the last time you asked seven minutes ago, I do believe the Rebellion knows the benefits of agreeing to the treaty."

"Benefits?" Catra cackled the moment the sorceress finished speaking. "Of marrying you? I can't wait to find out how you try to convince anyone of that." 

After dinner, Shadow Weaver and Catra were treated to a similar scene from yesterday. Castaspella had a large smirk on her face as she swung her arm to indicate which way Shadow Weaver and Catra should walk. Shadow Weaver glanced at the buoyant skip in the guards. Their poker faces needed work. Once Juliet reached the large throne room doors, she nodded to the guards stationed there. She knocked sharply and waited. 

“You may enter.” Angella’s voice announced through the door.

The guards and Castaspella escorted Shadow Weaver and Catra into the royal hall. Lonnie, Rogelio, Scorpia, and Kyle were being guarded by the civilian Rebellion and the Princess Alliance. Shadow Weaver noticed there were more guards than she’d usually seen during her short stay in Bright Moon. The Sorceress's ears were stuffy when the Throne Room door closed. There was a sudden lack of sound from the rest of the castle. A powerful and potent silence spell sealed off the throne room. 

“We are here to address the proposal of a Peace Treaty between the Horde and the Rebellion. In order to complete this mandate, Lord Hordak has offered Shadow Weaver’s hand in marriage to achieve this. While I would achieve anything for peace-"

Shadow Weaver saw the moment Angella was ready to reject the proposal. She was allowing her hatred for the Sorceress to override the more logical decision. “Before you finish what you are about to say, I implore you to listen to me.” 

Angella continued as if Shadow Weaver never spoke. “In the terms of the treaty as they were proposed, we respectfully decline.”

 "Is that going to be your final answer?" Catra brushed a thumb over her claws.

Queen Angella nodded. "It is."

"Well, that's too bad." Catra chuckled. She reached for Shadow Weaver's shackles and prepared to leave.

"I think Queen Angella and I need to speak." Shadow Weaver proclaimed.

"You and I have nothing to discuss." Angella intoned from her throne. She nodded to the guards stationed around them.

Shadow Weaver’s eyes tripped over the hard set of Angella’s brow and the darkening of her eyes. The magic inside her overstayed its welcome. As Catra’s firm grip began to pull her backward, she tried once more. “Your Majesty.” 

The sorceress planted her feet to delay the dragging. She pressed her teeth together, allowing air to escape between them until there was a low whistling.

Catra’s ears flicked at the noise. “What are you doing?”

“You are looking a little under the weather, Your Majesty.” Shadow Weaver’s voice dropped purposeful inflections in her sentence.

Angella gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart fluttered under her fingertips. She shook off the feeling and bared her teeth at the Sorceress. “What did you say?”

Glimmer cast worried glances between her mother and Shadow Weaver. The two women continued to stare. “Mom, what is it?”

“Queen Angella, what’s wrong?” Juliet’s hand drifted to the weapon at her hip though she didn’t draw it yet.

Shadow Weaver stepped forward. “I can help.”

Angella's involuntary chirp became a choked snarl. The Queen stood at once, her wings flaring behind her. She leaped down the stairs and landed heavily in front of Shadow Weaver. "What have you done?" She demanded.

"I will reveal all once we reconvene somewhere more...private." Shadow Weaver tilted her head.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"Glimmer, take the Princess Alliance and leave the throne room."

Glimmer frowned. "Mom, we shouldn't leave you with-"

"That's an order, Commander." Angella insisted. "Guards, clear the throne room."

Catra smirked. "Right, what are they going to do?" She pointed at the women around them. "They weren't even present during the Battle of Bright Moon."

"She means business." Bow whispered to Adora. 

The blonde nodded in response. 

Angella's hand clamped on Shadow Weaver's sleeve and pulled her backward. Juliet wasted no time putting her helmet on. She ensured it was secure around her ears. The Princess Alliance held hands with Glimmer and teleported from the room. 

Every guard turned their crescent-shaped spears to the rest of the throne room and took a deep breath. The women opened their mouths and let out an ear-shattering screech that made everyone in front of them flinch. 

"Anyone that wants to be able to hear for the next two hours will go into the hallway." Juliet addressed the room. The guards in front of her inhaled in warning.

"Talk," Angella started as soon as the doors closed. 

"Interesting talent your guards have." Shadow Weaver nodded to the closed door and the empty throne room. "Is that why you don't bother having them patrol outside?"

Angella glared and grit her teeth. "I said talk."

"Temper, temper." Shadow Weaver teased with a tilt of her head. "How long before those luscious feathers change to bright more opulent colors?"

"How-?" Angella avoided her eyes, hugging her wings around her body. "How could you possibly know about this?"

“I suspected Hordak would betray me the second I continued to pursue Adora.” Shadow Weaver revealed. “He berated me. Hissing and snarling that I had made the Horde an enemy of an unknown combatant.” She chuckled. 

“What does any of this have to do with our discussion?” Angella huffed impatiently. 

“Glimmer.”

“What about Glimmer? What have you done to her now?”

Shadow Weaver was silent for a long few moments. "I had no intention of being sent to Beast Island," She said finally. "As soon as I was able, I activated the last of my shadow essence." She leaned forward, the illuminated eyes of her mask piercing through the queen. "It suits you."

The Sorceress held up a hand. Angella gasped at the tickling spike in her heart.

"I know why you are feeling...out of sorts." 

"If you harm me you will have the entire Princess Alliance hunting you down." Angella said breathlessly. 

"If we are to be wed, you must know the truth of my actions." Shadow Weaver released a pleased hum and tightened her hold on the other woman's wrist. 

"My magic." Angella tried to pull away. "What did you do?"

"I haven’t done anything. My magic simply clouds your connection to the Moonstone." 

Angella frowned. If what the brunette revealed was true then Shadow Weaver was the cause of it all. The nesting and the hoarding. The feeling of wrongness inside of her. It was all the fault of the Sorceress. "No," she shook her head in disbelief. “Stop it." The queen hissed. "Release me at once."

"As you wish, but if you intend to keep your family and Etheria safe from the Horde, you will need to agree to the marriage treaty."

"Absolutely not.” Angella shot back. “We can find a way to defeat you and the Horde. I won't give you control of Bright Moon or the Moonstone."

"I don't need your Moonstone. My magical pool will mirror yours." Shadow Weaver held up her hand.

"You can't. Glimmer is already limited with me connected."

"Only because you place limitations on what the Moonstone can do. You have only opened a fraction of its power. I promise you no harm will come to Glimmer. Need I remind you she is not just your daughter but Micah's. She has the Moonstone but I have sensed her magical potential. I can teach her and She-Ra to use their power. We will need it very soon."

Angella shook her head in disbelief. "You can't seriously think I would ever allow you to teach Glimmer anything least of all magic?"

Shadow Weaver tsked. "Don't look so dour, your majesty. I will help you. I have vital information to defeat the Horde. All I ask is that you support me as your wife and queen." The sorceress brushed a gentle hand down Angella's cheek. "Our marriage would bring the peace you so seek. A peace that would end with the Horde finally defeated and Etheria's magic restored."

Angella felt herself relax under the touch before she slapped Shadow Weaver's hand away. This had to be another side effect of the dark magic housed inside her. She exhaled sharply through her nose. What choice did she truly have other than Shadow Weaver's proposal? If even a portion of what Shadow Weaver said was true then Etheria is in grave danger. 

"Trust me, Angella. I can save the Rebellion and Etheria.”

A thunderous glare furrowed Angella's brow before she smoothed her features to a cool mask. "I cannot trust you." she shook her head. "It is my responsibility to ensure the safety of my Kingdom and by extension Etheria." 

"Do you have a better option available?"

The queen's mind frantically turned over any alternative that would be better than accepting Shadow Weaver as co-ruler of Bright Moon. She felt her feathers bristle and her muscles tense at the realization that the Sorceress was correct. It was the final moments left of the parley and the only alternative would be The Rebellion defeating the Horde again. Shadow Weaver would also be subjected to whatever punishment Hordak had. It was what the Sorceress deserved especially with her leveraging dormant dark magic inside her. It's just not who she was. She's not a spiteful woman out for revenge and it wouldn't be her direct actions that sent the other woman there. 

"The Rebellion doesn't need your help," Angella said finally. 

"Are you certain?" Shadow Weaver inquired. "How will you fight a threat you have never encountered? Child soldier against child soldier is vastly different from fighting an intergalactic squadron."

"You don't know what we could face either." Angella pointed out.

"Perhaps not, but I have something you do not. I have intimate knowledge of Hordak and his physiology," Shadow Weaver strode around the throne room. "I know the limits of his intelligence and the short-sightedness of his plans. Can you say the same?"

“You are forgetting the most important equation of our debate. You are advocating for a treaty that does not concern you.” Angella walked over to open the throne room doors to have Shadow Weaver forcibly removed. “Scorpia is the rightful ruler of the Fright Zone.”

The Sorceress interrupted her path. “No matter the protests from his citizens, King Pincher relinquished the Fright Zone’s control of the Black Garnet to Hordak who proceeded to gift it to me.”

“From how you were brought to Bright Moon, I would hazard a guess that you cannot be the user of the Black Garnet any longer.”

“That is true.” Shadow Weaver nodded.

“So we are debating something that doesn’t concern you.” Angella tried to move around Shadow Weaver again.

“That would be correct were it not for one factor.” Once more Shadow Weaver stopped the queen. "As the keeper of the treaty, my connection to the Royal Family of the Fright Zone supersedes Hordak’s reign.”

Angella frowned. “The only person left of the royal family of the Fright Zone is Scorpia.”

“Scorlotta and Clawdette appointed me the Keeper of the Treaty before their passing.” 

“You expect me to believe those women who loved Scorpia more than life itself entrusted her and a magical treaty with the power to forge a connection between any two kingdoms to you?” Angella asked in disbelief.

“Is that truly so hard to believe?”

“I supposed their only other option was Hordak,” Angella grumbled. “I know you. You’re just after more power. You manipulate people and destroy relationships.”

“You know nothing about me.” Shadow Weaver drawled dangerously.

“Yet another reason I should not agree to this treaty.” Angella pivoted, staring at her throne. 

“What partners of a political marriage or arranged marriage truly know each other in the beginning?”

“When I was a cherub, I vowed to never live as my parents did.” Angella’s back became ramrod straight. “But a queen must do what she must.” She declared, turning back to Shadow Weaver. "It seems you've left me no choice."

"We all have a choice." Shadow Weaver's voice betrayed how pleased she was in the moment. 

Angella clenched her hands together, resisting the urge to scrub her hands over her face in frustration. "What is your plan?"

Shadow Weaver held up her hand. "You are moving far too quickly, your majesty. Publicly declare your intention to agree to the marriage treaty. I will tell you everything you need to know and I will help ease your malady."

Angella’s expression appeared as though she was considering the consequences of murdering the sorceress outright. "Fine," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"You must say the words." Shadow Weaver reminded Angella, extending a hand.

Angella straightened her arm and gripped Shadow Weaver’s forearm. "Lo hear me an acceptance I inquire."

Shadow Weaver mirrored Angella’s hold. “Unto me lo I accept."

A creeping vine of dark magic swirled from Shadow Weaver and swept over Angella’s hand. Strands of bubblegum pink braided themselves together and tangled together along the inky thread reaching out. The light and dark pieces of magic moved and shaped until they formed a splintered infinity symbol before it disappeared.

Angella snatched her hand away from Shadow Weaver. “I suppose you were telling the truth.” She stared at her hand, expecting there to be a web of ink burrowing into her skin.

“I have been known to do that from time to time.”

“Do not move.” Shadow Weaver stated, crooking her index finger and moving her hand to her own chest. Dark magic shot forth and dissolved into her skin. 

"What have you done?" Angella repeated as she inspected her body. She kept expecting to see dark tendrils piercing her body at odd angles. It was all the more disconcerting to see nothing.

"I have ensured my safety." Shadow Weaver walked around the queen and brushed her fingers over the translucent wings. "Glimmer was the key. As Micah's daughter I knew she could house other kinds of magic. I needed her to be my vessel."

Angella sneered. "After you tortured her and tainted her magic you mean?" In an instant, her hands were encased in magic. She quickly turned, lifting a hand but was unable to lash out. It was as if something inside of her just stopped the flow of magic.

"You should use your time drafting our marriage contract to curb your temper." Shadow Weaver sighed. The pink orbs floated serenely from Angella to the brunette's hand. 

Angella watched in horror as her magic darkened and seeped into Shadow Weaver's skin. Her face flushed with anger as she growled. "I don't know how but if you harm Glimmer again no magic on Etheria will stop me from getting to you." 

"I would expect nothing more, however I have no plans to harm the daughter of my fiancé." Shadow Weaver crossed her arms, striding to the throne room doors. "We have reached an agreement," she announced to the group that jumped away from the door. 

"We will move forward with marriage proceedings," Angella stated as if this was a perfectly normal event she was participating in.

"What did you say to her!?" Castaspella stormed up to Shadow Weaver. Her right hand sent a spell zipping at Angella.

"A detection spell?" Shadow Weaver watched as the magic flickered from blue to white and back to a brilliant blue. "What you must think of me. I have only come to help you."

"Aunt Casta?"

Castaspella's eyes widened at the results. "She's not under any mind control spells."

Shadow Weaver chuckled. "Mind control?"

Glimmer frowned. "You tried to wipe Adora's mind in the Fright Zone." 

"You can be assured that I am not using mind control on the Queen." Shadow Weaver informed Castaspella.

Bow moved to Glimmer’s side. "What are you and Catra planning?"

"After the devastating defeat at the Battle of Bright Moon, Hordak decided we should look to extend the chance to end the war once and for all," Shadow Weaver said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"As Shadow Weaver said, we're just following Hordak's orders." Catra’s voice adopted a light tone.

"Well, I don't trust it." Castaspella glanced between Shadow Weaver and Catra. "We're going to be watching you both."

"You will be placed under heavy guard and the rest of your party will continue to stay on the campgrounds. Guards, show Shadow Weaver and Catra back to their quarters," Angella nodded to the closest guards.

"I look forward to seeing you later in our garden, Angella." Shadow Weaver called after her.

"Yes," Angella paused momentarily. "I will see you later."

Catra confronted Shadow Weaver as soon as the door clicked closed behind them. "So, what did you say to the queen?"

"Catra, did you doubt my manners of persuasion?"

Catra frowned at Shadow Weaver. "You're still my prisoner until the moment you say your vows. I can have you dragged back to the Fright Zone if it comes to that."

"Catra, once again you have displayed your persistent thoughtlessness." Shadow Weaver waved her hand.

"What are you talking about right now?" Catra blinked then frowned. “Just because you got the queen to agree doesn’t mean you can back out on Hordak’s plan.” She raised a claw. “I won’t let you.”

"I would not concern yourself too much with what I'm doing and instead focus on your position if you leave Entrapta and Hordak alone for extended periods. After all, she's better at technology." Shadow Weaver spun suddenly, encroaching Catra's personal space. 

Catra's eyes darted back and forth at the familiar move. "Hordak has seen what I can do as his second in command. He knows I'm not going to fail in ensuring you capture Bright Moon."

"Perhaps." Shadow Weaver hummed. "Tell me, Catra how do you believe he will react when he finds out you gave me the tools needed to escape Horde custody?"

Catra shook her head. "H-he won't believe you."

"Are you willing to take that chance?" Shadow Weaver's mocking chuckle thundered through the room. "Especially after you worked so hard to dispose me."

Catra glared up at Shadow Weaver but did not respond.

"You may inform Hordak that the plan is succeeding thus far." Shadow Weaver's eyes squinted with the smile behind her broken mask. "There is no need to challenge each other, Catra. We can both get what we want if you are willing to listen."

“After everything you’ve done to me?” Catra loosed a bitter chuckle. "I’m never listening to anything you have to say.”

"Your insolent ways will be your downfall,” Shadow Weaver replied lightheartedly. “Run along, Catra. After you report to Hordak, I suggest you read that treaty you chose carefully. I'm sure the revelation will be quite illuminating."

Chapter Text

A barrage of knocks thundered against the door to Shadow Weaver’s temporary room. The knocks sounded sure and urgent, demanding her attention. The sorceress ignored the noise, focusing on the piece of fabric under her fingertips. Her magic crept forward and tainted the fibers into becoming a shroud that would obscure her features when worn. 

“Shadow Weaver,” Adora called out through the closed door. “I know you’re in there.”

Shadow Weaver waved her hand, opening the door with magic, and hid the shroud. “Adora, how wonderful it is that you've come to see me.” 

“Save it.” Adora marched into the room. “You and Catra are up to something. I want to know what it is. That’s the only reason we’re talking.” 

“Adora, I am hurt.” Shadow Weaver placed a hand over her heart. “Truly. Have your opinions changed so swiftly in a couple of days?”

“No,” Adora's glare faltered. “I know you gave yourself up voluntarily back at the Library and I thank you for that, but I can't forget what you did.” She frowned, crossing her arms. “Not after you lied to me all my life. Definitely not after you tried to wipe my mind.” 

Shadow Weaver’s hands stilled. “That was a mistake. I felt as though I was losing you to the enemy.” 

“The same enemy you’re suddenly willing to become married to.” Adora pointed out. “This is another trick. It has to be.”

“There is much you do not understand, Adora. I have come to assist,” Shadow Weaver said. 

“I don’t know if I can believe anything you say. Not anymore. I’m gonna be watching you and Catra. The second you two step out of line, She-Ra will be there to stop you.” Adora vowed as she slammed the door behind her. 

Not more than five minutes later did she receive another knock on the door. Shadow Weaver secured the thin gossamer film underneath her mask and pressed it securely against her face. She was thankful to be turned away from the door when Angella stepped inside. 

“If you’re quite finished wasting my time, we need to have our first outing.” 

“You'll find that punctuality is one of my many great features.” Shadow Weaver stood, striding over to Angella. 

“Along with emotional manipulation.” Angella snarked. 

“I have had many days to think about my past deeds.” 

“Yes?” Angella inquired. 

 “That is the end of my sentence.”

“Your assistance had better be worth it,” Angella said with a glance at her fiancé. 

Her fiancé. 

That word sent an unpleasant shiver down Angella’s spine. It was too soon to tell if her decision was the correct one. Shadow Weaver was evil. She was self-serving and nothing out of her mouth could ever be considered the truth. Yet, she was right about one thing: removing her magic did restore most of the Queen's health.

Angella was not a woman who wholly believed in fate or destiny but it would be foolish to ignore what the Moons were telling her now. It seemed that Shadow Weaver would bring a great change to her life. Only time would tell if the Sorceress’s intentions toward her family would continue to be beneficial to Bright Moon’s interests. Angella's thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps behind them. 

“Sorry, I’m late.” Castaspella jogged up to the two women, out of breath. “I had to set up a ward along the Bright Moon border.” She shot a glare at Shadow Weaver. “We can't afford to allow the Horde a chance to invade again.” 

“You cannot be late for something you are not invited to,” Shadow Weaver responded. 

“Shows how much you know, I’m your chaperone.” Castaspella declared with a smirk. 

“We are not adolescents on the way to the Spring Formal, this is an arranged marriage between adults. No chaperone is needed.” Shadow Weaver pressed her fingertips together. 

Angella nodded to the Head Sorceress. “Castaspella, I’ll be fine.”

“I-” Castaspella stopped suddenly, unable to move through the barred door. A translucent magical sheet of lavender was in her way. She beat against the barrier furiously. No sounds were coming from her mouth. 

Angella looked at the door and back to Shadow Weaver. “Are you certain you're not an adolescent?”

“She was not going to stop her pursuit of our first outing together, Angella,” Shadow Weaver said. She turned to the guards moving closer to the two women. 

“You are dismissed.” She stated. She watched with amusement as the women clicked their heels and almost left before it occurred to them who was speaking. 

The guards looked to Angella for direction. The queen gave a short nod. “I will be fine. Even Shadow Weaver would not be foolish enough to try and harm me on the castle grounds.” 

Shadow Weaver chuckled and extended her arm. “After you, your majesty.” 

Angella made it a point to step around the other woman as she walked deeper into the Royal Gardens. 

“You will need to get used to my presence,” Shadow Weaver said, stepping closer to Angella. 

Angella huffed. “I’m not going to be some passive figurehead. You will have to agree to my terms.” She argued, her voice climbing an octave. 

Shadow Weaver schooled her reaction. “Angella, we don’t have to be enemies.” She stated calmly. 

Angella peered at Shadow Weaver with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

Shadow Weaver stepped into the greenhouse silently. 

“Answer me,” Angella demanded, following the brunette inside.  

“It’s not safe to speak yet,” Shadow Weaver whispered. She pressed a hand to her mask and it dropped into her hand with a hydraulic hiss. 

Angella’s eyes widened at the action. “What are you-?” 

The Queen’s words are cut off by cool, full lips pressing against her own. She made a noise in surprise and tried to break the contact. Shadow Weaver’s hand gripped the back of her head, keeping her close. Angella opened her mouth to shout but the sorceress took that moment to force her tongue into her mouth.

Angella became consumed by Shadow Weaver’s kiss. She went weak in the knees and was forced to wrap her arms around the woman she hated more than anyone else in the universe. The queen hated to admit that Shadow Weaver’s lips were soft. A desperate groan rose from deep within her. The sound startled her from her stupor and she bit down. 

Hard. 

At once, her mouth filled with the taste of steel and salt. It dissolved a moment later as if there was a creature of vapor thrashing and clamoring to escape her mouth. She heard the other woman inhale sharply but somehow, much to her disbelief, Shadow Weaver still did not pull back. The brunette’s tongue did retreat from her mouth and the kiss became sloppier and more intentional. 

An ominous cloud of dark purple smoke erupted around them unseen by the rest of the garden inhabitants. Once Angella was finally released, she spat blood and saliva on the ground and raised her hand to slap Shadow Weaver. Her wrist was caught before she made contact. 

“Careful, you wouldn't want to be marred before the ceremony,” Shadow Weaver warned with a lisp. “We don’t have much time. Catra is no doubt tracking us.”

“What did you do?” Angella asked, looking at the space around them. She glanced at Shadow Weaver and bit back a scream. “Where is your face?”

“We are residing in my Shadow Realm,” Shadow Weaver explained. She waved her hand with a whisper, relaxing once her wound was healed. “Anyone looking will see two fiancés intimately conversing after our kiss. No one will feel the need to interrupt.” 

“Since you’ve mentioned it, if you ever do that again without my permission, I will have you thrown into the Bright Moon Prison until our wedding.” Angella threatened through clenched teeth. 

Shadow Weaver tilted her head playfully. “Will there be a time when you grant me permission?” 

Angella continued to glare at the brunette. “That thought would never enter my mind.”

“I’m sure.” Shadow Weaver agreed disbelievingly. “Now we must talk about Catra.”

Angella snorted derisively. “If she was so determined to catch us, she has probably succeeded already. This performance is over nothing.”

“You believe someone as conniving as Catra wouldn’t be determined to listen in on us?” Shadow Weaver countered. 

“Just say what you brought me here to say.” Angella clenched her fists so she wouldn’t be tempted to hug herself from the supernatural chill that pervaded the area. “I don’t want to spend more time in this realm than I have to.” 

“You need to listen carefully. Hordak plans to bring the armies of the rest of the Horde through a portal.”

“I can’t believe this flimsy excuse is why you think you should be allowed to rule.” 

“It does not matter what you believe, Angella. Just know that if you don’t listen, all of Etheria will be lost.”

“You said ‘armies’? There’s more of the Horde?” 

“A force so large you cannot comprehend it.” Shadow Weaver pointed at Angella. 

“And how does Hordak have a portal?” 

“The Princess that was left behind, Entrapta, has been helping him. She is fascinated by the Horde’s technology and integrating it with Etheria's atmosphere.” Shadow Weaver crossed her arms. “She and Catra took my Runestone to begin the first step in preparation.” 

“Entrapta wouldn’t-”

“Clearly none of you know what Entrapta is capable of.” Shadow Weaver cut her off in an even tone. “ She is the one that destabilized the climate. At this moment, Entrapta is irrelevant. We must focus our energy on defeating the Horde using all of Etheria's remaining forces. The Horde will come. That is all there is to it.”

“That isn't good enough,” Angella replied. “If the Princess Alliance could just talk to Entrapta-”

“Angella,” Shadow Weaver said sharply. “This is how it has to be done. I know the Fright Zone. I need your assistance to convince the Princess Alliance to follow me and we will succeed.” 

Angela narrowed her eyes. “I don’t trust you or your intentions. You’ve always wanted to take power and now you just want to add Etheria.”

“Call it what you will.” Shadow Weaver seemed to sigh with her entire sentence. “All that matters is saving Etheria and the remaining magic.” 

“What about my people? They need a leader who cares about them. They need me to continue to be a queen that can make things better with the help of the Princess Alliance.” 

“My plan will work. I cannot help without access to the war decisions.”

“We don't need another war.” Angella trailed off into silence so thick that it was almost unbearable. “I want to tell Castaspella what is happening.”

Shadow Weaver paused. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“She could be helpful. Certainly more useful than you. She would go a long way into convincing the Princesses of your motives.”

“She’s hardly useful as a bridesmaid, let alone pretending to be a spy. She is overly dramatic, and a subpar sorceress but perhaps we can make some use of her,” Shadow Weaver acquiesced. “Do I have your support to assist in War table missions?” 

Angella nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.

“Then let us get started. We must act quickly if we want to succeed. The longer we wait, the greater chance Catra and Hordak will figure out what we're up to.” 

“I still believe Castaspella should know before anything else happens,” Angella said suddenly. 

“Not yet.” Shadow Weaver shook her head. “Not until after we’ve made it through the first part of my plan. We must keep it secret as much as possible.”

“What is this famed first part of your plan?” 

“There are items I need from my former quarters in Mystacor to begin.”

Angella’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. I don’t see how I will be able to convince Castaspella to let you on Mystacor’s grounds after your actions last year.”

“Castaspella will help if she is given the chance.” Shadow Weaver waved her hand dismissively. “Tell her it is proof of my crimes as Light Spinner. She’ll leap at the chance.” 

“Is it?” 

“I assure you it’s perfectly benign.” 

“I can’t help if I don't know what I’m putting myself on the line for.” Angella paced in front of Shadow Weaver. “What could you possibly have that is so important? Do you have a weapon or a spell?”

“Of a sort.” Shadow Weaver tilted her head as she regarded the Queen. “No answer I would give you would be satisfactory. You’ve already made your decisions about my assistance despite my sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices?” Angella just managed to stop her burst of laughter. “You have sacrificed nothing. Bright Moon may very well revolt once the full announcement of our engagement is revealed.”

Shadow Weaver’s hummed. “Perhaps, but it does not matter. We will be wed regardless of what others think. As long as I am needed, then I will stay to rule alongside you.”

“Is this your version of a reassuring conversation?”

“It is part of it.”

Angella stared at the women before her and wondered how she had ever been able to be talked into this inane plan. She knew that being with Shadow Weaver was wrong.

The Queen’s gaze shifted to the window of emptiness beyond the Sorceress. “How many more of these ‘simple requests’ can I expect from you?”  

Shadow Weaver pretended to think about the question. “As many as it takes to save Etheria.”

Angella stifled a sigh and walked further away. “I suppose we have plenty of time before you require further preparation.”

“Time enough for what?” Shadow Weaver asked. 

“Your coronation, your ascension to the throne, and then the wedding. The ceremony and marriage won’t take place until after we reach a consensus with Bright Moon's treaty with the Fright Zone.”

Shadow Weaver nodded. “These events will need to be done simultaneously.”

“It is custom here, even more so on Tatrasiel.”

Shadow Weaver strode closer as the endless darkness wavered around them. “I need to end the spell. We will need to recreate our initial scene before it ends.” 

Angella forced herself not to flinch when Shadow Weaver's hand brushed her side. “Is there no other way?” She looked away.  

“Do you know of some other way to release a free-moving illusion spell?” Shadow Weaver inquired, her hands sliding over the swell of Angella’s hips as she tugged the Queen forward. 

Angella raised an eyebrow. “You could have given me some warning before.”

“I needed your natural reaction to ensure the success of my spell,” Shadow Weaver explained. “Relax, my Queen, you need to look as though you are comfortable in my advances for the illusion to dissipate seamlessly.” 

“I can’t shake my revulsion for your touch.” Angella leaned back with a frown. 

“I’ve been told my touch shames the First Ones.”

“I’m sure techniques have changed in the last millennium or so.” 

Shadow Weaver was aware that no matter the age, Angelic Beings’ wings were highly sensitive. She moved swiftly, trailing her free hand upwards. She brushed her nails across the base of Angella’s wings. She smirked at the shudders the action caused. Angella trilled under her breath and fell into her arms. “Now then, don’t you look relaxed?” the brunette observed. 

“You.” Angella gasped, “You…” She repeated, pushing against the other woman’s shoulders. 

Leaning down, Shadow Weaver once again kissed the queen and ended the spell. When she pulled back the other woman looked properly dazed in her hold. She replaced her mask once more and removed her hands from the sensitive spots on her back. “Until next time my queen,” she said, raising her voice just enough to break through Angella’s stupor.

Angella stepped away from the sorceress at once and brushed away imaginary wrinkles on her clothing. She straightened her back and nodded, leaving the greenhouse without a word. Shadow Weaver watched the queen make her way back to the castle, waving off Glimmer’s and Castaspella’s concerns as they appeared from their respective not-so-hidden spots in the garden. 

Shadow Weaver was relieved that she didn’t sense Catra in the area. Taking advantage of the short moment of distraction, she tapped the pedestal in the center of the greenhouse twice. The liquid shimmered lightning-quick, leaving streaks of burnt black dust and shadow magic. 

Shadow Weaver returned to her room to find Catra waiting for her. She closed the door behind her, ignoring the younger woman’s presence. Sitting at her vanity, she internally sighed. She would need to wait to remove the thin face mask until she finally went to the bathroom where she would be blissfully alone. 

She took what was sure to be a short moment of silence as she reflected on her conversation with the Queen. It was obvious that Angella didn’t believe her words to be true and would consult the Princess Alliance before making any more decisions. Shadow Weaver had hoped the years would make Angella bolder but the battle that had taken Micah appeared to make the woman more cautious. 

There was no time to debate about the best course of action. The full might of the Horde’s forces would be upon them before the Princesses decided who should go first when talking. Angella was the queen and the leader of the Rebellion. She should have no reason to balk at initiative. This was war and sometimes losses are sustained in war. 

“It’s time for my progress report to Hordak,” Catra said, tapping a few buttons on her tablet. “Do you think I should mention your kiss with the queen?” She asked in a tone that was far too casual. 

There was more than a hint of humor and mockery in Catra’s voice as she watched the Sorceress at the vanity. 

“Of course, you should if you feel Lord Hordak will be interested in the finer points of my royal courtship.” Shadow Weaver waved her hand with a rotation of her wrist. “Do whatever you wish.”

“Why are you being like this? Why aren’t you fighting?” Catra sneered. “Do you have feelings for the queen or something?” 

The tracker pad chimed with an incoming call, interrupting Shadow Weaver’s next response. Hordak’s face appeared on the screen. “What is your report, Force Captain?”

“Everything is going as planned,” Catra reported. “Do you need me to come back to the Fright Zone? I can help with the-”

“Do not concern yourself with our mission. Entrapta will ensure that we have everything we need." 

“I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you fail.” 

“No, Lord Hordak,” Catra responded. Hordak’s face disappeared from the screen and the room was silent.

“One does what one must to survive, Catra. As you well know.” Shadow Weaver inspected her nails. “I suspect you have read the treaty in its entirety.” 

“Yeah.” Catra agreed. “And?” She raised an eyebrow at the older woman. “It doesn’t matter what it says. I’m in charge. You are gonna do what I say and you aren’t going to teleport your way out of it this time.” She approached the Sorceress with a glare. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Shadow Weaver stated. 

“I know you’re trying to think up something to delay the wedding but I’m going to stop you and when I do Hordak will see he was right to promote me.” 

Shadow Weaver could not keep the amusement from her voice. “Of course, Force Captain.”

Catra bared her teeth and brandished her claws but paused. The younger woman relaxed her stance, turned, and walked to the door. “I know what you’re trying to do.” She said over her shoulder as she left. “There are a double set of guards outside the door.”

Pink sparkles materialized as soon as the door was shut. “Princess, to what do I owe this visit?” Shadow Weaver addressed her new guest. 

“You still haven’t won any points with me.” Glimmer grunted as soon as she landed on the floor.

“You came all the way to convey that information to me?” Shadow Weaver asked. “I’m honored.” 

“I just wanted to let you know that I don’t trust you and I will stop you if I need to.” 

Shadow Weaver hummed noncommittally. “That does appear to be the recurring theme.” 

“So, what do you have to say for yourself?” Glimmer put her hands on her hips. 

“I don’t have to prove myself, Princess. Least of all to you.” 

“You better tell me something. Convince me that you deserve to live,” Glimmer said. 

“You are so much like Micah.” Shadow Weaver said in a tone that could nearly be called fond. 

Glimmer held a hand above her hand encased in light pink energy. “What gives you the right to talk about my father?”

“I was once his teacher of magic at Mystacor. After I tried to get the other sorcerers to collaborate with the Princesses, I was cast out.” 

 “Light Spinner.” Glimmer gasped in realization. “That was you? You really taught my dad magic?”

“I could be persuaded to teach you as well.” Shadow Weaver stood and crossed the room. “I can sense the dormant magic within you. With your potential and my tutelage you could be even more powerful than She-Ra.” 

“No.” Glimmer shook her head. “Aunt Casta talked about you. You sought power above all else.” 

“No, not above all else. Just above the inaction of my mentor.” Shadow Weaver turned away. “Continue as you have, chained to your Runestone and crawling back to your mother every time you burn through your powers.” 

“I don’t need you. I can just ask Aunt Casta.” 

“She won’t teach you. Castaspella may be the current Head Sorceress but she lacks the depth of knowledge I have. She refuses to accept that.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t I?”

“I don’t need your help.” 

“No, I suppose you don’t,” Shadow Weaver said breezily. “Ask if you wish. I will be interested in her answer.” 

“Fine,” Glimmer teleported away.  

Chapter Text

The inviting, plush blankets and pillows tempted Shadow Weaver to linger longer in their comforting embrace. Her body protested the tasks that lay ahead. Pressing a hand against her face, she traced her nail along the solid presence of her mask, then reluctantly slipped out of bed, mindful not to disturb Catra and allow her to gain the upper hand in her groggy state. 

Shadow Weaver stood still in the silent room, contemplating how much longer she could enjoy the solitude of the morning before yet another Bright Moon resident confronted her, driven by the impulse to remind her of her past misdeeds. Above all, she yearned for isolation, a luxury she had always relished in the Fright Zone. There, she could find solace in a dark corner, undisturbed by the world, lost in her thoughts. Her Runestone chamber had once been her sanctuary until Catra defiled it. She forced herself to dismiss the thought. Dwelling on the past served no purpose.

She strode to the bathroom, ensuring the door was locked out of habit. There were aspects of herself she preferred to keep hidden from prying eyes. Revealing her face without the mask was out of the question. Glancing at the mirror, she noticed her obsidian hair tangled messily on her head, an issue she would address after her shower. 

With a deep breath, she turned on the water, relishing the comforting warmth that enveloped her fatigued body. Gradually, she relaxed, mentally outlining her goals for the day. Presenting her terms for the peace treaty to the Princess Alliance was imperative, but she also needed to persuade Angella to accept her personal terms within the marriage contract.

Since their discussion, predicting Angella's reactions had become increasingly challenging. Each step in their delicate game could either solidify their union or create an irreparable rift, plunging Etheria back into war before peace was achieved. Manipulating the Princess Alliance into submission during negotiations was well within her grasp. Her main concern was ensuring they accepted the terms she deemed essential.

Once the marriage contract and peace treaty were finalized, the rest of her plan would be set into motion. Her entire future hinged upon these decisions. Making a wrong choice now would result in dire consequences, leaving no room for remorse. After the water turned cold, she stepped out of the shower, enveloping herself in a fluffy towel.

Sighing, she attempted to tame her stubborn, disheveled hair with her hands. Her appearance was unkempt, not solely due to her lack of proper attire, which was currently impossible to rectify. Perhaps requesting unrestricted access to the Royal Tailor would be necessary soon.

However, that matter could be addressed later. Shadow Weaver couldn't afford to linger. An appointment with Queen Angella awaited her—her clandestine appointment, unbeknownst to Angella herself. Swiftly, she styled her hair with a wave of magic and exited the bathroom. The moment she emerged into the room, Catra stood there, eyeing her suspiciously.

Glancing at Catra, she made her way towards the door, seeking grounding and a dark corner to teleport to Angella's location.

"Where do you think you're going?" Catra's voice, rough with irritation came from behind her.

Shadow Weaver maneuvered around Catra, hearing a ripping sound that confirmed her suspicion when she felt a tug at her hip. Indignant, she asked, "How dare you ruin my clothes?"

"Just a reminder of what will happen when you ignore me," Catra warned. “I’m in charge. Remember?” 

Suppressing the itch of magic in her hands, Shadow Weaver clenched them, resisting the urge to fling an energy blast at Catra. She wanted Catra unaware of her magic until it was too late. She turned, giving Catra a vicious glare. "What I am doing is none of your concern. You're a guest in my future kingdom."

"You better start acting nicer to me. You may think you're protected, but I'm the only thing standing between you and Beast Island," Catra replied. "So, where are you going, Old Woman?"

"I am meeting with Angella to discuss the finer points of the Peace Treaty between the Horde and the Rebellion," Shadow Weaver said, her tone implying that she found the question rather foolish.

"Oh, there's no need to worry about that," Catra smirked. "Hordak has already drafted the terms you will introduce into the treaty."

Shadow Weaver realized she would need more patience than she had originally thought. Someone from Bright Moon should be arriving soon. The staff of Bright Moon was always punctual. How she longed to provoke Catra enough to have her dragged away to the depths of Bright Moon. "How can I properly prepare if I don't have the terms beforehand?" she asked.

"That sounds like a problem you'll have to solve on your own," Catra chuckled. "Especially after how Angella reacted to spending time with you last time. I'm guessing you'll have a lot to make up for."

"And what about you, Catra? Have you solved your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Catra hissed.

"Oh, yes. You're certainly proving your usefulness to Hordak by guarding me and staying in enemy territory as a very important member of the Horde."

"Shut up," Catra hissed.

"Your value is tied to your usefulness to Hordak. Disappoint him, and you'll end up imprisoned, just as I," Shadow Weaver taunted.

"I'm not like you," Catra snarled, baring her teeth and jabbing a claw in Shadow Weaver's direction. "I'm younger, smarter, and stronger than you could ever be," Catra asserted confidently. With a quick gesture, she activated the privacy setting on her tablet and thrust it into Shadow Weaver's chest.

If Catra had any instinct for self-preservation, she would have been terrified of the Sorceress. However, Catra no longer feared her; what mattered more to her was the gratification she felt whenever she thwarted Shadow Weaver. The silence in the room was deafening, and Catra almost wished Shadow Weaver would unleash a scathing remark. 

Shadow Weaver paused her perusal of the terms and spoke up. "Hordak wants vetoing power in Bright Moon's laws?" she exclaimed. "The queen will never agree to that."

"You heard what Hordak said," Catra grinned maliciously. "You'll just have to find a way."

Once Bright Moon's new law was enacted, Shadow Weaver would be expected to enforce it immediately, allowing more of the Horde to engage in combat beyond Bright Moon's borders. Doing nothing would mean abandoning any hope of liberating Etheria, and that was unacceptable. Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes as she weighed her options. She knew that Hordak's demand for veto power was merely a show of strength, a way for him to extend his influence over Bright Moon. However, she also understood that the queen of Bright Moon would never accept such a demand, potentially leading to an all-out war between the factions.

Her gaze shifted to Catra, who continued to wear that same devious grin. Shadow Weaver knew she couldn't fully trust Catra, but she also recognized the young feline's cunning and resourcefulness, which could prove valuable in this predicament.

Just then, Catra's tablet rang, signaling an incoming call. Catra swiftly grabbed the device from Shadow Weaver and answered the call.

"Hi, Catra!" yelled Entrapta through the screen, accompanied by beeping sounds in the background. "Emily says hi too."

Shadow Weaver lowered her hands to her side, preparing a spell discreetly. Entrapta's noisy conversation would serve as a distraction, allowing her to cast a subtle spell undetected. She needed Catra occupied for the remainder of the morning and well into the day.

A deep frown immediately formed on Catra's face. "Why are you calling instead of Hordak?"

"Oh, he let me borrow his device. We're making great progress toward our goals. I'm calling because I decoded a message," explained Entrapta.

Catra hastily muted Entrapta and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'll call you back," she said abruptly as she powered off the tablet. "I'll handle this," she told Shadow Weaver.

"Take your call," Shadow Weaver responded nonchalantly. "I don't mind."

"I bet you don't," Catra agreed, her tone laden with sarcasm. "You have other things to worry about."

"I cannot propose terms I don't have," Shadow Weaver retorted.

"I'll bring you a copy once I retrieve Scorpia," Catra stated, heading towards the door.

Shadow Weaver slowly tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. Behind her mask, a burning hatred matched Catra's intensity at that moment. Catra was about to become an obstacle to her grand plan. Having spent enough time observing Catra, Shadow Weaver knew that if pushed, the young woman could unwittingly undermine the Horde from within due to her insecurities. She would have to tread carefully.

Shadow Weaver cast the spell toward Catra, holding her breath as she watched the glyph disappear from view once it reached the younger woman. There was no immediate reaction from Catra as she continued to exit the room.

Shadow Weaver waited until she heard the shuffle of half the guards outside their door following Catra before teleporting to the War Room, startling Angella, who was seated alone in front of the War Table.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Shadow Weaver greeted.

"Some warning would have been appreciated," Angella replied, dropping her hand from her chest.

"I'll be sure to send a message ahead of my arrival next time."

"For someone who doesn't want anyone to know about your magic, you certainly use a lot of it."

"It's been a while since I've had the freedom to cast spells."

"That tends to happen when one is a prisoner of war."

"Speaking of the war I'm working hard to end," Shadow Weaver began.

"This is only day one of your supposed help," Angella interrupted. "Don't start congratulating yourself so early."

Shadow Weaver bristled at the interruption but quickly regained composure. "I only meant to assure you that I am committed to finding a solution to this conflict."

Angella regarded Shadow Weaver skeptically. "Actions speak louder than words, Shadow Weaver. I hope you understand that I will be keeping a close eye on you."

"As you should," Shadow Weaver replied evenly. "I would expect nothing less. But for now, let's focus on the task at hand."

"Catra received a message from Entrapta earlier that I believe is cause for concern," Shadow Weaver said, sitting down across from Angella. She took a moment to observe Angella, noting the tired lines around her eyes and the dark smudges on her cheeks. It was evident that the Queen hadn't slept well since their last conversation, but Shadow Weaver didn't mention it.

"How convenient for your attempts to climb the social ladder," Angella remarked sarcastically.

Shadow Weaver ignored the snarky comment. "The message said Entrapta has found something on her radar. She sounded more excited than usual. I'm certain she's found the final key to the portal."

Angella furrowed her brows in concentration. "What exactly does that mean?"

Instead of answering, Shadow Weaver asked, "When is the Princess Alliance due to arrive?"

Angella let out a sharp breath through her nose. "I can convey any information you have to the Princesses if you give it to me."

"It would be better if I were to deliver this information. There is a multitude of factors to consider, starting with our marriage contract, marriage treaty, and a peace treaty," Shadow Weaver suggested.

"Please, don't remind me," Angella sighed, taking a long drink of her tea.

Shadow Weaver slid the tray to her side of the table and made herself a cup.

"Please, help yourself," Angella said sarcastically.

Shadow Weaver lifted the tea to her face, inhaling its aroma. She took a quick sip, clearing her throat. The liquid was too bitter and strong, but it provided warmth. "You should fire whoever made this pot," she suggested. "It was brewed for far too long."

"How could you possibly know that?" Angella demanded. "You didn't even remove your mask."

Shadow Weaver chuckled. "The aroma and taste are enough to tell me that it was brewed for too long."

Angella rolled her eyes. "Of course, your senses are always so sharp."

"Am I to assume you have made this?" Shadow Weaver asked. With a quick snap, all the liquid disappeared from Angella's mug.

"I was drinking that," Angella protested.

"It's offensive to tea everywhere," Shadow Weaver waved her hands again, and steam rose from the teapot, pouring itself into their teacups. The Sorceress inhaled the blooming steam that escaped the cup and sighed. It had been dark days without her daily morning ritual. She drank her tea and felt the tension inside her melt away. Her ritual was the only real distraction from the tedium of her everyday life.

"I'm not drinking this," Angella said, pushing her tea away.

"Do as you wish."

"You've probably laced it with more dark magic, or worse, a love spell."

"You're beginning to sound as paranoid as Castaspella," Shadow Weaver chuckled. "Have no fear, your Majesty. I'm not looking to coerce you into being my paramour."

"Our marriage proposal started with coercion. You all but threatened to leave a black magic taint inside me," Angella accused, staring into her teacup. The smell was tempting, and if it weren't for the fact that she despised the person to her left, she would probably have already enjoyed the drink. But at that moment, she wasn't in the mood to relish anything, except perhaps the caffeine.

Shadow Weaver glanced at Angella when the queen made a surprised noise.

Angella glared at Shadow Weaver over the rim of her teacup. "It's delicious."

"Naturally," Shadow Weaver said confidently.

Both women fell into deep thought as the room grew silent. Finally, Angella let out an exaggerated sigh and put down her cup. Beneath her mask, Shadow Weaver's lips contorted with a secret smile, knowing she had successfully unnerved Angella.

When the Princesses entered the War Room later, they immediately noticed something unusual. Queen Angella stood at the back of the room, her gaze fixed on the mural of King Micah. Her expression was tense, and her feathers bristled behind her. As the queen noticed their arrival, she released her grip on her gloves and straightened her posture. With her head held high, she turned away from the mural and addressed them.

"Good morning, everyone," Angella said, her voice firm.

"Mom?" Glimmer approached her mother cautiously. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Commander Glimmer," Angella replied sternly. "I gathered you all here because we have an additional participant for today's meeting. Shadow Weaver will be assisting us." Though her tone sounded calm and regal, her lack of confidence was evident.

Shadow Weaver turned her chair around and nodded in greeting. "Princesses."

"No way!" Glimmer exclaimed. "I refuse to discuss our plans with her."

"I am a crucial part of your plans," Shadow Weaver countered. "Without me, you stand little chance of stopping the Horde's forces."

The Princesses exchanged confused glances, wondering what had caused this unexpected change. They moved closer to the table as Glimmer and Queen Angella continued to argue back and forth.

Angella's wings fluttered with irritation. "Commander, you've made your feelings clear, but we must proceed."

"Mom, how can we trust her?" Glimmer asked, pointing at Shadow Weaver.

"We have no choice, Glimmer. I apologize," Angella responded. "We must do everything we can to protect Etheria."

"And that includes revealing all of the Rebellion's secrets to Shadow Weaver?"

Shadow Weaver spoke up. "Commander Glimmer, I understand your reservations, but I assure you that I can help. I possess information crucial to our cause."

Glimmer sighed. "Fine, whatever. Let's just get started already."

Shadow Weaver nodded in agreement and proceeded around the table.

"You seem to have switched sides quite effortlessly," Castaspella remarked. "Like a rat fleeing a sinking ship."

"Is your contribution to our cause limited to petty insults?" Shadow Weaver asked pointedly, observing the satisfaction on the other woman's face as she flushed with anger. "Before we can discuss anything, we need to ward the room."

"I can—" Castaspella began to stand.

"There's no need for your subpar casting. The Flower Princess simply needs to close the door," Shadow Weaver motioned toward the young woman sitting closest to the entrance. As the latch clicked shut, a glyph glowed briefly and then disappeared.

"Won't Catra find it suspicious that the door is warded?" Adora inquired.

"Catra is preoccupied with Scorpia this morning. It will give us more than enough time for our meeting," Shadow Weaver reassured.

"Can we just start already?" Glimmer huffed, slumping into her chair.

"I couldn't agree more." Shadow Weaver waved her hand over the table, activating it. She pressed the center, and an image of a large inverted cyclone appeared before the Princess Alliance. "Hordak and Catra have been planning something for some time. Hordak has been working tirelessly to build a machine capable of opening a portal through the fabric of space. He intends to bring the rest of the Horde's armies through this portal and use them to conquer Etheria once and for all."

"Right, so we're just supposed to believe you?" Glimmer demanded. "We've been fighting against the Horde."

"Yeah, we trust you about as much as She-Ra can throw you," Frosta chimed in.

"I understand how this must sound. We on Etheria have no concept of a universe beyond our reach, and yet the evidence is right in front of us," Shadow Weaver pointed at Adora.

Adora's eyes widened as she glanced at everyone and then back to Shadow Weaver. "Me?" she asked, pointing to herself. The world seemed to slow down as she struggled to process the revelation. 

"Yes," Shadow Weaver said, narrowing her eyes at Adora's lack of comprehension. "Years ago, Hordak succeeded in opening a portal. It was only open for a moment, and through that portal, a child arrived. That child was you." She stopped beside Adora's chair. "You came through a portal from another world."

Castaspella sputtered angrily from her seat. "There are no portals to other worlds. That's ridiculous."

"Leave Adora alone," Glimmer interjected, slamming her hands on the table. "You're lying, and we all know it." She pointed an accusatory finger at Shadow Weaver. "You lie about everything."

"I gain nothing from lying," Shadow Weaver replied.

"Well, except literally for your own life," Mermista added.

“Adora is She-Ra, Princess of Power. That doesn’t make her a First One.” 

"She-Ra is an ancient hero, yes, but the sword is merely a tool," Shadow Weaver explained, turning her attention back to a stunned Adora. "As a Princess, you possess a Runestone. Yours resides within your sword. With it, you can channel not just any element like the other Princesses, but all of the elemental magic of Etheria."

She knew she needed to prove the validity of her information because they saw She-Ra as a mere Princess, despite evidence to the contrary. The Sorceress employed her magic to place the sword in her palm and swiftly sliced it open. The blade felt cold, not as hard to grip as she had anticipated, but its weight made her wince.

She had never handled such a heavy weapon before. As the cut revealed her blood dripping to the floor, her hand began to shake, and weakness enveloped her. It confirmed her suspicion—this was no ordinary sword; it thrived on magic. Adora wouldn't resist coming to her aid. The blonde possessed a talent for being within reach of anyone who needed help. 

With that thought in mind, Shadow Weaver dropped the sword with a groan, prompting Angella to rush over, demanding, "What do you think you are doing!?"

Everyone at the table gasped in shock as they witnessed the maroon fingerless gloves darken with blood. They were frozen, unable to move or even breathe, as they watched the scene unfold before them. The air thickened with fear and confusion, sensed by Shadow Weaver, causing her skin to grow hot and sticky, sweat gathering at the small of her back.

The commotion snapped Adora back to reality. "Shadow Weaver?" Adora appeared at her side, tearing off a piece of her shirt and pressing it against the wound. "What can I do? Show me how to help."

With her magic drained, Shadow Weaver found it difficult to respond. She gestured towards the hilt of the weapon, rasping, "You need to take your sword. Use it." Her blood seeped through the makeshift bandage. "Let your magic flow through the sword and into you. You must learn to concentrate, to focus on your power."

Adora raised the sword overhead and declared, "By the power of Grayskull!" Brilliant light filled the war room as She-Ra stepped back, pointing the sword toward Shadow Weaver. After a few seconds, she let it drop again. "I've tried this before. I can't get it to work. What should I do? Is there a specific way to point the sword at you or something?"

Shadow Weaver used her uninjured hand to wave at She-Ra. "Calm down. Your frustration will cause the energy you produce to become destructive if you're not careful. Peace must reign in your mind for healing. Come closer and let me assist you."

"I'm watching you. If you attempt to steal She-Ra's magic," Castaspella warned, her magic flickering briefly in her hands.

Ignoring Castaspella, Shadow Weaver focused on She-Ra. "You are afraid but refuse to admit it. Afraid of your power spiraling out of control." She guided the Sword of Protection's point to the floor and released She-Ra's hands. "Allow yourself to feel it, then move beyond. You are stronger than your fear."

A sudden wave of golden light flowed down through the Sword of Protection, enveloping She-Ra, and then washed over Shadow Weaver. The magic was pure, originating from the core of Etheria. Shadow Weaver had never experienced such elation as She-Ra's magic flowed out of her and back into the Sword of Protection. She felt weightless, more connected to something than ever before. Unless she was mistaken, the entirety of Etheria reached out to her like a loving mother's embrace.

Glimmer gasped at the scene, exclaiming, "Wow."

Shadow Weaver sensed a part of herself flowing into the blade's Runestone as the connection waned. She felt her energy returning to her body, the sword singing in her heart. The world appeared clearer to her than it ever had. The Sword of Protection pulsed one final time, and She-Ra transformed back into Adora.

"Adora!" Glimmer called out.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bow asked, cradling Adora in his arms.

"Yeah," Adora rasped. "It just took a lot out of me."

Shadow Weaver took a deep breath, composing herself before speaking. "I assume you have confidence in my information?" she asked.

"You could have been less dramatic," Castaspella huffed in response.

Angella raised her hands to silence further comments. "I believe we can all agree that Shadow Weaver is being truthful," she said.

"For once," Castaspella muttered under her breath.

Netossa spoke up, asking, "What are you proposing we do?"

Shadow Weaver pressed a button on the underside of the table and replied, "After we confirm the terms of the peace treaty, we need to unite Etheria and strengthen our defenses. We should gather Princesses, the Horde, the Trolls of Spikeheart, anyone remaining in the Crimson Wastes, and any capable individuals on this planet who want to fight back."

“Wait,” Bow expressed concern, "Are you suggesting we let Hordak and Entrapta activate the portal?"

"Exactly. We will lull Hordak and Catra into a false sense of security, then seize our victory," Shadow Weaver explained.

After two arduous hours and several rounds of arguments, everyone finally settled on a plan they believed would work best for both kingdoms. 

"We can conclude this meeting for now," Angella announced in her regal voice as she gathered her papers and stood gracefully. "Please continue with your own affairs until tomorrow evening. In the meantime, Bow will search for any information we may need regarding the War Trolls."

With a nod, Bow replied, "I'll contact my dads now," and made his way towards the door. The rest of the room followed suit. 

"Know that your efforts were appreciated," Shadow Weaver remarked to the Queen once they were alone again. Despite the small victory achieved during the meeting, she couldn't help but wish that people would let go of their hatred towards her and allow her plan to succeed. She continued, "By my estimation, Catra will soon return with Scorpia. We must clearly define our marriage terms."

The Queen nodded, seemingly in agreement, but her facial expression suggested otherwise.

"What lingering hesitations could you have now?" Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes.

Angella bit back and replied, "We barely managed to navigate the talks with the Princess Alliance. Dealing with you has been more than challenging." 

"It's only reasonable to ensure everything is properly defined without the intervention of teenagers," Shadow Weaver countered.

"I should be the one stating our terms, as you have nothing to offer," Angella retorted.

"We've just had an extensive meeting discussing 'my nothing.' There is more to my plan, but it will have to wait until after we are wed," Shadow Weaver explained, glancing at Angella

“More secrets?” Angella asked, her voice laced with frustration. “You’re aware that this is not the way a marriage should function.”

“Perhaps not,” Shadow Weaver replied, her tone flat.

“Will this entire marriage be a constant game of chess?” Angella pressed.

“Not entirely. Just the parts that I need you to focus on at the time.” Shadow Weaver summoned the ancient marriage contract and pending treaty with a wave of her hand.

"If you can't trust me to work in the interest of Etheria, how can I trust that our goals align?" Angella asked firmly.

Shadow Weaver hummed, examining the fragile paper. "Our first order of business, after updating the treaty outlined here, is to address this trivial matter," she said, pointing to the first paragraph on the parchment where she marked her separate list of demands.

"A pardon?" Angella exclaimed, taken aback. "You expect me to grant you a full pardon!?" she accused, her voice rising. "To pardon you for all your crimes is to disregard the laws by which Etheria is governed," she said, her hands tightly clenched.

"As you're aware, it would be in both our interests unless you plan to marry a war criminal," Shadow Weaver calmly replied, tilting her head.

“This is not a law proposal for grain taxation.” Angella hissed with a shake of her head. “You expect me to pardon you for murder!”

Shadow Weaver leaned forward, bringing their faces close. Angella swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of the moment. "I am only guilty of removing a monster," Shadow Weaver declared.

"Norwyn was only trying to stop a power-hungry tyrant," Angella countered.

"Oh my," Shadow Weaver chuckled darkly, causing Angella's teeth to clench. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You do not understand, do you?" The Sorceress stood from her chair and crossed her arms, looking down at Angella with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

No one wanted to know about the terrible things Shadow Weaver had done to protect them, her attempts to use magic to destroy the monsters before they could cause harm. Now, all she had left was the kindness of people who didn't truly know her or care about what she had done. No one cared about her actions. Mystacor was easily deceived. She shook her head, trying to banish those thoughts.

Angella felt a surge of anger and frustration as she watched the other woman. She knew that Shadow Weaver had done terrible things to protect Etheria, but that didn't excuse her actions. No one should be above the law, no matter how powerful or well-intentioned they might be.

But as she looked into Shadow Weaver's cold, calculating eyes, Angella realized that she was dealing with a dangerous opponent. The Sorceress had more knowledge, more power, and more secrets than anyone else in Etheria. And she wasn't afraid to use them to get what she wanted.

Angella took a deep breath, steeling herself for the battle ahead. She knew that she would have to tread carefully, playing the game of chess that Shadow Weaver had set out for her. But she was determined to do whatever it took to protect her kingdom, her people, and her conscience.

With that thought in mind, she met Shadow Weaver's gaze with a steely resolve, ready to face whatever came next.

"Is there something you want to share?" Angella asked, facing Shadow Weaver.

Shadow Weaver turned away once more but gave a sharp jerk of her head, indicating a 'no.' "There are things about me no one should know."

"I'm not surprised you are withholding more information," Angella replied, her jaw tightening. Her lips pressed together into a thin line. "While you may have expertise in manipulating people, there are certain things I won't tolerate from you."

"My terms are a pardon as well as my items from my previous Mystacor quarters.” The brunette replied. "What are yours?"

Angella's gaze narrowed further. "Your pardon is for your actions regarding Norwyn, Head Sorcerer of Mystacor, not for any future crimes you may commit," she stated. Angella noticed Shadow Weaver's attention returning to her. "I also request a favor to be named at a later date."

"You wish a favor from me?" Shadow Weaver asked.

Angella nodded. "Yes, I do." 

"What would you like?"

Angella narrowed her eyes, surprised by the acceptance. Shadow Weaver had never given her any reason to believe she would be granted anything. The sorceress couldn’t have struck her as someone who would easily offer favors. 

Despite her uncertainty, Angella decided to let the moment go. "As I mentioned, I will reveal my request in the future," she said, keeping her tone flat and neutral.

"I look forward to this mysterious request," Shadow Weaver said, moving back to her chair and sitting gracefully. "I suspected you were more than meets the eye. You have exceeded my expectations."

"I'm thrilled to make your day," Angella replied dryly.

"Besides the standard marriage contract, is there anything else you want to add to our agreement?" Shadow Weaver inquired.

Angella opened a file on her panel of the War Table and projected it for Shadow Weaver to see. Shadow Weaver eyed the projection suspiciously. "Is this a prenuptial agreement?" she asked.

"Of course, it is," Angella confirmed. "You are entering this marriage with nothing but a title. I must protect my assets."

"What assets or collateral could you possibly have?" Shadow Weaver questioned.

"I have several businesses that you don't need to concern yourself with," Angella responded. "A kingdom cannot run on ideals alone, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Based on your governance, I'm not so sure," Shadow Weaver retorted, sliding her hands down to the third paragraph of the document. "This section needs to be amended."

Angella examined the part she was pointing to. "The heirs clause? What about your objections to breeding?"

"I am not opposed to having children, but including it in the contract adds an unnecessary timeline to our already complicated series of events," Shadow Weaver explained.

"And how would you like to amend it?" Angella inquired.

"I want the option to name an heir at a later date if you decide that Glimmer is no longer the ruler you hoped she would be," Shadow Weaver proposed.

"My daughter is none of your concern. Glimmer will make an excellent queen," Angella asserted.

"Indeed, she possesses the level-headed leadership qualities one expects from a monarch," Shadow Weaver remarked sarcastically.

Angella gritted her teeth, feeling the weight of Shadow Weaver's words. Glimmer was her only child, and if the people of Bright Moon didn't elect a new queen, Glimmer would be the obvious choice to succeed her reign. However, at times, Angella wondered if Glimmer would ever be ready to rule. 

She displayed traits reminiscent of Micah—reckless and headstrong, often putting herself in danger. Glimmer ignored any rules or boundaries Angella attempted to set. Hoping that naming Glimmer as Commander of the Rebellion would temper her stubbornness, Angella witnessed some progress when Frosta, who was even more impulsive, joined the ranks. Glimmer began to realize that acting without a plan wouldn't solve anything.

If Glimmer matured, would she be fit to rule? On the other hand, if she didn't, Angella would be left with whoever Shadow Weaver chose as a potential successor. Shadow Weaver's only two candidates were Adora and Catra. Adora, with her defection from the Horde, embodied a strong sense of right and wrong. Despite Glimmer's best efforts, She-Ra remained the former leader of the Rebellion. Adora made decisions with careful consideration for everyone involved. 

"We can also discuss this further at a later date," Angella said, striking a line through the third paragraph.

Shadow Weaver hummed, remaining silent as Angella's frustration grew. "You have no children suitable for the throne," Angella reiterated.

"I have one ward capable of ruling," Shadow Weaver countered, motioning towards Adora's chair.

"But you don't even consider those girls as your daughters."

"I raised them both," Shadow Weaver defended.

"They would have been better off raised by feral wolves," Angella retorted.

"How dare you—"

Before the argument escalated further, Catra burst into the War Room, slamming the door behind her with a growl.

Angella gave Shadow Weaver a satisfied look. "I rest my case."

Scorpia followed closely behind, struggling with a bundle of scrolls in her claws. "I'm so excited to be a part of the ceremony," she exclaimed. "There's so much to do—traditional foods for the menu, seating charts, plotting hunting conquests." As she bent down to retrieve a dropped scroll, the others slipped from her grasp. "Oh shoot! I got that," she said, failing to pick up the scrolls closest to her.

"Scorpia, we were just discussing the need to revise most of the treaty's clauses," Shadow Weaver sighed. 

"Oh yeah, well, we're not Scorpions. Some of the events would be physically impossible," Scorpia agreed.

"Do not worry. I am aware that certain traditions cannot be removed due to the binding enchantments," Shadow Weaver reassured.

"So what? Who cares about this?" Catra interjected. "I came here to inform you that we're heading back to the Horde. We need to make preparations for the treaty signing at Horror Hall."

"But you can't leave just yet, Wild Cat. I need to show you the most important part," Scorpia said, slinging Catra over her back and turning to Angella. "Do you have a ballroom or a large space?"

"Should we call in the Princess Alliance?" Angella asked.

"The treaty involves all kingdoms in some way. Yes, let's gather them here," Scorpia responded, paying no mind to Catra's protests as she struggled in the taller woman's grip.

The Princess Alliance and the Horde soldiers gathered in the ballroom, exchanging suspicious glances. Scorpia, oblivious to the tense atmosphere, entered the room last, having to get the bundle of scrolls from the hallway.

With a wide smile, Scorpia spoke up, "The first dance as a married couple is the most important part of the wedding. Scorpions perform an intense tango to express their romantic intent and bond with their intended spouse."

"Whoa!" Glimmer interrupted, raising her hands. "Hold on. I don't think we need to hear about my mother mating with Shadow Weaver."

Scorpia shrugged nonchalantly, replying, "According to the treaty, they need to produce an heir within a year for the marriage to be valid. But we can worry about that later."

"But-"

"Glimmer," Angella interjected, her voice firm. "I understand your disagreement, but if you can't remain silent during the dance lesson, I will ask you to leave."

"Fine," Glimmer responded with a frown, disappearing from the room.

Angella turned her gaze to Shadow Weaver, her eyes cautious. "Are you certain it has to be a tango? I've witnessed that dance before, and it's rather... intimate."

"That's the intention," Scorpia gushed, nodding enthusiastically. "My mothers instilled its significance in me since I was a Scorpling. It's not just a dance; it's a conversation." She glanced at the confused expressions of the group. "Maybe I should demonstrate what I mean, with a little help from my bestie." She sent a hopeful smile toward Catra.

"I've already told you I'm not your bestie," Catra replied, looking up from picking her nails. "And count me out on the dancing."

"That's just my grumpy Wildcat, but I'll let you slide this time," Scorpia said with a grin. She stepped into the center of the room and scanned the crowd. Most of the Rebellion members appeared apprehensive, except for one gaze that showed curiosity. Scorpia walked over to Perfuma and nodded at her.

Perfuma's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"This is called the cabeceo. It's a non-verbal invitation to dance," Scorpia explained as she approached Perfuma. "If you want to decline, you turn your head. If you want to accept, you simply nod back."

Perfuma looked up at Scorpia and hesitantly nodded. Extending a claw, Scorpia drew Perfuma closer.

"The tango is a dance of intent and courtship. It's a seduction," Scorpia stated, nodding to Lonnie, who started the music.

As the two young women began to move, their dancing lacked the fluidity and harmony of a traditional tango. Perfuma seemed unsure of herself, while Scorpia tried to alleviate her uncertainty with confidence.

"I'm so sorry," Perfuma apologized after stomping on Scorpia's foot for what seemed like the thousandth time. She grimaced and said, "I don't think-"

"It's okay," Scorpia gently pressed a claw against Perfuma's lips, silencing her. "During the dance, you remain silent. It doesn't matter if you stumble or fall. You have to trust your partner to take care of you." Scorpia helped Perfuma back to her feet. "Just listen to the music and follow my lead."

With a flourish of her claw, Scorpia dipped Perfuma.

"It's okay," Scorpia whispered, gently silencing Perfuma once more. "During the dance, you remain silent. It doesn't matter if you stumble or fall. You have to trust your partner to take care of you." She raised Perfuma to her feet. "Just listen to the music and follow my lead."

Perfuma giggled as she stumbled into her partner. A thrill of excitement coursed through her as a strong arm wrapped around her waist. They glided down the hall, Scorpia guiding their movements with grace. Their steps were smooth, not forced, and they maintained just enough power to prevent stumbling.

The song came to an end, seamlessly transitioning into another. This time, they took a slower glide toward the left side of the hall, closer to the walls. Scorpia lifted Perfuma once again, gracefully spinning her before gently setting her back on the ground. The dance concluded with a flourish. Perfuma stepped back, smoothing down her dress as if to iron out any imaginary wrinkles. 

"That should be good." Scorpia said quietly. Her hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as if reluctant to let go. 

Perfuma nodded shyly. She wasn't entirely sure how she had performed those moves before, but she had a newfound confidence that she could replicate them. The thought warmed her. She conjured a light red carnation and delicately tucked it behind Scorpia's ear, before rejoining the rest of the Princesses.

Scorpia brushed her pincer against the velvety petals of the flower, her cheeks flushing with a hint of color.

"Alright, alright, I think we all get it," Catra grumbled. "Scorpia, make sure they're ready for the wedding. Everyone else, let's move out. Hordak wants us back in the Fright Zone."

"Catra, leaving so soon?" Shadow Weaver drawled. "How will I manage without your constant supervision?"

"Don't get any ideas. Scorpia will be guarding you until I return. She'll keep me informed about everything you're doing."

Shadow Weaver appeared unimpressed.

Scorpia turned her attention to Shadow Weaver and Angella. "Now it's your turn. Let's start with the traditional Etherian waltz to see how well you two move together."

"You can do the waltz, correct?" Angella asked the Sorceress, raising an eyebrow.

"I am certain you are aware that every Etherian is taught the waltz," Shadow Weaver replied, gracefully gliding onto the dance floor.

The two women placed their palms flat against each other and began to move, only to find themselves stumbling over their own feet.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I am leading this dance," Angella stated firmly, pressing her palm more firmly against Shadow Weaver's.

"I am perfectly capable of leading us in a successful waltz," Shadow Weaver sniffed, moving forward again. "Why should you lead?"

"Because you are marrying into my kingdom." Angella adjusted her grip on Shadow Weaver's hand, pulling the brunette closer. She smiled triumphantly as Shadow Weaver glanced up.

"I had no idea the Queen of Bright Moon was so assertive," Shadow Weaver retorted, maintaining eye contact.

"Uh, Shadow Weaver, I believe Queen Angella should lead the waltz. It would be difficult for you to hold her properly with her wings if you were leading," Scorpia interjected.

Angella smiled in satisfaction.

Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes but remained silent.

"So," Scorpia awkwardly prolonged the word, "before I can start teaching you the tango, we need to assess your dance skills."

"Is this truly necessary?" Shadow Weaver questioned.

"Uh, yeah. I have to show you a dance that all Scorplings learn as soon as they can walk, in less than a month," Scorpia chuckled. "If I have to teach you rhythm and proper breathing, then we need to start there."

"We can adhere to every other tradition in the treaty. What is the purpose of all this additional pomp and circumstance?" Shadow Weaver inquired.

"You insisted on using the traditional treaty wedding customs," Angella pointed out.

"As I said, we can observe every other custom."

"The Scorpion Tango is an essential part of any marriage entering the Fright Zone connection," Scorpia explained. "The last time it was performed was twenty years ago, and there has never been a marriage without it. Any union that omits it will be cursed." 

Scorpia walked over to her media player and pressed a button. Fast-paced electronic music boomed from the speakers. She jolted and pressed her claw against her forehead. "Oh, shoot." She quickly pressed two more buttons. "Why do they always make buttons so small?"

Angella approached the ivory-haired woman, stopping Scorpia from inadvertently cracking the display on the sound system. "Which song were you trying to play?"

Scorpia squinted at the display and turned to the queen with a grateful smile. "The third song, please."

Angella pressed the button and stepped back as the gentle, melodic strings of a simple tango filled the room. The melody was slow and smooth, unlike any tango music Angella or Shadow Weaver had ever heard before.

"I chose something slow to test your skills," Scorpia explained, carefully increasing the volume on the sound system. "Queen Angella, could you please approach Shadow Weaver?"

Angella walked with stiffness towards Shadow Weaver, offering a curt nod.

"Okay, normally the head nod is more discreet. You should barely be able to see it happen," Scorpia instructed. "I exaggerated it for clarity in my instructions."

"Did you hear that, Your Majesty?" Shadow Weaver teased. "Discretion is key."

"Now, normally we would work on posture, but you two have that down!" Scorpia exclaimed, raising her claws in approval. "If I had thumbs, they would be up." She grinned. "Now, Shadow Weaver, place your hand in Angella's."

Scorpia stepped closer to the two women, who were standing an arm's length apart. She gently pushed them until they stumbled closer together. "There, it's perfect! Now we can begin."

The rest of the day was filled with one misstep after another. While the women possessed good posture and rhythm individually, it was painfully evident that they struggled to work together. They tripped over even the simplest dance moves and constantly shifted blame onto each other. Even the usually optimistic Scorpia found it challenging to continue praising their "progress." Finally, after Angella accidentally stepped on Shadow Weaver's foot for the hundredth time, Scorpia decided to call it a day and end the lesson.

When they entered the ballroom for their next practice, Scorpia awaited them, ready and eager.

"I have something different in mind for today," Scorpia said with a smile. "In tango, partners need to mirror each other. So I thought we could start by dancing separately and then try dancing together."

"How are we supposed to dance with air?" Angella questioned.

"I'll show you the basic moves, and you'll do your best to replicate them until your movements become more fluid," Scorpia explained.

Angella chimed in, taunting, "You'll have a tougher time, Shadow Weaver."

"Why is that?" Shadow Weaver asked.

"Because you'll have to do everything Queen Angella does, but backward and in high heels," Scorpia responded. "And, hate to bring this up again, but you two need to get a little closer."

Angella and Shadow Weaver reluctantly moved half a step closer to each other.

"I understand that being in sync helped you learn to move together, but we also need to get you accustomed to moving more intimately in traditional tango," Scorpia said, positioning herself beside the two women.

With an apologetic look, Scorpia gently moved Shadow Weaver’s left hand to Angella's right shoulder, her arm resting on the back of the queen's neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Scorpia said as she guided Angella's hand to the swell of Shadow Weaver's hip. "Just one more adjustment." She stepped back, aligning the women at a waltz-like angle.

As their bodies invaded each other's personal space, Angella inhaled sharply, catching the scent of ginger and bergamot. She couldn't help but notice the intricate details of Shadow Weaver's mask—the metallic surface with a tiny gleam that hinted at a hidden gem. Underneath the jagged scar, Angella glimpsed a patch of mossy gray skin belonging to the other woman.

"Is there something on my face?" Shadow Weaver asked, sensing Angella's gaze.

Angella sent a pointed glance at the brunette's mask. "Other than the obvious?" she quipped, feeling her cheeks flush. "For someone so cold, you're surprisingly warm."

Shadow Weaver retorted, "You feel just like your temperament, your majesty."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angella demanded.

"Your hands are chilled to the bone," Shadow Weaver clarified. "I'm grateful for the thickness of my robes, or I'd surely be frostbitten."

Angella's grip on Shadow Weaver's hip tightened, resisting the urge to pinch the other woman in response.

"Now let's go back to our basic steps, but remember to stay close," Scorpia instructed, pressing a button on her pencil.

Angella and Shadow Weaver immediately bumped into each other.

"It's okay," Scorpia reassured quickly, wearing a wide encouraging smile. "This is still new. Let's keep going."

Angella felt as though her muscle memory had abandoned her. All she could focus on was the comforting warmth radiating between their bodies, as she tried to lead the brunette across the dance floor. The steps were no different from that morning when Scorpia had praised them, yet something had changed, and Angella couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Helplessly, she wished she could flip a switch in her brain, activating an automatic mode that would allow her to keep dancing even though her limbs felt awkward and stiff. Another part of her recognized the danger in that. It wouldn't be long before her movements turned robotic and distracted. Until she could unlock this mode, she needed to ensure that her partner remained unaware of her internal struggle.

It had been over a week since the dance lessons began, and Shadow Weaver felt ready to walk to Beast Island alone. They had moved past the basic moves, abandoning their attempts to work separately as it proved disastrous. Instead, they now barely touched each other, moving forward and backward across the dance floor.

Shadow Weaver was content with them striving towards a sensible goal, even if the dance itself made little sense to her. To her frustration, the dance often felt like a perplexing communication with an unfamiliar language, rather than the silly dances she had learned as an apprentice at Mystacor. There was a lack of rhythm, just a stiff shuffle of limbs, legs, and hands awkwardly moving against each other.

Scorpia halted the two women in the midst of their dance, raising her claws in the air. "Stop," she exclaimed, shaking her head. "The tango is not something to be taken lightly. You cannot move unless you feel it, and you cannot fake a good tango." With a decisive action, she closed the cover of the record player. "We'll pause the lesson for today."

Observing Scorpia's departure from the room, Angella couldn't help but wonder, "What could be wrong?"

Shadow Weaver responded, eyeing her flowing robes, "These robes are counterintuitive to dancing."

"I could have my tailor make whatever you desire," Angella offered. "Scorpia seemed so disappointed in us, but I suppose I should be accustomed to it by now."

Curious, Shadow Weaver inquired, "To what are you referring?"

"It feels as though you don't care about this at all," Angella accused.

With a sigh, Shadow Weaver admitted, "Whether I care about the tango or our marriage is inconsequential. Our priority should be convincing others that it is genuine."

Suddenly, Shadow Weaver stepped forward and embraced Angella, causing her to stiffen as if anticipating an attack. Shadow Weaver released her and remarked, "That is what I mean. You are not accustomed to me touching you."

Angella coolly responded, "Your presence will take some getting used to."

Shadow Weaver observed, "Whenever I enter the same room as you, you tense up. You perceive me as a threat, not a partner, not a wife."

Angella reminded her, "At our first meeting, you removed a dormant cache of dark magic from my chest. On our second meeting, you assaulted me. How can I trust that you won't manipulate me into becoming whatever wife you desire?"

Tension filled the room as the two women faced off. Shadow Weaver broke the gaze and moved to the music player.

As the music started, Angella crossed her arms. "Are you serious?"

"Surely you are familiar with this dance?" Shadow Weaver inquired.

"I haven't performed the Etherian Waltz in ages," Angella confessed, pressing her palm against Shadow Weaver's.

"Allow me to refresh your memory," Shadow Weaver offered, folding her arm behind her back. The two women rotated in a tight circle.

"I'm surprised you know this waltz," Angella remarked, raising her arm above Shadow Weaver's head. She then lowered her hand and placed it on the brunette's waist.

"Even the Horde cannot escape the Etherian Waltz," Shadow Weaver stated.

"You taught this?" Angella asked, intrigued.

"Every year," Shadow Weaver confirmed.

Angella frowned, keeping her gaze fixed on Shadow Weaver. They spun once more in a close embrace. "Between combat drills and lessons on subverting your enemies, you taught child soldiers to waltz in case they were ever invited to Princess Prom?"

"Why is that so difficult to believe?" Shadow Weaver retorted. She released Angella and twirled away, only to come back together in a loose embrace, stopping their movements.

"It seems this approach didn't work," Angella pointed out.

"If you'll indulge me, I'd like to try something new," Shadow Weaver suggested. "Let's attempt mirroring."

"What do you mean?" Angella inquired.

"I will demonstrate the steps, and I want you to watch my transitions. That way, you'll know what to anticipate."

"And I'll become more attuned to your movements," Angella surmised.

"Exactly."

Without warning, Shadow Weaver launched toward Angella.

Startled, Angella jumped back. "You said we were mirroring."

"I did."

"It appears as though you're attacking me."

"And I am."

"Stop it."

"Stop me."

Angella seized the opportunity and lunged toward Shadow Weaver. However, she frowned as the other woman leaned away, tightly clasping her attacking hand. Angella found herself stumbling forward, but she regained her balance and tried to attack again. Frustrated, she huffed when Shadow Weaver swiftly twirled behind her. Relenting, Angella brought her arms back to her sides, feeling a sense of frustration.

"You're already improving," Shadow Weaver teased.

Angella narrowed her eyes. "I fail to see how spinning around in circles is an improvement."

"It's all about learning to anticipate your opponent's moves and counter them. The Etherian Waltz is a dance of strategy as much as it is a dance of grace."

Sighing, Angella looked at Shadow Weaver, attempting to conceal her irritation. "I suppose you have a point."

Shadow Weaver chuckled. "Of course I do. Now, let's try again." She lunged forward once more, this time with slower movements that telegraphed her intentions. Angella easily evaded her, and they embraced once again. When Shadow Weaver attempted to take the lead, she abruptly switched their hand placement. Internal satisfaction washed over her as she found herself in the lead.

The queen noticed that Shadow Weaver was performing the dance steps they had been practicing, albeit in a different order. Pulling the other woman along, Angella gracefully dropped her shoulder in the first movement, and finally, they moved in perfect unison. As they danced, the tension in the room dissipated, and Angella discovered herself genuinely enjoying the experience. After the music ended, the two women stood in silence, gazing at each other.

"You're a decent teacher," Angella complimented.

Shadow Weaver inclined her head. "It has been some time since I had the opportunity to teach something unrelated to war tactics."

Just as the moment settled, Scorpia burst into the room with a cheerful exclamation, lifting the women off their feet.

Shadow Weaver's voice carried a hint of danger as she addressed Scorpia, "Scorpia, release me."

"Oh, sorry," Scorpia apologized, pressing her claws against her face as her eyes shimmered. "I'm just so proud of both of you. And I just realized I've been teaching you to dance all wrong."

The afternoon moon cast a warm glow through the windows of Bright Moon Castle as Angella and Shadow Weaver sat across from each other in the elegant tea room. Delicate porcelain teacups adorned the small table, while a fragrant aroma filled the room, rising from the steam of a porcelain teapot.

Angella raised her teacup to her lips and began, "Have you considered finding a replacement wedding planner? 

“You could assist in this endeavor. It seems I'll have to plan it myself since you don't seem interested in the event."

"What do you suggest our budget should be?" Angella replied, tapping her fingers on the chair.

"I believe an additional fifty thousand gold should be sufficient," Shadow Weaver glanced at the tablet and pushed it back to Angella. 

"Contrary to your beliefs, Bright Moon is not overflowing with riches," Angella stated.

"The decorative gold and pearl inlays along the castle's arches suggest otherwise," Shadow Weaver countered.

"We are also at war," Angella reminded her.

"Wars can be financially beneficial with proper planning," Shadow Weaver argued. "I've noticed you haven't reinstated Alwyn."

"People are hesitant to return due to lingering rumors of ghosts and spirits inhabiting the place," Angella explained.

"You could offer citizens the opportunity to work there voluntarily in exchange for a small stipend," Shadow Weaver suggested.

“Are you proposing I have indentured workers in my kingdom?”

"Nothing so unsavory," Shadow Weaver clarified. "They would receive accommodation, job skills, necessary resources, and a stipend comparable to that of starting farmers, gardeners, and carpenters."

"That... could work," Angella admitted, making a note on her tablet. "But that still doesn't explain where the additional fifty thousand gold will come from."

"Consider it an investment. You mentioned being able to allocate it, which means there might be more potential funds available, but you're unwilling to use them," Shadow Weaver pointed out.

"I won't," Angella stated firmly.

"If you think a hastily arranged wedding is on the horizon, you're mistaken. We have to convince Hordak that you're taking this seriously," Shadow Weaver emphasized.

Angella snapped. "I don't care what Hordak thinks." After a moment of silence. "We could ask Castaspella," she suggested.

Shadow Weaver's head snapped towards Angella. "Why would I invite that migraine?"

"You made the first wedding planner cry, and it would be easier than dealing with snide comments from her until we all perish," Angella replied. "If there's a party to plan, Castaspella must be involved. It's like a compulsion."

"Shouldn't she be knitting sweaters and burning effigies of me?" Shadow Weaver quipped. Her mask eyes flickered with amusement as she sipped her tea.

Angella couldn't hold back a snort before she stifled the noise.

"Is that another smile in my presence?" Shadow Weaver asked. "One would think I'm beginning to grow on you."

"Like a particularly oozing rash," Angella retorted.

"For clarity, am I in an intimate place?" Shadow Weaver asked.

"You're terrible," Angella said, shaking her head.

"I try to excel at everything," Shadow Weaver replied. "Annoying you may as well be my new goal since we'll be tied to each other for eternity."

"Why is it so important for you to vex me?" Angella asked.

"It relaxes me," Shadow Weaver said with a dramatic sigh.

"Somehow, I believe you. All we have to do is extend the courtesy of asking Castaspella. She doesn't like you—" Angella began.

"How will I survive without her approval," Shadow Weaver interjected, faux hurt coloring her tone.

"And as I was saying, since she doesn't like you, it's unlikely she'll say yes," Angella continued.

"If she does, I will spend the majority of our marriage reminding you that it was your idea," Shadow Weaver declared.

Angella scrutinized the lengthy list provided by Castaspella, her gaze filled with concern. "This is going to cost a fortune."

"Weddings always come with a hefty price tag," Castaspella replied, swiftly snatching the list from Angella's grasp. "Look here—"

"We don't need extravagant gold inlays," Angella interjected.

"Alright, no gold then," Castaspella conceded. "I heard that in certain traditions, releasing birds symbolizes the start of the marriage. Do you think your guards could fly overhead?"

Shadow Weaver observed Angella and couldn't help but feel that the queen was exceedingly kind to Castaspella.

"Is it too early to approach Perfuma?" Angella wondered.

"Unfortunately, that won't be possible," Castaspella attempted to interject.

"Perfuma may not be cut out for a leadership role. The pressure will overwhelm her," Shadow Weaver remarked.

"And Glimmer? Is she a natural-born leader? What about Catra?" Angella retorted mockingly. "Is there anyone who meets your standards?"

"Your kingdom and Frosta's haven't been completely devastated," Shadow Weaver pointed out.

"Did you just—?" Castaspella glanced back and forth between them, hunching over the scroll. "I need to mark this day down. Shadow Weaver just gave a compliment," she muttered to herself.

"Are you still here?" Shadow Weaver questioned.

Castaspella spluttered. "Where else would I be?"

"You're going back to Mystacor, and you will return when you have viable plans," Shadow Weaver declared firmly. “As well my remaining belongings.” 

"You can't speak to me like that. You're not even queen yet," Castaspella protested. She looked at Angella for assistance but the winged woman was avoiding her gaze. “Tell me you did not agree to this.” 

"She agreed to that and more.” Shadow Weaver stated confidently. “Be a good little Head Sorceress and do as you’re told. We can easily find another wedding planner.” 

"Right," Castaspella scoffed. "Who would take on the task?"

"The archer could do a better job," Shadow Weaver remarked.

"His name is Bow," Angella corrected, seemingly returning to the conversation. 

"Redundant, but I suppose after child number thirteen, you might run out of random words to choose from," Shadow Weaver remarked, tilting her head slightly.

Shadow Weaver and Angella moved across the dance floor. Yet, as they moved, it became apparent that their steps were not still not quite synchronized, their movements lacking the finesse and fluidity of seasoned dancers. A subtle awkwardness clung to their every gesture, an unintentional dance of missteps and uncertain twirls. Shadow Weaver and Angella seemed to be caught in two separate dances of their own making.

Shadow Weaver, breaking their connection, "This is unsustainable," she declared, releasing Angella's hand after another missed step. "You're distracted."

Asserting her composure, Angella replied, "I'm fine. Let's continue."

Unconvinced, Shadow Weaver unveiled her astute observation. "You are also terrible at lying."

Reluctant to delve into the cause of her unease, Angella deflected. "I don't wish to discuss it with you."

Persisting in her scrutiny, Shadow Weaver pointed out, "It must be Glimmer. You get a prominent vein along the ridge of your forehead during her antics."

Rubbing her forehead, Angella denied the assertion. "I do not." Yet, a flicker of uncertainty shadowed her expression.

Unyielding, Shadow Weaver insisted, "You do."

Recognizing Shadow Weaver's perceptive nature, Angella mused, "You're too observant."

"I have to be to ensure my continued survival," Shadow Weaver replied, acknowledging the necessity of her vigilance.

Curiosity piqued, Angella inquired, "Do you miss not wearing a mask?"

Shadow Weaver momentarily fell silent, contemplating the question before steering the conversation away from herself. "That's a rather intimate question, don't you think, your majesty?"

With an arched eyebrow, Angella challenged, "Aren't we supposed to become more comfortable?"

Resigned, Shadow Weaver conceded, "Indeed. It has been a long time since I haven't worn a mask or veil."

Recalling the statue of Shadow Weaver she had seen, Angella probed further, "I've seen your statue. Have you always worn it?"

"No, it was a necessity in my youth," Shadow Weaver disclosed, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Curiosity turned into empathy as Angella delved deeper. "A necessity?"

Shadow Weaver hesitated, the weight of her past evident in her response. "My features have always been a distraction. I wasn't taken seriously until I hid them from the world."

Considering the implications, Angella offered a reassuring sentiment. "I would think that would have been worse, considering now everyone wonders."

"Most assume my face is the most terrifying vision ever seen, so it discourages others from approaching me," Shadow Weaver explained, revealing the consequences of her chosen disguise.

Challenging the assumptions, Angella expressed her belief. "I bet you're not that bad."

Shadow Weaver replied, "The world needn't worry," as the music came to an end, punctuating their conversation.

In the ensuing silence, Angella's gaze intensified, her curiosity urging her forward. Slowly, she reached out, extending an offer of tenderness and understanding. Shadow Weaver had the choice to withdraw, yet she allowed Angella's hand to cup the side of her face, feeling the coolness of the metal through her gloves.

In that fleeting moment, Shadow Weaver surrendered to the unfamiliar touch, realizing how long it had been since she had experienced such gentle affection. The tango, inherently intimate, blurred the boundaries between them, threatening to overwhelm her. Angella's captivating presence and physical allure heightened Shadow Weaver's emotions, reminding her of the vulnerability she had kept hidden behind her mask.

Caught in the intensity of Angella's gaze, Shadow Weaver's grip tightened around her wrist, her voice laced with a mixture of longing and caution. "It would be best if you don't," she uttered, releasing Angella's arm and stepping back with a swift pivot. Without another word, she strode out of the room, leaving behind an unspoken moment.

Chapter Text

In the solitude of her room, Shadow Weaver paced restlessly, her thoughts consumed by the queen. She replayed the moment over and over, dissecting every word and every touch, desperate to understand the complexity of her own emotions. The mask she had worn for years, projecting an image of a fearsome sorceress, had become a shield—a shield that now felt insufficient in the wake of Angella's gesture.

After their ‘incident’, Shadow Weaver found herself avoiding Angella. She withdrew, redirecting her focus toward the daunting task of managing Castaspella's overwhelming wedding plans. She declined any opportunity to spend time alone with Angella, even skipping their unspoken morning tea appointment. The only time that couldn’t be avoided was during their tango practice.

Despite her efforts to distance herself, the memory of Angella's touch haunted Shadow Weaver's face like a ghostly caress, echoing through her being. The taste of vulnerability and tenderness clung to her senses, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within. For so long, she had grown accustomed to the comfort of isolation and detachment, finding solace within the shadows of her power. Angella had effortlessly breached those defenses, awakening a yearning that she had long suppressed.

The memory of Angella's gaze continued to linger in Shadow Weaver's mind, haunting her every thought. Those lavender eyes, brimming with a blend of compassion and curiosity, seemed to possess an uncanny ability to unravel the layers of her being. 

In that gaze, Shadow Weaver sensed a depth of understanding she didn't want to delve into her soul. It was a gaze that saw through her carefully constructed facade, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Shaking herself from the thoughts, Shadow Weaver summoned her magic and effortlessly teleported to Bright Moon’s grand ballroom. 

This week's dance lesson unfolded with near perfection as Shadow Weaver and Angella executed their steps with precision and grace. Despite their Tango proficiency, something crucial seemed to be missing—their performance lacked the passion that Tangoes were known for.

Each turn they executed was rigid, devoid of the spontaneous improvisation and imaginative flair that make the dance truly come alive. Their connection was lacking, void of the banter and conversation that usually flowed effortlessly between partners, lost in the magic of the dance.

Adding to the subdued atmosphere, Scorpia, their usual source of commentary and guidance, had been called back to the Fright Zone for the week. Without Scorpia's watchful eye and insightful feedback, the deficiency in their emotional expression during their routines went unaddressed.

As the final notes of the music faded away, time seemed to stretch out into an eternal moment, emphasizing the absence of the usual exhilaration and satisfaction that accompanied a successful dance.

Just as Shadow Weaver was about to gesture to teleport out of the ballroom, Angella stepped forward, intercepting her path. There was a sense of urgency in the queen’s voice as she said, "I need to speak with you."

"I must decline, Your Majesty." Shadow Weaver attempted to sidestep the queen, "I'm meeting with Castaspella about our upcoming nuptials," she continued. "Who knows what tomfoolery she will conjure if left alone."

But Angella stood her ground, her expression unwavering. "This is important, Shadow Weaver," she insisted. "There are matters between us that cannot be ignored any longer. Please, spare me a few moments."

Reluctantly, Shadow Weaver paused, her curiosity piqued by Angella's persistence. With an audible sigh, she acquiesced. "Very well, Your Majesty. After you."

As they moved side by side, Angella's footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors. Shadow Weaver floated behind the queen wanting to cling to a bit of normalcy. The air was heavy with uncertainty, wrapping around Shadow Weaver like a suffocating cloak. Yet, deep within her, she felt compelled to face this conversation. 

Their path led them to a rarely frequented office, tucked away at the far end of the main corridor. The room itself seemed frozen in time as if it held the weight of forgotten secrets. 

The mid-morning moonlight filtered through the windows, casting a soft, ethereal glow that illuminated the room. Long shadows danced upon the polished floor, emphasizing the gravity of the moment. Dust particles floated lazily in the light, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.  

"What did you wish to discuss?" Shadow Weaver asked. 

In response, Angella produced an ornate box adorned with magical symbols from a hiding spot near a far bookshelf. The surface bore subtle scratches along its seam, evidence of someone's attempt to pry it open. 

Shadow Weaver's hands tightened involuntarily, resisting the urge to snatch the item from Angella. "Have you come to bribe me into a conversation?" she asked.

Angella's expression contorted into a frown as she replied, "I wouldn’t do that. I'm not-" She paused, searching for the right words. "I would normally refer to well you, but you get..."

Unintentionally, a snort escaped Shadow Weaver, caught off guard by the honesty of the statement. 

"Is that a smile I detect in my presence?" Angella playfully echoed the question Shadow Weaver had asked before.

Shadow Weaver quickly sobered, her voice regaining its usual stoicism. "Not quite," she responded.

"I finally received it from Castaspella. The timing, unfortunately, is terrible," Angella said.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, casting a heavy weight upon them.

"I apologize for overstepping." Angella's was voice tinged with regret. "It was never my intention to..."

"It's never anyone's intention," Shadow Weaver hissed, a hint of bitterness seeping into her words. 

"I didn't mean to ruin everything," Angella whispered sadly, her gaze dropping to the floor momentarily. 

"There was absolutely nothing to ruin," Shadow Weaver responded coldly. Her magic crackled in the air, her emotions teetering on the edge of control. She could feel her hair magically rising above her head and took a deep breath.

"Nothing?" Angella gasped, hurt momentarily flashing across her face before she composed herself.  "I didn't mean it like that," she continued softly. "I just meant...this tension between us. It's not what I wanted."

"There hasn't been tension," Shadow Weaver replied, her voice slightly softer than before. "You’ve had responsibilities, and so have I."

Angella nodded, "I know," she said. "I just want us to find a way to coexist, to understand each other."

"And what if we cannot?" Shadow Weaver asked.

"We'll never know unless we try," Angella replied, her eyes searching Shadow Weaver's body language for any sort of acceptance. 

For a moment, Shadow Weaver felt torn between her pragmatism and the pull of Angella's sincerity. It was a battle between her hea-her feelings and mind, but in the end, her feelings won out. With a soft sigh, she finally relented, taking a small step forward.

"Perhaps...we can try," Shadow Weaver said. 

Angella's face lit up with a smile, and in that moment, the weight of her past actions began to lift. "I am sorry," she insisted, her determination unwavering as she once again extended the small box toward Shadow Weaver. "Truly." 

"It is of no consequence," Shadow Weaver dismissed Angella's apology with a casual flick of her hand.

"It does carry consequences," Angella replied, her voice firm.

Shadow Weaver's grip tightened around the box she held, her knuckles paling. "Is there another urgent matter to discuss?" she asked. 

There was a hint of finality in her words. It was evident to Angella that the previous topic was concluded.

Angella, not wanting to jeopardize their tentative truce, allowed the subject change. "Skirmishes are spreading across Etheria. As you know, the Princesses have departed to contain most of the destruction."

Shadow Weaver's gaze remained fixed on Angella's face, a silent intensity emanating from her. "You cannot expect all the fighting to cease overnight, Your Majesty. Tensions are running high, and it will take time to pacify the unrest."

"We don’t have the luxury of time." Angella paced back and forth, her hands clenched in frustration. "My people are suffering, and we need to find a solution to this chaos."

"Send out missives to inform your citizens of the situation. Let them know that steps are being taken to restore peace."

"We've done that," Angella replied exasperatedly. She clasped her hands in front of her as if seeking comfort in her own touch. "It's not enough. There are times when I believe Etheria will not accept this marriage."

Shadow Weaver leaned against a nearby table. Her eyes peered into the distance. "I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that it will be imperative for you to guide them, to help them see the path that lies before us. Change, as you know, is seldom embraced with open arms. The people of Etheria may resist at first, but given time, they will come to understand that this union holds the key to a brighter future for all."

"But how can we be certain? How can we know that this decision is the right one?" Angella asked. 

Shadow Weaver's voice carried an unwavering conviction as she responded, "We must make them see that this marriage is not merely a matter of convenience or duty. It is a bond that will weave harmony and strength into the very fabric of Etheria."

Angella's shoulders slumped under the weight of her responsibilities. "Do you truly believe our people will embrace this with open hearts?"

Rising gracefully from her seat, Shadow Weaver approached Angella with purpose. "We cannot expect acceptance to come easily. Change, by its nature, is met with resistance. But we must remain patient, unyielding in our dedication, and demonstrate the true worth of this union through our actions."

A fleeting expression of appreciation touched Angella's face, followed by a slight retreat. She created a physical distance between herself and Shadow Weaver. "Your words are inspiring, but let us not forget the strain your presence has placed upon me thus far. Stress seems to follow in your wake."

Shadow Weaver's gaze was steady as she said, "My intentions have always been to save Etheria."

"You can have this study," Angella said over her shoulder as she left the room. She paused in the doorway. "That is if you don't think I'm bribing you." 

Silence enveloped the room as the door clicked shut. Shadow Weaver placed the box on the desk before her. Without hesitation, she reached for the button on the underside of the box. As she pressed it, a tiny needle sprang forward, piercing her index finger. A small bead of blood formed, and she carefully pressed it against the surface of the box.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a soft glow emanated from the box, bathing the room in light. Arcane runes etched on the box's surface began to shift and rearrange themselves. The box came alive, revealing hidden compartments and mechanisms. She allowed herself a moment of reflection, her thoughts drifting to the possibility of having hidden caches of knowledge scattered throughout Etheria. She briefly considered whether she should have taken that precaution, but it was a fleeting thought. Time was of the essence, and she could not afford to dwell on past decisions.

Her heart quickened as her hand brushed reverently over a badly burned book, the edges charred and the pages brittle with age. She could only make out fragments of the literature, the rest lost to destruction. Yet, she knew the significance of this tome - it was where she first learned of the elusive Spell of Obtainment.

Next to the charred book, a velvet sack of crushed Lunar Lenses was carefully placed aside, shimmering with a magical glow. These lenses, imbued with the essence of the moon's power, were essential ingredients for any Sorcerer. Besides the Lunar Lenses, an extra veil was neatly folded and laid within the box. 

Her eyes were drawn to the last item in the box, wrapped in a bundle of cloth atop her last Mystacor grimoire. It was a tiny scepter, crafted from delicate rose quartz, its once-smooth surface now bearing cracks and imperfections. 

The rounded crystal on top looked as though the gentlest touch would shatter it into a thousand pieces, yet there was an undeniable aura of power emanating from the small artifact. As she gingerly held the rounded crystal up to the light, it seemed to respond to her touch with a quiet, almost imperceptible click.

The sight of the tiny scepter filled Shadow Weaver with a whirlwind of emotions. Fractured flashes of her earliest memories and fragments of her mysterious heritage flooded her mind. She knew, without a doubt, that this scepter held more significance than a mere trinket; it must carry a profound and enigmatic history.

Her thoughts drifted back to Mystacor, where she had spent her formative years studying under the watchful eyes of skilled enchanters. The memories were bittersweet, a mixture of wonder and longing for the respect she once held.

The soft glow of the rose quartz seemed to dance under her touch, and she couldn't help but wonder about its origins. Who had crafted such an exquisite piece, and for what purpose? What secrets did it hold, and how had it come to be in her possession? The questions swirled around her mind, leaving her both intrigued and unsettled.

As she gently wrapped the cloth back around the scepter and carefully placed it back into the box, she couldn't shake the feeling that her past and her destiny were intricately entwined with this ancient artifact. It was as if the tiny scepter held a key to unlocking the mysteries of her identity and the powers she had yet to fully comprehend.

Angella's curiosity was piqued as she entered the War Room, instantly captivated by a heavenly aroma that filled the air. Setting down the dessert container she carried, she couldn't help but inquire, "What is that wonderful smell?" 

"It is white tea," Shadow Weaver replied. 

With a graceful motion, she carefully returned the teapot to its saucer, gently sliding a filled mug in front of Angella's chair. As Angella peered into her mug, delicate tendrils of steam wafting toward her, she couldn't help but inhale deeply. A hint of sweetness danced in her senses, intriguing her further. 

"You've already added sugar for me?" Angella asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

Shadow Weaver shook her head slightly. "White tea should only be served with a teaspoon of honey if it must be sweetened," she explained.

Angella nodded but her hand hovered near the wooden honey spoon. Before she could reach for it, Shadow Weaver gently smacked her hand, halting her motion. 

"This is a rare tea," Shadow Weaver admonished. "Do try and enjoy it in its purest form."

Intrigued by Shadow Weaver's words, Angella glanced at the tea in her mug, noticing its opaque appearance. She raised an eyebrow, curious about the unique characteristics of white tea.

"It looks almost clear," Angella remarked, “How much flavor could it have?” 

Shadow Weaver finished her sip of tea before speaking. "White tea is known to be one of the most delicate tea varieties because it is processed minimally. It is harvested before the tea plant's leaves open fully, capturing the essence of freshness."

Angella lifted the mug to her lips, taking a careful sip, allowing the flavors to envelop her senses. The subtle sweetness mingled with the floral bitterness, creating a moment of serene indulgence.

Shadow Weaver gestured to the container sitting on the table. "What did you bring?" 

"The chef made a spice cake for us today." Angella deftly cut two perfect slices of cake and delicately placed them on small saucers. 

The scent of the freshly baked spice cake filled the room, its warm and inviting scent wafting through the air. Shadow Weaver savored the beautifully plated slices of food before her, taking a moment to admire their presentation. Each bite was a delight to her senses, and she couldn't help but appreciate the culinary skills of the Bright Moon kitchen staff.

The cake itself was a masterpiece of culinary delight, moist, dense, and rich in flavor. Each bite was a harmonious blend of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves that danced upon the taste buds.

But it wasn't just the cake that delighted the senses; it was the luscious cream cheese frosting that adorned the top. There was an expertly spread of a generous layer of tangy, creamy goodness, creating a perfect balance to the sweetness of the cake. 

As she enjoyed her meal, a red warning light suddenly flashed, indicating an incoming communication. The holographic face of Entrapta appeared on the screen, greeting her with an enthusiastic "Hi!"

"Entrapta, what is the meaning of this interruption?" Shadow Weaver demanded.

"Hordak needed to speak with you urgently, and this was the quickest way," Entrapta explained, her excitement undeterred by Shadow Weaver's tone.

"Sending a missive or a video message wouldn't have sufficed," Angella chimed in.

The camera angle shifted, and Hordak himself came into view. "Queen Angella, surely there are no secrets between us?"

Angella's smile remained composed, though a hint of sarcasm tinged her response. "No secrets at all, Lord Hordak. However, Bright Moon should have open communication with your systems to avoid the need for Entrapta to hack in."

Hordak seemed unfazed by the suggestion and continued. "I would like to personally invite you to the Fright Zone tomorrow to finalize and sign the Peace Treaty. We will sign it in Horror Hall in honor of the treaty origins." 

Angella maintained her professional demeanor. "We would be honored to attend."

Hordak shifted the topic, inquiring about the wedding preparations. Shadow Weaver answered, "Nearing completion, Lord Hordak. Invitations will be sent by the end of next week."

"Excellent," Hordak replied smoothly, his sharp gaze never wavering from the two women. "What a glorious union we have forged."

With that, the transmission abruptly ended, leaving Shadow Weaver and Angella to exchange glances. The tension in the room lingered, and Shadow Weaver knew there was more to Hordak's message than he let on. She couldn't shake the feeling that Hordak's eyes were tracking their interactions, gauging their comfort with each other. She wondered if Catra, who had likely volunteered irrelevant information, had followed through on her threat and informed him about her growing closeness with Angella.

Shadow Weaver's fingers danced gracefully across the surface of the War Table as she harnessed her magic to create a protective seal, ensuring that their conversation would remain concealed from prying ears. 

"The Princess Alliance will be arriving shortly," Angella protested, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Do not worry," Shadow Weaver assured her, "This spell won't hinder the functionality of the War Room. It simply ensures that our words won't be overheard by anyone else."

Exhaling a sigh of frustration, Angella pinched the bridge of her nose. "Bringing foreign monarchs into the heart of enemy territory," she said sarcastically, "truly a new wedding tradition."

"Hordak seeks to unsettle you, no doubt to expose you to the overwhelming power of the Horde and the ‘sheer terror’ that permeates the Fright Zone." Shadow Weaver’s voice was firm and resolute. "Don't let him." 

The very notion of traveling to the Fright Zone stirred a complex mix of emotions within her—a blend of apprehension, dread, and a flicker of determination.

It had been many years since she had set foot in that desolate place, well before the Horde's invasion. The Fright Zone, with its sinister atmosphere and formidable defenses, had more recently been transformed into a nightmarish realm where hope withered away, suffocated by fear.

As Angella contemplated the situation, the weight of her past experiences and the potential dangers ahead weighed heavily on her. She knew that stepping foot into that ominous stronghold would require immense courage and unwavering resolve.

Angella's expression hardened. "I will not let fear dictate our actions. If Hordak thinks he can unnerve us, then he underestimates the strength of the Rebellion's unity."

“Well said, Your Majesty,” Shadow Weaver agreed.

“How do you propose we get to the Fright Zone?” 

“The simplest way would be to teleport near the boundaries of the territory,” Shadow Weaver suggested. "We would need Glimmer’s abilities."

“Me?” Glimmer laughed, stepping into the room. “Teleport all the way there? I couldn't even get to the edge of the Fright Zone without running out of power. I'm nowhere near strong enough."

The rest of the Princess Alliance entered the room behind her. 

“But I can make you stronger,” Shadow Weaver continued as she took a step closer to Glimmer. She placed a hand on her chest, a flash of power shimmering between her fingertips. “I'm still the only Sorceress who has ever been able to tap into a runestone. If you allow me to access your connection to the Moonstone, I can enhance your powers. You could teleport us all the way there.”

Before Glimmer could respond, Angella interjected, "You will not use Glimmer as a battery for your purposes. I need her to lead Bright Moon until our return."

“Lead Bright Moon?” Confusion and worry flashed across Glimmer's face, and she looked to her mother for answers. "What’s going on, Mom?"

Angella turned to Glimmer, her expression softening. "We need to go to the Fright Zone. Hordak insists we travel to Horror Hall to sign the peace treaty. It's dangerous, and I need you to stay here and ensure Bright Moon remains safe in our absence."

Adora frowned, her instincts screaming that this was a bad idea. "This has to be a trap," she said. "It sounds like something Catra came up with."

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed at the mention of Catra, but she remained composed. "I am not worried about Catra," she replied firmly. "And I have worked with Hordak enough to know that he has no plans beyond his portal."

Mermista chimed in, "Uh, you didn’t seem to know he was gonna do this plan," referring to the impending marriage between Shadow Weaver and Angella.

Glimmer glanced between her mother and Shadow Weaver, trying to weigh the risks.

“Yeah, you don’t know," Frosta joined in with a scowl. "Catra would just try and ruin your visit just like she did at Princess Prom!" she screamed, slamming her hands on the table.

"Frosta," Glimmer groaned. "You gotta let it go."

"Not until I take it out on her face!" Frosta shouted.

"Let's focus everyone," Angella intervened exasperatedly. "No one is taking anything out on anyone's face."

“There is no trap,” Shadow Weaver asserted. “Catra cannot jeopardize her place with Hordak now." 

Glimmer still had doubts. "Is there any other way to get you into the Fright Zone safely?" She asked her mother. 

“I’m not going back into the sewers," Mermista said with a shudder. 

Netossa smirked. "Maybe Perfuma can ask Scorpia to show her around," she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

Spinnerella gave her wife an elbow nudge. “Darling," she said in warning.

Perfuma blushed, scratching her ear. "There’s not enough foliage for me to be of use."

"Wherever there is liquid, Sea Hawk can sail you into the heart of it," proclaimed Sea Hawk, proudly sitting next to Mermista and basking in the attention he expected to receive.

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed to slits as she addressed the room, "Who let this menace attend the meeting?"

All eyes turned to Mermista, who simply shrugged. "We were going the same way."

Ignoring the tension, Sea Hawk continued to boast, now standing on his chair for added drama, "My dearest Mermista and I will sail away during the moonset on our love-" his speech was cut short as a dark cloud of magic suddenly removed him from the room.

Mermista summoned water to her hands, glaring at Shadow Weaver. "What did you do? He was my ride."

"You may pick him up unharmed at the edge of the Whispering Woods," Shadow Weaver replied calmly.

As the tension grew, Bow interjected, "We should consider all options before making a decision. Maybe there's another way to get to the Fright Zone without harming Glimmer or allowing Hordak to take Queen Angella hostage."

"Nothing will happen to Angella," Shadow Weaver asserted confidently, her voice unwavering.

"How can you promise that?" Netossa questioned, her arms folded across her chest in disbelief.

"I don't believe you," Glimmer added, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You could be helping the Horde for all we know."

A hint of frustration crept into Shadow Weaver's voice as she retorted, "You still doubt that I'm trying to save Etheria?"

Glimmer pointed accusingly at the sorceress, her anger evident. "I doubt you're here to help. All you do is ruin people."

Interrupting the tense exchange, Queen Angella spoke with authority, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "Commander Glimmer, you will be appointed as the ruler of Bright Moon during our peace summit to the Fright Zone. Is this a mission you can complete?”

Glimmer scoffed at the notion. “You’re pulling the Commander card?”

Angella held her gaze steady, not backing down. "Can you?"

Glimmer hesitated for a moment before responding firmly, "Yes."

Without further ado, she teleported from the room, leaving Bow and Adora looking at the empty spot she once occupied. Realizing they had not been formally dismissed, they quickly excused themselves and followed after Glimmer.

"Meeting adjourned," Angella said quietly, her gaze now focused on the closed door.

Outside, the Princess Alliance opened the door to find a gasping Sea Hawk, who appeared disheveled as if he had run back.

"The meeting's over, Sea Hawk," Mermista griped, pushing the pirate out of her way. "Let's go."

As the group departed, the tension lingered, and Shadow Weaver remained deep in thought. The dynamics within the Princess Alliance were shifting, and she knew she had to tread carefully to maintain her objectives. Her ultimate goal was to save Etheria, but she also understood that not everyone trusted her intentions.

"Can you get us to the Fright Zone without Glimmer's teleportation?" Angella inquired.

"I can, granted you don't cast the runes incorrectly," Shadow Weaver replied, her mind already calculating the spell.

"We may as well add rune casting to our training regimen then," Angella suggested.

"It would also benefit our main purpose for me to use as little magic as possible while in the Fright Zone." Shadow Weaver stated. 

“From what you told me, Catra would love nothing more than to report to Hordak your recovered magic.”

“Indeed. One of Catra’s many flaws is her need for validation via stepping on others.” Shadow Weaver pressed her hands together and used her magic to float down the hall to the Moonstone chamber. 

“ Her need for validation?” Angella asked. She crossed her arms and watched Shadow Weaver incredulously. 

When Shadow Weaver realized the other woman was no longer following behind her she paused and asked. “What are you looking at?”

"Nothing to concern yourself with. I think I’ve nearly figured out my marriage boon," Angella said, nodding to herself.

Shadow Weaver tilted her head slightly, studying Angella intently. "I will need a crystal I can use as a quill and ample space to work."

Angella crossed her arms. "When did I agree to leave you alone with the Moonstone?"

"Without the necessary tools and space, I cannot proceed," Shadow Weaver retorted, her patience wearing thin.

Angella huffed, her frustration evident. "You could teach me."

"There is no time." Shadow Weaver shook her head firmly. "I hardly have enough hours to write the final incantation for our departure tomorrow, let alone teach you the intricacies of Sorceress gateways."

When it appeared that Angella was going to protest again, Shadow Weaver interrupted her thought. 

"Angella, do you trust me?" 

Angella was taken aback by the rare use of her name by Shadow Weaver, a name she seldom heard from her. Her thoughts wandered back to their earlier discussion, where she had wanted to label their developing connection as friendship, but Shadow Weaver had immediately dismissed any idea of friendliness. 

'Cohabitation' seemed to be the closest term she could use without causing the brunette to shut her out completely. She wanted to explain her reservations, but the truth about Shadow Weaver's past actions couldn't be denied. Their relationship was delicate at the moment, and Angella was carefully navigating through it.

Her gaze followed the tension visible in Shadow Weaver's shoulders and the tight grip of her hands. This was probably as close to cooperation as Shadow Weaver got. There were no traces of sarcasm or snark in her demeanor. She clearly wasn't thrilled about returning to the Fright Zone either and was making an effort to deal with it.

Angella contemplated the question, surprised to realize that, despite their differences, she had grown to rely on and even trust Shadow Weaver with her safety.

With a nod to the waiting Sorceress, Angella quickly signaled a nearby guard and instructed them to gather the necessary items for Shadow Weaver's task. She left the room with a determined expression, her mind occupied with the urgent need for a conversation with her daughter.

Angella knocked gently on Glimmer's bedroom door, her voice filled with concern. "Glimmer? Are you in there?" When there was only frantic whispering and shuffling as a response, she decided to enter the room. She found Adora and Bow already inside.

"Adora, Bow, please excuse us," Angella said, her tone indicating that she needed a private conversation with her daughter. Adora blushed and stammered a response before quickly leaving the room, with Bow following silently behind her.

Once they were alone, Glimmer's anger was evident as she spoke. "Am I allowed to speak now?"

"Of course, you can," Angella replied gently, taking a seat on Glimmer's bed. "I will always listen to your suggestions as my daughter, but as the Commander of the Rebellion, we need to carefully consider our decisions. I can't afford to lose anyone else to the Horde."

Glimmer turned away, facing the wall with frustration. "Before I started taking action, the Rebellion hadn't made any progress in years. You need me."

"I do need you, Glimmer," Angella acknowledged, "but I need you to be a leader, not just someone who rushes into things without thinking. Emotions can cloud our judgment, and I can't risk the safety of Etheria."

Glimmer sat up, throwing her hands in the air. "What's the point then? You'll always be there, telling me what I can and can't do."

Angella frowned, trying to get through to her daughter. "What would you have me do, Glimmer? I try to reach out and trust you, but you never listen. As Queen, I have a responsibility to protect Etheria, and that means making difficult decisions."

Glimmer laughed bitterly. "You want to talk about trust? Why didn't you tell me that Shadow Weaver was Dad's old teacher?"

“I…” Angella was taken aback by the question. "It was a long time ago."

Glimmer's voice cracked as she spoke, her emotions overwhelming her. "Do you think I’m not strong enough?"

Angella stared at her, wide-eyed. She had never seen Glimmer like this. "No, sweetheart. Of course not."

"Then why can't I go to the Fright Zone?" Glimmer demanded. "I can protect you." 

Angella hesitated. It would be so easy to let Glimmer take charge and lead the Rebellion to the Fright Zone but more subtle measures were needed. She shook her head. "Glimmer-"

"Mom, Shadow Weaver is evil. She could be bringing you to an ambush." Glimmer's eyes flashed with determination. "Even Adora agrees with me. Evil people don't change." 

Angella hesitated. "I am aware of the risks, Glimmer, but we must tread carefully. Shadow Weaver has valuable knowledge about the Horde, and I still believe she can be an asset to our cause."

"Shadow is brainwashing you and you're letting her." Glimmer's frustration boiled over, and she blurted out, "Why don't you just go back and have your tea with her since she knows the Horde so well?"

Angella felt her heart ache at the accusation. "Glimmer, I promise you, I am doing everything in my power to protect Etheria. If there was any other way, I would take it."

Glimmer's anger morphed into sadness. "Dad wouldn't like you working with Shadow Weaver."

"Likely not but your father isn't here." 

"Who's fault is that?" Glimmer shot back. 

Angella reared back with a gasp. "Glimmer." 

Glimmer continued. “We have to do something. You would see that if you weren't totally paralyzed by fear of defying her.” Her face fell when she glanced at her mother. "I-I didn't mean that." 

Angella rose to her feet, her face hardening. “I am your queen, and I say we cannot afford to lose anyone else. Either come up with a reasonable plan, Commander Glimmer or stay out of the way.” She said and stormed from the room.

Upon the expansive platform housing the Moonstone, the Princess Alliance had convened. There was a collective sense of tension rendering the atmosphere almost tangible. Each princess's gaze seemed to linger on the space, anticipation, and uncertainty intermingling, all wondering whether the Queen would indeed return from the heart of the Fright Zone.

Bow moved forward. "Queen Angella, are you certain about proceeding with this plan?"

Glimmer, not one to withhold her emotions, chimed in. "Mom, we could strategize and plan an ambush. You don't have to go to the Fright Zone alone with her."

Angella's expression softened as she regarded her daughter. "Glimmer, I appreciate your concern. But there are no other viable options. Bright Moon and all of Etheria need this chance." She turned her attention to the rest of the Princess Alliance, her voice steadier now. "Take care of Bright Moon," she uttered softly, her gaze lingering on Glimmer. Then, louder, she addressed them all. "Take care of each other."

“Quickly now.” Shadow Weaver, standing beneath the Moonstone called out to Angella. "We mustn't provoke a Hordak who believes his time isn't being valued."

With a final look, Angella stepped onto the platform beneath the Moonstone's radiant glow, her resolute stance a testament to her commitment to the perilous task ahead. Shadow Weaver began conjuring a circle of intricate runes, channeling her magical prowess. 

Hollowing out the center of the circle, she held out her hand for Angella to clasp. As their hands connected, a surge of energy washed over the queen, both warm and cold, an amalgamation of her essence blending with Shadow Weaver's dark power. Surprisingly, it didn't feel as ominous as she had feared; instead, it enveloped her in a comforting embrace.

As the magic pulsed through her, Angella's surroundings blurred, and the image of Bright Moon dissolved into darkness. The sensation was both exhilarating and unnerving, and when the magic receded, Angella found herself standing at a considerable distance from the Fright Zone.

"Where are we?" she asked, puzzled.

"Not in the Fright Zone," Shadow Weaver drawled, gaze piercing through Angella.

"Do not take that tone with me," Angella retorted, her patience starting to wane.

"Did you think of another destination as we teleported?" Shadow Weaver inquired.

Angella crossed her arms, trying to recall the moment of teleportation. "No, I did not," she replied, her voice firm.

"Are you certain?" Shadow Weaver pressed, giving her a knowing look.

"I did everything correctly. I didn't want my day to be spent in more unfamiliar locations," Angella replied, glancing at their surroundings. "It appears there's smoke coming from nearby." She pointed westward and started moving in that direction.

Shadow Weaver followed, halting Angella as she grabbed her wrist. "What is it about the Rebellion that makes you all take leave of your senses?" she mused. "I'm beginning to think I should stop consuming the water."

Angella tried to pull her arm back, annoyed by the insinuation. "Let go of me," she demanded. “Bow’s fathers live in the Whispering Woods.” 

"Not until you think," Shadow Weaver replied evenly, gradually loosening her hold. "How can you be certain Bow's fathers live where the smoke originates?"

Pausing for a moment, Angella reconsidered her assumption. "I'll fly over and confirm," she decided, extending her wings.

"And if they are an enemy of Bright Moon? You are not the most conspicuous ruler of Etheria." 

"They could just as easily be an enemy to the Horde," Angella said but closed her wings. 

They ventured deeper into the heart of the mystical forest until they stumbled upon a peculiar sight - a tiny abode seamlessly integrated into the base of a tree. The dwelling appeared to be an organic extension of the ancient forest itself, adorned with climbing ivy and oversized leaves that camouflaged it amidst the wilderness. Instead of a conventional door, a weathered cloth hung at the entrance, worn with age and bearing the marks of time.

As they approached, tendrils of smoke gracefully escaped from a crooked makeshift chimney crafted from an old tree stump, signaling life. The air was thick with an aura of ancient magic and mystery.

In front of the door stood an elderly woman, sweeping the dirt around. She was surrounded by a swirling dance of butterflies and moths. Her large, round glasses perched delicately on the bridge of her nose, granting a glimpse of her kind and gentle eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. A large mane of bushy, silver-gray hair framed her face, creating an aura of mystique.

She was draped in flowing purple robes, adorned with a lime green neck wrap that added a vibrant touch to her attire. The woman's hands sparkled with multiple rings and bangles, each one telling a story of its own, revealing a lifetime of experiences and adventures.

"Mara!" the older woman called out suddenly. Her eyes were seemingly fixed on a point beyond the two visitors. "You've brought friends."

Perplexed, both Shadow Weaver and Angella exchanged a glance, for there was no one else around besides them. 

"Come in, Dearies," the older woman invited warmly, motioning for them to enter. Her hand, however, closed around empty air, and she huffed in exasperation. "Broom? Broom! You know better than to run from Razz."

The two women stepped cautiously into the dwelling, and their eyes widened in awe at what they found inside. The small space was a treasure trove of eclectic objects, magical trinkets, and ancient relics, all arranged in harmonious chaos. The walls seemed to hum with energy, and the air itself felt charged with power.

"Sit. Sit," Razz gestured to the scattered cushions on the floor.

"Madame Razz?" Shadow Weaver questioned, surprised by the encounter.

"You know her?" Angella inquired.

"I've come across her name in my research," Shadow Weaver replied. "Madame Razz is said to be the last known Chronomancer. I always assumed she was no longer alive."

"Time magic?" Angella frowned, puzzled. "That's a myth, isn't it?"

Shadow Weaver nodded. "Much like She-Ra, but she does live in your castle."

"Valid point," Angella conceded.

"Razz enjoyed your wedding! Such a delightful celebration," The older woman chimed in, but her expression turned wistful. "Mara couldn't come. She was too occupied," she added in a hushed tone.

"Our wedding? But that hasn't happened yet," Angella said, her confusion evident. She turned back to Shadow Weaver. "Does Madame Razz possess foreknowledge?"

"In a way, yes. Chronomancers can exist in a state between realities," Shadow Weaver explained. "They perceive everything that has happened and everything that could happen. It can be overwhelming, driving some to madness."

"I'm not mad!" Madame Razz protested, giving Shadow Weaver a playful whack with her broom handle that appeared from nowhere.

Shadow Weaver instinctively clawed at the makeshift weapon, unintentionally leaving deep gouges in the broom's wood.

"Broom!" Madame Razz cried out, cradling the broom as though it were a cherished family member. She then called out to the surrounding trees, "Loo Kee, Broom needs healing." She tossed it on the forest floor. 

Shadow Weaver watched with bewilderment as Madame Razz carried on her conversation with the broom and the unseen entity named Loo Kee. It was clear that the elderly woman's eccentricities were woven into the very fabric of her being.

"So, you can see the past and the future?" Angella asked, attempting to understand Madame Razz's abilities.

"In fragments and glimpses, Dearie," Madame Razz replied, her eyes glimmering with an otherworldly light. "Time is a river, flowing in all directions."

Shadow Weaver couldn't help but feel a sense of awe with a mix of caution around the enigmatic Chronomancer. While her insights could be invaluable, the inherent risks of traversing the currents of time were undeniable.

"Thank you for speaking with us, Madame Razz," Angella said respectfully. "And inviting us into your home."

"Ah, yes, Adora," Madame Razz nodded, her attention already shifting to something beyond the present moment. "Trust in the journey, for even in the darkest of times, the stars shall guide your way." 

With that, Madame Razz hobbled away, her broom back in hand and her mind undoubtedly venturing into realms beyond mortal comprehension.

Angella, still trying to process the mystifying sentence, hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Etheria doesn't have stars," she pointed out.

Their surroundings seemed to shift, and the two women found themselves standing just outside the lifted gate of the Fright Zone. The once imposing metal walls now seemed less foreboding, and the moat surrounding the fortress quietly sloshed in the background.

Angella's eyes widened in amazement. "How did we get here? And so quickly?"

“I’ve never cared for Chronomancers.” Shadow Weaver said, checking herself for injuries. “Unpredictable magic and a life full of solitary breeds Time Madness." 

Angella's nose immediately scrunched. Her senses were assaulted by the pungent, dank smell that permeated the air. The place reeked of decay and desperation, a stark contrast to the serene and lush beauty of her home in Bright Moon. She couldn't help but grimace, wondering, not for the first time, what else Shadow Weaver would drag her into.

Chapter Text

The Fright Zone was an ominous place, home to the tyrannical Hordak and his ruthless Horde. The thought of being surrounded by his loyal and dangerous soldiers sent ice down her spine. It was a grim and foreboding fortress, composed of dusty metal structures that seemed to stretch endlessly into the gloomy horizon. The sight before Angella was nothing short of desolate. The flickering lights overhead cast an eerie glow on the toxic waste pools, creating an unsettling atmosphere.

As Angella stepped forward, her footsteps echoing hollowly against the metal floor, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew that following Shadow Weaver into this treacherous territory was a risk, but she had little choice. The proposed alliance with the Horde had brought them here, on a mission to negotiate and finalize crucial terms and conditions that would benefit the Rebellion. 

Yet, even with a noble purpose in mind, Angella couldn't help but question whether this was a wise decision. But she was a Queen, and her people's safety and well-being were her utmost priority. She had to put aside her own discomfort and fears to ensure a brighter future for Etheria. And if that meant standing in the heart of darkness to secure a better tomorrow, so be it.

Whispers echoed through the hallways as the younger cadets caught sight of Angella, their voices filled with a mixture of awe and curiosity. 

"That's her," one cadet whispered.

"The queen," another marveled, unable to hide their fascination.

"But her eyes aren't red," a confused cadet remarked, questioning the rumors that had circulated about the queen's fearsome gaze.

"I think they only glow when she's angry," another speculated, their imagination running wild with the tales they had heard.

"Quiet!” Another hissed quickly. “Do you want her to hear us?”

"Do you not have other duties to attend to?" Shadow Weaver's voice sliced through the murmurs. It was a rhetorical question, intended to remind them of their place. Sensing the tension in the air, the cadets and soldiers scattered in a flurry of hurried footsteps.

With the disturbance extinguished, Shadow Weaver and Angella continued their journey through the Fright Zone, the oppressive silence of the corridors settling around them once more. Nothing further disrupted their path as they navigated the labyrinthine stronghold, each step bringing them closer to their destination. 

The soldier that was escorting them led the two women to their assigned quarters, opening the door to reveal a simple room. As they stepped inside, the door slid shut behind them, locking with a hiss. Shadow Weaver heard the keypad outside, confirming that she was now confined within these walls until the designated time for dinner.

Her eyes swept across the room, taking in its austere surroundings. The focal point was a modest full-size bed with a small side table, and nearby stood a simple closet. On the opposite side, there was a standing shower and a metal latrine. The room lacked any personal touches or warmth, emphasizing the military precision of the Horde's base.

Angella's voice filled the air, cutting through the silence. "It's quite an interesting experience to be viewed as a monster by beings I've never met," the queen remarked. "What kind of indoctrination have you subjected these children to?"

Shadow Weaver turned to face Angella. "I've recently had a similar encounter," she retorted. "Or have you forgotten the Princesses' continued reaction to my presence?"

Angella's lips pressed into a thin line. "The difference is that you've actually committed all the terrible acts that children should fear you for," she shot back.

Shadow Weaver's hands tightened when she clasped them together, but she maintained her composure. "I have done what I believed was necessary," she replied firmly. "I've heard that couples often have a big fight several years into their relationship," she offered, "Will this be our argument decades from now?"

Angella's expression softened slightly, a flicker of a smile crossing her face before disappearing. "There won't be any decades if we do not survive the Fright Zone," she responded sharply, reminding them both of the urgency of their mission.

Shadow Weaver's ears twitched as she heard a distant rustle in the vents. Excited chirping traveled just outside her field of hearing. Her eyes narrowed. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"Perhaps nothing." Shadow Weaver replied airily. "But we should choose our words carefully during this visit." 

"You don't have to coach me through normal social interactions." 

"You have never dealt with children such as these. Do not presume you are equipped to deal with them." Shadow Weaver pointed out. 

Angella ignored the other woman, looking around the room. "What do you want to do now?" 

"There is nothing to be done as of yet." Shadow Weaver stood to the left of the door frame. "If memory serves, it will soon be supper." 

As if summoned by Shadow Weaver's words, the nameless soldier from before appeared at their door to escort them once more. 

Angella sat on the cold, metallic bench. The dimly lit cafeteria seemed to embody the dreary atmosphere that permeated the Fright Zone. The sight of the mushy ration bar on her tray, devoid of any appealing color or texture, seemed to mock her, taunting her with its unappetizing presence. She couldn't even find herself comforted by Scorpia's cheerful presence.

"It's not much but it's food," Scorpia explained putting her tray down in front of Angella and Shadow Weaver as she sat across from them. 

"You've been keeping up your practice right?" Scorpia asked, taking a bite from her ration bar. She grimaced. "I miss soup." She muttered then continued louder. "I wish I could see your progress." She choked down a larger bite. "Oh! Maybe we could set up a video call so I can-"

"Scorpia, we can arrange those details later." Shadow Weaver stated firmly. 

As Angella contemplated her next move, she could feel the gaze of the soldiers once more bearing down on her. Their eyes, filled with anticipation, awaited her reaction to the dreaded Fright Zone food. Angella could feel their collective scrutiny, adding to the weight of her disillusionment. Angella heard a voice, laced with resignation, offering her a suggestion. 

"It's best if you just take large bites and try not to taste what you're swallowing," Shadow Weaver advised. 

Summoning all her willpower, Angella reluctantly picked up the unappetizing bar, its texture resembling slimy pudding that seemed to ooze between her fingers. She took a large bite as instructed, instantly regretting the decision. The taste, an amalgamation of artificial flavors and chemical additives, assaulted her taste buds, overpowering any hint of real sustenance. It was as if she was ingesting the bitterness of the entire Fright Zone in that single mouthful.

The urge to expel the repugnant mush overwhelmed her, but Angella fought against it, swallowing hard to keep the revulsion at bay. She suppressed her gag reflex, reminding herself that this was the cost of survival in a place where hope had long withered away. She grabbed her water, gulping it down hastily in a desperate attempt to cleanse her palate from the lingering aftertaste of the ration bar.

The incredulity within Angella grew as she pondered the dire circumstances that led to this appalling reality. Looking up at the other women with a mix of shock and disbelief, she voiced her indignation, "You feed this to children !?" 

"They were not alone in this," Shadow Weaver reminded her. "I ate it as well." Her admission revealed the shared suffering, the interconnectedness of despair that bound them all in this heart-wrenching existence.

Before Angella could respond, another ominous presence made itself known. 

Catra approached their table. "Come with me."

Shadow Weaver didn't move. "And why would I accompany you?" 

"Lord Hordak demands your presence," she declared, staring at Shadow Weaver. 

As the Sorceress rose from the metal bench, Angella cast a final glance at her tray, the sight of the discarded ration bar epitomizing the desolation of her surroundings. With hesitant footsteps, Angella stood, preparing to follow Shadow Weaver. 

"Not you," Catra said over her shoulder. "Just the Sorceress." 

Angella glanced back at Scorpia who suddenly found her tray very interesting while the rest of the soldiers watched the exchange in interest. 

She stared at Shadow Weaver's stiffening back. Whatever action the brunette was thinking of taking, she thought better of it and continued following Catra leaving Angella at the mercy of the Horde soldiers. 

Shadow Weaver stepped into Hordak's sanctum. She noticed him standing in the center of the room with his back to her. 

Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes but chose to play her part. She kneeled with her head down. “You requested to speak with me, Lord Hordak?”

Hordak glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. I wish to see how my orders are being carried out.”

“Everything is running smoothly.” Shadow Weaver confirmed, standing to full height. “Our wedding is planned, the invitations will be sent upon our return to Bright Moon.” 

“And Bright Moon?” 

"Bright Moon is all but guaranteed. The Rebellion will fall to the might of the Horde." Shadow Weaver proclaimed. 

"Catra states you are becoming close with Queen Angella." 

Shadow Weaver fought to stop her fist from clenching. She was correct in her assumption of Catra’s report to Hordak. "It would be more efficient if the Queen trusted me. She is delusional and clutching to her Princess ideals. If you would just allow me more-”

"Do not forget yourself, Shadow Weaver,"  Hordak stated coldly, his voice cutting through the air like a razor. The dimly lit chamber echoed with his words, amplifying their impact. "I am giving you a chance to remain a part of my empire. Do not mistake my leniency for mercy." With a flick of his wrist, Hordak adjusted a lever outside the circle, preparing to unleash his punishment.

The moment Hordak pulled the lever, the air in the room seemed to shift. It was as if a vacuum had been activated, the oxygen being mercilessly sucked away. Panic seized Shadow Weaver's chest, and her instinctive reaction was to reach for her mask, a lifeline that she had relied upon countless times before. Gasping for air, she stumbled, falling to the floor, her body wracked with spasms as she fought against the suffocating grip of Hordak's machine.

During her struggle to breathe, the belittling words from Hordak became muffled, distant whispers. The world around her blurred as she clutched her throat, desperately attempting to draw even the slightest amount of air into her lungs. The gauntleted hand of Hordak closed around her collar, yanking her up onto her knees as if to prolong her suffering.

While Hordak continued to threaten her, Shadow Weaver's mind roared with defiance. Hatred and a burning desire for revenge coursed through her veins, tempting her to unleash her power, to obliterate Hordak and reduce his lab and the portal machine to nothing more than ashes. But as tempting as it was to succumb to her vengeful impulses, she knew she had to remain composed, and strategic.

Her thoughts surprisingly turned to Angella, their shared vulnerability in the face of an overwhelmingly adversarial force. Two women standing against an army. No, now was not the time for a reckless attack. She needed to remain subtle, to bide her time and seize the opportunity when it presented itself. Shadow Weaver envisioned a future where she would strip the Fright Zone from Hordak's grasp without landing a single blow on his mockingly pale face.

Struggling to find her voice amidst the suffocating void, Shadow Weaver rasped out her response. "Of course, Lord Hordak," she managed to utter, her voice strained and weak. Her eyelids grew heavy, threatening to close, and her lungs screamed for oxygen. Yet, she pressed on, determined to endure.

"Stick to your mission and forsake all else," Hordak commanded dismissively, his voice carrying a finality that signaled the end of their interaction. With a disdainful gesture, he all but threw her out of the circle, casting her aside like a discarded pawn. "You're dismissed."

As Shadow Weaver distanced herself from Hordak's sanctum, her mind raced in a whirlwind of thoughts. The echoing footsteps of two soldiers followed her. She found herself wondering about Catra. Catra's absence was conspicuous, for she rarely missed an opportunity to revel in Shadow Weaver's suffering. 

But the impending confrontation was still vivid in Shadow Weaver's mind. She had emerged from the ordeal bruised and humiliated, the echoes of pain refusing to dissipate. Yet, amid the suffering, her determination shone even brighter. Her objectives were resolute: to play her role, navigate the dangerous intrigues within Hordak's dominion, and bide her time for the perfect moment to dismantle him from the very core.

Swiftly retracing her steps, Shadow Weaver returned to the cafeteria, only to be greeted by a disquieting tableau. Octavia, embodying her characteristic brutishness, had cornered Angella against the wall. Her presence was intimidating, a stark display of power that intruded upon Angella's personal space. The scene was amplified by the gathering of cadets and soldiers, drawn by the prospect of witnessing violence against the supposed leader of their perceived ‘enemy.’

Octavia's proximity pressed Angella's awareness of her vulnerability. She understood that each moment away from the Moonstone weakened her powers, but this didn't render her defenseless. In a swift and blinding move, a flash erupted directly into Octavia's face. Caught off guard, Octavia's hand instinctively shielded her eyes, a growl of fury slipping from her lips. 

This unexpected diversion granted Angella a precious moment of relief. With Octavia momentarily disoriented, Angella seized the opportunity to catch her breath and regain her composure.

Frustration fueled Octavia's anger, causing her grip on Angella's throat to tighten like unyielding iron, the pressure constricting the delicate skin. Her free hand curled into a menacing fist, poised to deliver a blow that had the potential to shatter bones.

But just as Octavia's knuckles were about to connect, Angella's ears caught a sharp tone that sliced through the tense air like a blade.

“Octavia.” Shadow Weaver's authoritative voice rang out from across the room, the tone carrying an air of command that brooked no defiance. “Step away from her.”

The intensity of Shadow Weaver's command was palpable, causing Octavia to hesitate. Her grip on Angella's throat wavered ever so slightly, and Angella seized the opportunity to gasp for a breath, a desperate gulp of air that fueled her resolve.

“Or what?” Octavia's voice oozed defiance as she took a calculated step closer to Shadow Weaver, now daring to challenge the one who had once wielded formidable power. “Everyone knows you’re powerless. We all saw you get dragged out of the Fright Zone by Catra on her skiff. You can’t do a thing to me.” she chuckled. 

A tense standoff ensued the air electric with uncertainty. Shadow Weaver's silence was a weighty presence, pregnant with unspoken potential. The room seemed to constrict, the clash of these formidable women the very essence of an impending storm.

“I do not." Shadow Weaver confirmed. She pointed at Angella. "However she does. Do you wish to anger the Queen of the Princesses?" 

Octavia glanced back at Angella and paled. Her eyes glowed a bright crimson and her teeth elongated into sharp flesh-ripping fangs. She let go of the winged woman as if burned. 

"Take her," Octavia declared with a shaky scoff before briskly walking out of the room. Left in the wake of this sudden departure, Angella's heart raced, her pulse echoing the tension of the moment.

Shadow Weaver, ever enigmatic, moved to Angella's side, a silent presence offering subtle reassurance amid the tumult.

Angella took a steadying breath, allowing the surge of her emotions to calm. Observing Shadow Weaver's disheveled appearance, a tide of concern etched across her features, she couldn't help but voice her worry. "Thank you," her words were soft, laced with gratitude. "Are you okay?" she inquired, her genuine concern apparent.

Yet, as their eyes met, Shadow Weaver's demeanor seemed to shift. Sudden realization danced in her gaze, a spark of unease ignited by the stare of astonished cadets who had observed their interaction. "I assure you, Angella," her words dripped with a cold edge, a deflection tactic, "I am perfectly fine."

Angella's response was tinged with a note of doubt. "If you say so."

"I am," Shadow Weaver affirmed. A fleeting wish surfaced within her, a desire to possess telekinetic abilities that would allow her to convey the imminent trouble this behavior would breed. "Let us return to our quarters," she snapped curtly.

Two soldiers trailed behind the women, their vigilant presence a silent reminder that they were not free to roam the Fright Zone without surveillance.

Once the door was secured, the room cocooned in a semblance of privacy, Shadow Weaver whirled on Angella. The force of her intensity was palpable, her words sharp. "How could you let that happen?"

The weight of Shadow Weaver's scrutiny bore down on Angella. "Me? You left me behind," she countered, her tone a blend of frustration and vulnerability.

Shadow Weaver's retort was swift, laced with an undercurrent of responsibility. "What was I to do? Hordak demanded my presence." 

"You could have fought for me to be in that meeting," Angella replied. 

"I weighed my options and apparently miscalculated as you do need to be coached through interactions in the Fright Zone. Kindness is a weakness. Ask about my wellness if you must but never in front of those cadets." Shadow Weaver said. 

"They are children." Angella pleaded.

"Feral children." Shadow Weaver countered. A frustration-fueled exhale escaped her. "I gave my word that no harm would come to you."

“I know,” Angella said. 

Shadow Weaver's gaze through her mask intensified, a finger pointing with accusatory precision. "And yet, you did not stay with Scorpia."

"She was called away on an urgent matter," Angella defended her voice holding firm.

"It was a test," Shadow Weaver's voice resonated with a certain knowing, a sense of understanding. She nodded to herself as if confirming a suspicion. "Hordak's test, one that we both failed."

Angella's brow furrowed in contemplation. "They wanted to separate us? But why?"

"To remind us of his power," Shadow Weaver's words were laden with a somber wisdom, the reminder of their place in this intricate web of power and manipulation.

Curiosity ignited Angella's gaze. "What did he say?"

 "I was reminded of my place," Shadow Weaver admitted, her admission heavy. 

"That's not all that happened, is it?" Angella's voice held a quiet intensity, a memory of the profound shift in Shadow Weaver's demeanor upon her return.

"It is not important," Shadow Weaver deflected, her tone an unwavering shield. "You need to understand that using kindness here could endanger you."

Irritation sparked across Angella’s face. “Excuse me for-”

"Stop." Shadow Weaver's hand rose, a silencing gesture. Her attention was drawn to the faint scratching sound resonating through the vent.

Concerned, Angella followed her gaze upwards. "What's going on?"

Shadow Weaver's response was a hissed warning. Her hand covered Angella's mouth, a protective measure against a potential threat. Her senses heightened, and she strained to locate the source of the disturbance. And then, a pause, a suspended moment in which the unknown lingered, waiting to reveal itself.

No sound was incoming and the air above them was once more silent. Angella huffed and shook her head, reminding Shadow Weaver of her hand. 

"You've completely forgotten my instructions," Shadow Weaver's words were a whisper. "No weakness, no kindness, no concern." She concluded as she slowly removed her hand. 

Angella's head shook, her expression resolute. "That's not who I am."

The Sorceress looked into Angella's eyes and realized the position they were in. She began to lean in and she felt rather than heard Angella's breath hitch as they neared each other's faces. 

Shadow Weaver stopped abruptly, pulled away, and straightened. She glanced at Angella, but could no longer meet her gaze. With the air between them still charged, Angella felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. A blush spread from Angella's neck down over her chest.

"I will not always be here to assist you," Shadow Weaver's warning held an air of inevitability.

"I can take care of myself. I was doing just fine before you arrived," Angella boasted, her voice laced with self-assurance. "You saw how frightened everyone was of me."

“Light illusions are simple enough to cast nonverbally,” Shadow Weaver unveiled a hidden truth.

Angella's demeanor seemed to sag as if deflated. "That was you?"

"Indeed." Shadow Weaver's hand shot forward, and an ear-piercing whine echoed above them. The sorceress clenched her fist, causing Hordak's imp to tumble out of the vent cover.

Angella recoiled, staring at the creature that floated before them, engulfed in a cloud of violet magic. "What is that?"

"The other bane of my existence after Catra." Shadow Weaver's finger twirled above the creature's head, conjuring a band of magic that instantly silenced the imp. Another band coiled around its arms, and Shadow Weaver handed it to Angella. "Hold it steady."

A mixture of confusion and concern played across Angella's features. "What are you planning?"

"Wiping its mind." Shadow Weaver's hands shimmered with arcane energy, diving into the imp's consciousness. "Hordak employs this creature for espionage and information gathering," she clarified.

"Are you intending to harm it?"

"While nothing would give me greater satisfaction than discarding it down the compost chute, I have a more playful conversation in mind for it to convey to Hordak."

"Why go through the trouble at all?"

"Sending the imp back empty-handed would raise suspicions."

Angella regarded Shadow Weaver with a skeptical eye. "This isn't your first time doing this."

"It is not," Shadow Weaver affirmed, her voice betraying a hint of weariness. The past held secrets and practices that even the present couldn't erase.

As the day gradually dimmed, the two women found themselves in an oddly uncertain situation. The order for lights out had resounded through the corridors over an hour ago, yet there they were, on the verge of an unfamiliar closeness. Fate had woven their lives together for several months now, but the prospect of sharing a bed remained a terrain neither had traversed before. Shadow Weaver understood that, in different circumstances, such an act might have been a challenge reserved for their wedding night.

Angella's gaze remained unwavering on Shadow Weaver, her mind racing through the implications of this scenario. The act of sharing a bed transcended the diplomatic dealings they had masterfully maneuvered so far. Before she could censor herself, a question escaped her lips, a mix of genuine curiosity and tentative unease lingering in her voice. "When was the last time you shared a bed with someone?"

The response emerged from Shadow Weaver, an answer both unforeseen and haunting in its simplicity. "I haven't."

"You've never shared a bed with anyone at all?" Angella inquired, her surprise evident.

Shadow Weaver inhaled, appreciating the diversion from her contemplation. "It never held importance in the grand scheme of my experiences."

"So, you're saying there's never been an opportunity? Despite your...winning personality? Color me shocked," Angella retorted, her expression dry. "This must be the revelation of the century."

"It's clear that you believe you've cracked the joke of the millennium, so I'll permit you to relish in that sentiment," Shadow Weaver replied, folding her side of the bed's blanket back and waiting for Angella to do the same.

"I am a riot, I know."

"Undoubtedly, your ability to wield competent humor seems to have withered since your primary company has become teenagers."

Angella opened her mouth to retort, but no sound emerged. She grumbled softly and pointed towards the bed. "Just shut up and pick a side."

Shadow Weaver slid beneath the covers and waited for Angella to settle. She felt a hand slip around her waist and instinctively recoiled.

"What do you think you're doing?" The Sorceress demanded. 

"This is perhaps the most minuscule bed I've ever encountered." Angella clutched at Shadow Weaver's robes with determination. "We can't lie back-to-back without injuring my wings."

With a sigh, Shadow Weaver eased back into the warmth, allowing herself to focus on the firmness of the arms enveloping her waist. 

Cuddling. 

She was being embraced, and to her astonishment, she discovered that she didn't entirely object to it.

The hours dragged on in a restless haze for Angella. In the stillness of the room, time seemed to stretch, the darkness offering no solace. Sleeplessness wasn't a new experience for her; she had faced many nights of tossing and turning. Her thoughts were an intricate maze, twisting around concerns and uncertainties.

The room itself was a picture of quiet desolation, a stark contrast to the softness she felt beside her. With her wings protruding from the edge of the blanket, exposed to the biting cold of the Fright Zone, Angella found an odd comfort in the warmth radiating from Shadow Weaver. 

What troubled her most was the undercurrent of unease that gripped her. It was as if at any moment she might be yanked from the bed, and thrown into the clutches of the Horde's prison. Despite Hordak's assurances during their invitation, mistrust gnawed at her. The dilemma lay in trusting Shadow Weaver's intentions; had the former enemy truly joined forces with Bright Moon, or was this a calculated deception?

The door was securely locked, its mechanism familiar to her ears, yet she couldn't shake off the sensation of vulnerability. The quietness of the room should have provided a sense of security, yet it was a reminder of her isolation in this unfamiliar, hostile territory.

She found herself snuggled against her unexpected ally, embracing the irony of the situation. It was a small yet surreal comfort.

Among the challenges Angella faced was the occasional silence that was punctuated by the intrusive clamor of the pipes. Gazing around the dimly lit space, she yearned for a view beyond the cold, metal walls, a glimpse of Etheria's moons to soothe her mind.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Angella hoped that her heavy eyelids would finally surrender to slumber's embrace. However, her peace was short-lived. She was rudely jolted awake, her surroundings initially a blur as her senses struggled to catch up. In the sudden quiet, she became acutely aware of a presence beside her.

The groan escaping from the woman she held jolted her fully awake. Blinking away sleep, Angella braced herself for the likely negative reaction. As Shadow Weaver stirred, Angella watched her with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Suddenly, Shadow Weaver's body convulsed, her movements fueled by some unseen battle in her mind. Angella's heart raced as she shook the other woman, attempting to rouse her from the disturbing dream. The unintelligible sounds that escaped her lips only deepened Angella's concern.

The words "No" and "Stop" tumbled from Shadow Weaver's lips, mingled with anguish. Her desperation was palpable, a haunting reminder of untold horrors. Angella's mind raced, piecing together fragments of possible traumas. An anger she couldn't ignore welled up within her, followed by an unexpected surge of compassion.

It was in the midst of this turmoil that Angella heard an odd sound, akin to gasping hiccups. The realization hit her like a wave crashing against the shore. Shadow Weaver was sobbing. Her enemy, or rather, her former enemy, was crying in her arms.

With an aching heart, Angella pulled Shadow Weaver closer, her fingers tenderly brushing through disheveled hair. Her touch was a reassurance, a silent promise of safety. As her hand rested against the back of Shadow Weaver's neck, Angella's fingertips encountered a dampness that betrayed sweat. The thought of removing the mask crossed her mind, an attempt to ease the woman's breathing, but the potential panic it could trigger held her back.

Instead, Angella held Shadow Weaver closer, offering the simple, unwavering comfort of her presence. 

“You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you.” 

The words she whispered were a balm to both of them, a reminder that despite the darkness of their pasts, they were now on the same side.

The cadence of Shadow Weaver's breath eventually slowed, the tension within her gradually dissipating. In that fragile moment, Angella felt the weight of their shared burdens. Their roles had shifted, their enmity replaced by a complex, unspoken understanding.

As the weight of exhaustion pulled at Angella's eyelids once more, she realized that the struggles of the night had added a new, indelible chapter to the tapestry of their lives. 

With the arrival of the next morning, there was no grand entrance, no triumphant music. It simply rolled in with the gentle light of dawn and a sharp buzzer throughout the Fright Zone. Shadow Weaver was already up and composed for the day's proceedings before Angella had even fully shaken off sleep's grasp. 

"I'll meet you before you are due in Horror Hall. Refrain from engaging with Hordak until I am present as well," Shadow Weaver directed with a tone that brooked no argument.

"You needn't keep instructing me like a novice," Angella retorted, a touch of exasperation threading through her words. "How did you sleep?" she inquired softly, attempting to breach the stoic facade that always cloaked the Sorceress.

"It was sufficient," Shadow Weaver responded briskly, a hint of defensiveness in her tone, and she swiftly departed the room in a cloud of black magic. The vulnerability that had momentarily surfaced vanished, concealed once again beneath the layers of her enigmatic persona.

Shadow Weaver was immensely grateful for having instilled the impulse to marvel at the Black Garnet within the Imp's unconscious mind. Finding herself in her old Runestone chamber, she utilized her magic to seize the Imp before it could dart away from her. Placing her hand on the creature, she compelled it into a deep slumber. Gently lowering the Imp to the floor, the Sorceress positioned it about five paces from her and settled on the ground, folding her legs beneath her.

Her concentration was essential; the energy transfer required for a comprehensive physical illusion demanded her utmost focus. 

During her endeavor, Shadow Weaver felt her form diminish, morphing into that of the Imp. The viewpoint from within its head was surprisingly expansive and lucid, an experience worlds apart from her own fragmented perspective. Scaling the chamber wall, she nimbly propelled herself into the vents, embarking on a journey toward Hordak's inner sanctum.

An inadvertent chitter escaped her as she observed Entrapta and Hordak engaged in restless pacing before an impromptu laboratory. Determined to gain a more detailed insight, she gracefully descended from the vent, landing squarely on a table strewn with parts. 

With a deft movement, she sent the components scattering across the floor, her agile body following suit with a quick chirp. Her panic-induced chitters filled the air as one of Entrapta's tendrils of hair suddenly lifted her into the air.

"You're fascinating," Entrapta mused, her helmet surveying Shadow Weaver's form as it hung suspended.

“Leave it,” Hordak barked. “We have work to do.” 

Entrapta released Shadow Weaver and resumed tinkering with a complex device. Her voice filled the air as she spoke into a small recorder, documenting her progress with a mix of excitement and determination.

"Day 135, this could finally be it," Entrapta exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She carefully handed the recorder to her assistant, another sentient mass of swirling hair, before swiftly moving to a control panel. With a confident spin, she pressed a button, and the machine roared to life.

Shadow Weaver observed in awe as a surge of electric energy swirled around the room, forming a massive bubble. Inside the bubble, fragments of a portal danced and spun, gradually assembling themselves into a cohesive structure. Hordak smirked with satisfaction at the sight.

The jubilant atmosphere quickly turned tense as Entrapta's expression shifted from excitement to alarm. The portal began to destabilize, crackling with dangerous energy. Entrapta rushed forward, her instinct to protect her creation overpowering any concern for her safety.

"Something's wrong! I'm turning it off," Entrapta shouted. 

"No, you fool!" Hordak's voice boomed. He lunged after Entrapta, gripping her arm tightly. "It'll blow!"

In an instant, the machine erupted in a blinding explosion, engulfing the room in a flash of white light. When the brilliance subsided, the aftermath revealed a disheveled scene. Hordak and Entrapta lay sprawled on the floor, both conscious but dazed from the impact.

Entrapta slowly rose to her feet, brushing off the debris that clung to her clothing. She frowned in confusion as she surveyed the wreckage. "This doesn't make sense," she murmured. "It should work. The machine didn't have enough power, so we added First Ones Tech. Then, it was blowing out the power grid, so we rerouted it. Now it's powered, it's functioning, but it won't activate a portal. It's like there's a key. Maybe when Catra brings that tech back from the Crimson Waste-"

Hordak's dark and bitter laugh cut through the air, interrupting her words with its cynical edge. "I'm not entertaining any expectations of Catra's return from that futile mission," he sneered, his growing frustration coloring his words. "The machine is a resounding failure. We have no more business here. Leave."

Entrapta's eyes widened in protest, her determination showing in every line of her face. "But that was just our first test. If we were to make a few adjustments-"

Hordak's abrupt turn, his tone dripping with authority, shut her down with a sharp snap. "I've already stated our course. We're finished," he retorted, his dismissive posture ending any potential for further discourse.

As Entrapta was guided out of the room by a hovering sky bot, her loyal companion Emily trailing behind, Hordak's frustration was evident as he pounded his fist against the remnants of the control panel. Entrapta cast a final sorrowful look back at him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and lingering hope before the door sealed her off from the chamber.

Meanwhile, Shadow Weaver glided to the wreckage of the portal. The combined intellect of Entrapta and Hordak had brought them tantalizingly close to success, more progress than she had initially predicted. In a calculated move, she allowed a surge of chaotic energy to sweep over the debris-laden floor, her magic depleting with each flicker of her spell. With a sense of urgency, she withdrew, the resonance of Hordak's gauntlet echoing in her ears. The time had come to return to Angella.

Navigating the hidden passages through the ventilation system, she moved swiftly and seamlessly. Her transformation from her altered appearance to her original self was smooth and practiced. Yet, before she departed, her gaze lingered over the Black Garnet, the enigmatic gem that held both power and promise within its depths.

The Black Garnet stood proudly atop its intricately carved stand, its dark, lustrous surface glimmering with an ominous allure. The very air surrounding it seemed to hold a sense of unease as if whispering secrets that only the bravest would dare to uncover. Shadow Weaver approached the ancient gem with a mixture of fascination and trepidation.

As she studied the Black Garnet, her eyes took in every detail of the machinery, the intricate wiring, and the delicate tubes that intertwined with its surface. Clicking her tongue disapprovingly, she could sense that something was amiss. Her restless hands tingled with an irresistible urge to touch the enigmatic gem, to unlock the secrets it held within.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Shadow Weaver cautiously extended her hands and pressed them against the smooth surface of the Black Garnet. The moment her skin made contact with its cold exterior, a surge of energy coursed through her veins. She willingly infused her magic into the Runestone, surrendering a part of herself to its ancient power.

But instead of the expected symbiotic connection, the Black Garnet's response was vicious and unforgiving. Dark electricity crackled and snaked its way through the veins of the gem, intertwining with Shadow Weaver's power. The once-familiar energy now turned against her, latching onto the core of her abilities with a malevolence.

A low groan escaped her lips as every cell within her body seemed to tremble in place. Agony, sharp and consuming, engulfed her being. Her vision blurred and swirled, distorted by the unbearable pain that tore through her like a relentless storm. With a roar of anguish, her consciousness surrendered to the overwhelming darkness, and her world dissolved into a blinding void.

Minutes later, or so it seemed, Shadow Weaver abruptly gasped, her eyes shooting open as if pulled from a haunting nightmare. Her body jerked upright, a cold sweat clinging to her brow. Disoriented, she surveyed her surroundings within the dimly lit chamber that housed the enigmatic Black Garnet. 

Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on her senses, and a sense of profound unease settled in her bones. Gradually, the room she shared with Angella came back into focus, the familiarity of her surroundings offering a slight comfort amid the disarray of her thoughts.

Shadow Weaver's temples throbbed, and it felt as though the pressure at the back of her eyes was akin to a vice slowly tightening. A persistent itch began to form at the back of her throat, an irritating sensation that only added to her sense of disquiet.

"Where were you?" Angella's voice was sharp with accusation.

"Not now, Your Majesty," Shadow Weaver managed, her voice husky from the ordeal. Her throat felt raw, as though the words themselves were born from the very agony that had consumed her.

"I will explain later," she added, her words a strained promise that hung in the air, the implication clear that there were depths to this situation that went beyond immediate explanation.

The door to the chamber creaked open, and a small squadron of soldiers entered, their footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Shadow Weaver's gaze flicked over the faces of the soldiers. In this tension, Hordak strode into the room, his presence oozing with an air of disdain that seemed to suffocate the very atmosphere. His gaze swept over the two women with a mixture of condescension and something more inscrutable, before he turned and strode from the room.

Scorpia's family throne room lay before them, a space that had been abandoned for some time. Despite the Horde's efforts to clean it up, the graffiti sprayed across the royal Scorpion crest still marked the walls, a reminder of the room's neglect.

Outside, machinery hummed with an almost eerie resonance, echoing in the background. The pools of toxic sludge that bordered the area remained still, their noxious depths held at bay by containment barrels. Against this industrial backdrop, Shadow Weaver and Angella stepped into a dilapidated building, the creaking of the door the only interruption in the silence.

"Welcome to Horror Hall!" Scorpia's voice resonated, her arms open wide as if embracing the faded grandeur around her. She let out a chuckle, her memories bringing a touch of nostalgia. "I used to sneak down here to hide when I was a kid. Yeah…" Her gaze drifted to the murals, each one telling its own story. "Oh! Check out these guys! That's Pointy, and over there is Captain Pointy. And this here, with all the drama, is the widow Madame Pointessa.”

Beside Scorpia, Emily emitted a beep, almost like she was offering her form of appreciation for the trip down memory lane.

"Thank you, Scorpia," Hordak's voice reverberated, his tone both commanding and dismissive as it cut through Scorpia's enthusiasm. His gaze shifted, focusing on Shadow Weaver and Angella. "We are here to forge an alliance between the Horde and Bright Moon," his voice proclaimed. "Catra, the scroll if you would." 

Catra presented the scroll and took her place next to Hordak. Scorpia's beaming expression shifted to one of earnest seriousness, her excitement replaced by a determined resolve. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air growing tense with the anticipation of what was to come.

Shadow Weaver exchanged a glance with Angella. Angella nodded to Hordak, acknowledging his words.

Angella stepped forward, her gaze unwavering as it settled on Hordak. "The time has come for us to put aside our differences," she began, her voice carrying the weight of ages. "The Horde and Bright Moon have seen enough strife. Our territories have suffered, and our people have suffered. It is a testament to our strength that we gather here, not as adversaries, but as leaders who recognize the need for change."

Shadow Weaver's voice joined Angella's with a croak. She cleared her throat and continued to the best of her ability. Each word carried the conviction of a ruler who had witnessed the toll of conflict. "The alliance we forge today will not merely be a pact on paper. It will be a commitment to a shared vision. A vision where our lands prosper side by side, where our people find security, and where the lessons of the past guide us towards a better future."

"There is one other matter," Hordak drawled. "Before we proceed with the peace treaty, there is something I must ask of you, Queen Angella."

Angella's brows furrowed, a mix of curiosity and caution crossing her features. She couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding at Hordak's request. "What is it?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Hordak's mask of stoicism seemed to shift ever so slightly, "An alliance requires trust," he stated. "And trust, as you both know, is not easily given."

"True," Angella replied, her gaze unyielding but now cautious. "Trust can be earned. We can start by honoring this peace treaty, by demonstrating through our actions that we are committed to a new era for Etheria.”

"My thoughts exactly." Hordak leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, calculated tone. "In this show of trust, I request only one more stipulation. I require you to officially declare the former king, Micah, as dead. This will ensure that there is no contest to Shadow Weaver's claim to the throne. I trust this will not be a problem?"

Angella's breath caught in her throat. The request struck her like a physical blow, its implications sinking deep into her heart. To declare her beloved husband dead and forsake his memory in the eyes of her kingdom was a cruel demand. Anger and grief welled up inside her, a tempest of emotions threatening to consume her. She yearned to unleash her powers, to fire a searing light beam into Hordak's smug face, and shatter the fragile peace they had forged. But she knew such actions would only perpetuate the cycle of violence and bring further harm to her people.

Summoning all her strength, Angella suppressed her rage, letting only a glimmer of her anger shine through her gaze. With a tight-lipped smile, she replied, her words laden with restrained fury, "No, Lord Hordak, there is no problem with your request. I will have the decree drafted as soon as I return to Bright Moon."

Hordak's smirk widened, a knowing gleam in his eyes. He was fully aware of the emotional turmoil he had stirred within her. But Angella was determined not to give him the satisfaction of witnessing her true anguish. She would play her part, keep her emotions veiled, and bide her time for a more opportune moment.

"Wonderful," Hordak’s voice dripping with condescension. Hordak's gaze shifted from Angella, and then to Shadow Weaver. The silence that enveloped the room felt like a reflection of the weighty decision he held in his hands. Finally, he nodded a gesture that seemed to resonate throughout the room.

"Let this treaty be a beginning," Hordak spoke, his voice a blend of resolve and a glimmer of something new. "An opportunity for us to rewrite our histories, to chart a course towards peace."

Angella extended her hand, her expression open and sincere. "Then let our signatures on this document mark the first step towards that peace."

As Hordak stepped forward to join Angella, Scorpia, and Shadow Weaver, their signatures became inked symbols of change. In that room, amidst the echoes of the past, a new future was being forged, one that held the promise of unity and shared growth. 

Chapter Text

"You haven't finished your tea," Angella said, setting down the teapot and pausing in her effort to freshen up Shadow Weaver's cup.

Shadow Weaver's gaze shifted slowly to Angella. "I will," she replied, her voice carrying an air of detachment.

Angella continued to watch her closely. "You haven't eaten much either." 

"Perhaps I am simply worried I will not fit into my dress for our upcoming nuptials," Shadow Weaver remarked. 

"My tailor is impeccable." Angella narrowed her eyes. "Even you admitted it." 

"A simple lapse in judgment." Was Shadow Weaver's quick reply. 

Not to be deterred, Angella placed more biscuits on Shadow Weaver's plate. "I don't understand why you won't let our blacksmith measure your mask. I'm certain she can make you a new one before the wedding."

"I will take care of that detail," Shadow Weaver responded enigmatically.

Angella probed further. "Which detail?"

Shadow Weaver hesitated before answering Angella's second concern. "I haven't been hungry."

Angella's frown deepened as she observed Shadow Weaver's demeanor. The sorceress still retained her trademark acerbic and sarcastic tone, but there was an underlying sense of something amiss. It was as if a deep darkness had fallen upon her, making her appear distracted and lethargic. This only added to the growing unease that had settled in the pit of Angella's stomach.

Suddenly, the door swung open without warning, startling both Angella and Shadow Weaver.

“Begging your pardon, your Majesty," Juliet said quickly, her eyes darting nervously behind her.

"Juliet, is something the matter?" Angella asked, her worry growing.

"It appears we've received an answer to our inquiry from Spikeheart," Juliet replied, producing a crude note that looked as though it had been ravaged by destruction.

Shadow Weaver took the rumpled note from Juliet's trembling hand. "How was this delivered?" she asked absentmindedly. 

"Via a large boulder," Juliet said. 

Angella's head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Via what ?"

Juliet nodded, albeit reluctantly. 

"It is typical for Trolls to answer with a feat of strength. Was anyone harmed?" Shadow Weaver asked, her voice quivering.

But Shadow Weaver seemed oblivious to the shock and concern shared by Angella and Juliet. The Sorceress continued to read the rejection and failed to notice their perplexed expressions. The room was now thick with a sense of foreboding, as the unspoken question hung in the air: What could have possibly rattled Shadow Weaver so profoundly?

"No…no one was harmed," Juliet answered after a beat of silence. 

Shadow Weaver hummed softly. "Count yourselves lucky. It was a young Troll. A more mature specimen would have...uh," she began but abruptly cleared her throat, her eyes narrowed. She shuddered involuntarily.

“Are you certain you’re okay?” Angella's concern was evident in her voice as she watched Shadow Weaver closely.

“Your Majesty, not now," Shadow Weaver whispered, her voice trembling as she stood. She needed to leave the room. She couldn't quite make out Angella's response. Her vision had started to blur, and the world around her felt distant, like the view through hazy water. 

Was Angella still talking to her?

It was difficult to tell, and then it became irrelevant as Shadow Weaver's body gave way to the overwhelming strain. Swiftly, like a candle snuffed by the wind, she lost consciousness, her body collapsing onto the floor.

Shadow Weaver stirred, a shroud of grogginess enveloping her senses. Fingers poked her sides, tugging at her clothing. An intrusion that her instinctive magic responded to with a surge of defensive power, attacking the perceived threats around her.

Angella swiftly unfurled her majestic wings, using them as a barrier against the torrent of magic. Castaspella was sent sliding across the floor, while the General was forcefully tossed, landing against a sturdy pillar with a heavy thud.

"Juliet!" Angella's voice rang out, piercing through the cacophony of magic and wind. "Castaspella!"

"Your majesty." Juliet struggled to her feet, a pained expression etched across her face as she clutched her side. She leaned on Castaspella for support, offering her a grateful smile.

"We can't assist her with her magic in this state," Castaspella observed, her eyes locked on the orb of electrified dark magic that continued to consume the room.

At that moment, She-Ra and Glimmer materialized in the room.

"What can I do to help?" She-Ra inquired, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene. "And what happened here?"

"She fainted after we shared tea," Angella explained, her gaze fixed on Shadow Weaver's unconscious form, which lay amid the turbulent magic. "I knew she wasn't eating properly, and suspected she might not be eating at all but I had no idea it had become this severe."

"What are you saying?" She-Ra caught an errant chair as it was hurtling through the air towards the group. "Is she…" the blonde frowned as a sneeze sounded from the Sorceress. "She's sick!? I've never seen Shadow Weaver sick before." She finished, placing the chair on the floor. 

Juliet's expression was one of reluctant concern as she broached the solution. Cradling her helmet under her arm, she hesitated before speaking. "Your majesty, we might need to consider more drastic measures to put an end to this," she said, her gaze locking onto the queen's. “You may need to smite her.”

Angella's eyes widened with a mixture of apprehension and guilt as she shook her head. "I can't bring myself to do that to her."

Glimmer, battling the ongoing magical onslaught asked. "Wait, Mom, you know how to stop her?"

Angella admitted, her voice heavy, "Yes, I do. But it's too much. It would be like robbing her of her agency."

The urgency of the situation was underlined by Castaspella's impassioned plea. "Her magic could destroy Bright Moon!"

Juliet, in a softer voice, added, "And she's harming herself just as much as the castle."

Angella fell into a contemplative silence, her gaze distant as she grappled with a difficult decision. After a moment, she straightened her posture, a resolute look in her eyes. "Everyone, out," she said quietly but firmly.

She-Ra stepped forward, concern etched across her features. "Queen Angella, are you sure you should be alone with her?"

"Mom, I don't think this is a good idea either," Glimmer chimed in.

Bow, arriving just in time to witness the tension in the room, reached for his quiver, ready for action. "I came as soon as I heard. Whoa! What happened?" he inquired. 

"Out!" Angella's voice resounded with authority as her wings once again extended to their full span behind her. 

The group jumped, startled by her sudden command, and quickly shuffled out of the room. The door closed behind them with a sharp click, leaving the queen to confront the choice she had just made.

As Angella cautiously approached Shadow Weaver, she felt a sense of trepidation wash over her. She had to steady her racing heart before she could focus her magic on creating a protective barrier of light. The shimmering wall hovered between them, ready to shield her from whatever danger might arise.

She observed Shadow Weaver with a mix of curiosity and concern. The sorceress was enveloped in a dark, swirling aura of magic that sent shivers down Angella's spine. It was an eerie sight, reminiscent of the strange occurrences she had witnessed when Glimmer's powers had gone haywire.

"What have you done to yourself?" Angella's voice held a note of deep concern, her brow furrowed. She couldn't fathom how anyone could willingly subject themselves to such dark and unpredictable magic.

As she approached, her footsteps soft against the cold marble floor, it seemed as though the magic surrounding Shadow Weaver reacted to Angella's question, pausing for a moment as if contemplating a response before resuming its ominous dance.

Unwavering in her determination, Angella continued her cautious approach, her eyes locked onto the inky tendrils that writhed from Shadow Weaver's form, only to disappear harmlessly into the ground. 

"Shadow Weaver?" she called out. She desperately hoped to find some semblance of the Sorceress beneath this foreboding exterior.

Inching closer, she carefully navigated the magical barrier. Her hand gingerly breached its boundary, and she immediately recoiled. The magic felt warm and viscous, like reaching into a pool of boiling algae. 

With trepidation, Angella watched as the magic in front of her calmed and dispersed, revealing Shadow Weaver's form. She took a deep breath and tentatively reached a hand to tap at Shadow Weaver's shoulder. The moment her fingers made contact, the brunette started to thrash once more.

"You have to calm down. You're not in any danger," Angella reassured, attempting to cease the Sorceress's flailing limbs.

Shadow Weaver's head turned toward the winged woman, her voice strained. "Angella?"

"Don't move," Angella instructed firmly, gently guiding Shadow Weaver back onto the bed, her hand resting on her shoulder. "You fainted," she explained, her brows knitting with concern.

Shadow Weaver seemed to take this news with an eerie calmness as if fainting spells were a part of her life far too familiar to be shocked by.

"When were you planning to tell me that you were unwell?" Angella's arms crossed, her glare sharp.

"I wasn't," Shadow Weaver croaked out.

Angella's glare intensified. "Do you believe I don't care for yo- your well-being?"

Shadow Weaver either missed the subtle hesitation in Angella's words or chose to ignore it as she replied, "This wasn't something you could assist me with."

"Well, I'm going to assist you now," Angella asserted, holding up a plain beige nightdress for Shadow Weaver.

"I don't need this," Shadow Weaver protested, pushing the offered clothing away.

Angella issued a challenge, her voice unwavering. "If you can make it to the bathroom and back without incident, I'll stop pestering you about your health."

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed at the hint of a dare in Angella's tone. She cast aside the blanket covering her and suppressed the shiver that raced through her frame.

Suddenly, the room spun around Shadow Weaver. She stumbled on her feet, teetering dangerously until a pair of strong arms caught her.

"I am fine," the Sorceress snapped, attempting to wrest her arms from Angella's grasp.

"No, you are not," Angella responded, holding tight. "I thought we were past this," she continued, guiding the brunette toward the bathroom. "Let me help you," Angella implored softly.

Shadow Weaver didn't respond verbally. Instead, she reached out for the nightdress and proceeded into the bathroom, a solitary figure trying to conceal her vulnerability.

Shadow Weaver snapped awake, jolted from her slumber by an inexplicable restlessness.

As she stirred, Angella, who had been keeping a silent vigil, rushed to her side, concern etched on her face. "What's wrong?"

The Sorceress blinked and turned her gaze to the window, the dimming moonlight outside catching her attention. "How long have I been asleep?"

Angella's voice was soft and soothing as she answered, "You've been resting for about a day and a half."

Shadow Weaver's eyes widened, and a sense of urgency prickled at her skin. "How could you let me sleep for that long?" She tossed the blanket aside and made an effort to sit up. "There's so much to be done."

An unanticipated chill gripped the Sorceress, causing her to clutch the blanket around her body. Her hair floated as if stirred by an unseen breeze. "Where are my robes?"

Angella gently, yet firmly, pushed her back down. "Forget about your robes for now," she said. "Your body needs rest."

Shadow Weaver extended a trembling hand, her fingers barely under her command. "My robes."

"They're being laundered," Angella replied with a calm that bordered on exasperation. "I can't predict when they'll be dry."

Shadow Weaver's frustration swelled. "You've had a day and a half to clean my robes or have new ones tailored, and you've failed to do so?"

Angella's response was almost nonchalant. "Imagine that. You're welcome to borrow some of my clothing, though I'm not sure you can pull off coral pink."

Shadow Weaver sniffed and tilted her head. "Not to mention that your clothing would be like a tent on me."

"I'm not going to allow you to continue commenting on my weight," Angella retorted. She started to turn away as if preparing to storm off, but Shadow Weaver's voice halted her.

"I didn't say it was an unattractive feature," Shadow Weaver admitted.

"You find my curvier figure appealing?" Angella asked, a faint, affectionate smile touching her lips. She scoffed suddenly, turning away. "Don’t try to distract me. You'll stay right here until you're fully healed."

"I have to-"

"All you have to do is sit there." Angella cut Shadow Weaver off. "I insist." The queen smiled. "Although if you want company, Adora has been waiting to see you if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I am feeling ready to get dressed and continue our plans.”

“As your fiancé, you are staying in bed until you no longer have a fever and can stand on your own,” Angella informed the Sorceress. She made her way out of the room. “I’ll return with some breakfast.” 

“Angella!” Shadow Weaver called out. 

Adora peeked her head around the door tentatively once Angella opened the door. “Shadow Weaver?”

“Adora, I assume I have She-Ra to thank for depositing me on the bed.”

“Me?” Adora shook her head. “Oh no, Queen Angella brought you here. She’s been taking care of you the whole time.”

“That’s no matter. I need you to heal me.” Shadow Weaver said. “We cannot afford to put off any more wedding plans nor Horde countermeasures.”

“Heal you?”

“You remember my lesson, correct?" ShadowWeaver asked. She continued after Adora nodded, "Retrieve your sword.”

Adora pulled the sword from her back. “For the Honor of Grayskull!” She-Ra lowered the sword and waited.

Shadow Weaver seized as red energy pulsed across her skin. Plumes of dark magic leeched from her and to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” She-Ra rushed to Shadow Weaver’s bedside. 

“I am fine.” Shadow Weaver wheezed.

“If you're sure?” She-Ra asked.

She-Ra blew out a breath and closed her eyes once more. She leaned forward and held Shadow Weaver’s face infusing the healing magic throughout her.

The older woman gasped, overwhelmed by the surging magic of Etheria coursing through her. The Spell of Obtainment, an arcane force residing within her, leaped hungrily towards the pure light, siphoning it and converting the remnants into energy to mend her battered body. A warm, golden aura enveloped her from within, knitting together strained muscles and soothing weary joints.

"I told you to rest," Angella's voice, laced with anger, pierced through the room as she flung the door open.

Adora, now spent from channeling her powers to heal Shadow Weaver, staggered backward, her strength waning.

Angella dropped a tray of food in shock and rushed to Adora's side. "What has happened?"

Adora, exhausted, managed to respond, "I healed Shadow Weaver."

"You instructed her to heal you?" Angella's accusing gaze shifted to the brunette. "You were supposed to rest. Do you comprehend the gravity of what you've done?"

Adora’s eyes closed and she went limp in Angella’s arms.

Shadow Weaver, now on her feet, her body cloaked in dark magic, dressed in fresh robes. "Adora will recover, but she will require triple her usual caloric intake and a brief respite," Shadow Weaver interjected.

Angella protested, "Why couldn't you have healed conventionally?"

"I am incapable of healing conventionally. Ever since the Spell of Obtainment, I must draw energy from external sources to perform magic," Shadow Weaver clarified, floating closer to Adora. "I cannot be certain that I would have healed in time for our wedding, or even at all."

Angella insisted, "I could have healed you."

Shadow Weaver bristled. "As I've just explained, my magic functions differently from yours or Glimmer's."

"I don't care," Angella retorted as she lifted Adora in her arms. "Just as we need to understand our own limits, you should also recognize yours. You constantly take from Adora. It would be refreshing if, for once, you could give something back to her."

Shadow Weaver moved to block the queen's path. "I can take Adora to her room."

Angella stood her ground. "You've already done enough. All you do is take and take from her. I would appreciate it if you could find it within yourself to do something for her, just this once."

"Angella, there isn't time for coddling. A war looms, and we-"

"Are you absolutely certain that the only war we're engaged in is the one on the battlefield?" Angella challenged. "We have internal strife and hidden agendas. No one believes this union will succeed."

"Including you?" Shadow Weaver asked.

Angella opened her mouth to respond, but a tired groan from Adora broke her train of thought. "We'll address this later."

"I shall meet you in the War Room," Shadow Weaver announced.

Angella's tone was resolute. "I won't be available."

With those unwavering words, Angella left the room, her departure hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. Shadow Weaver stood in the silence, her gaze fixed on the closed door. She felt a peculiar twinge inside, a sensation she couldn't easily dismiss. It wasn't the first time she had faced criticism for her lack of emotional reactions and her unwavering determination. However, this instance felt different, and she couldn't quite pinpoint why. Maybe it was because this time, Adora's well-being was at stake.

But she quickly dismissed that thought. She knew, with utmost confidence, that her approach to Adora's recovery was the right one. The young woman would be back on her feet within hours, thanks to her magic. It had been necessary to draw a substantial amount from Adora, but she was She-Ra, and Etheria had an abundance of magic to spare. Shadow Weaver clenched her fist, turning away from the door. She realized she was, in a way, trying to justify her actions, and that troubled her.

She shook her head. Why was she defending her choices? It was uncharacteristic of her to question her decisions in this manner.

Perhaps, she pondered, it was the pervasive influence of Bright Moon and their relentlessly cheerful dispositions. She'd noticed herself straying from the laser-like focus she once had, the focus that enabled her to efficiently pursue her goals. Angella, it seemed, couldn't comprehend the grand scheme of things, the sacrifices Shadow Weaver was willing to make to save Etheria.

Shadow Weaver was determined to make Angella see the bigger picture. The Rebellion, with their unwavering optimism, needed to understand that they were in over their heads. It was time for Angella to grasp the true motivation behind her actions and the sacrifice she was making.

Angella's steps made no sound as she made her way into the greenhouse. Her gaze was unwavering, locked onto Shadow Weaver, who, with the utmost care, was repotting delicate ferns into larger containers. The air within the greenhouse seemed to hold its breath, an unspoken tension simmering between them.

The vibrant foliage that surrounded them stood as a stark contrast to the silence that filled the space. It was heavy with unspoken words. 

Finally, Angella broke the silence. "What are our plans for tonight?"

Shadow Weaver halted her work and turned to face Angella, her tone inscrutable. “You received my invitation."

Angella nodded. "I saw the event marked on my calendar. It simply said I have an outing to complete."

"Meet me here at dusk, and wear comfortable shoes," Shadow Weaver instructed, her tone as enigmatic as ever.

Angella raised an eyebrow. "You won't reveal any more details?"

"Not a one," Shadow Weaver affirmed, her point emphasized by a crisp snip of her pruning shears.

As dusk descended, Angella found herself donning well-worn boots and heading back to the greenhouse. Shadow Weaver stood at the entrance, a shroud of secrecy surrounding her.

"Where are we going?" Angella asked, her curiosity piqued as Shadow Weaver gestured for her to follow.

"To witness the true Etheria," Shadow Weaver cryptically replied before walking toward the mysterious depths of the Whispering Woods.

Angella stood at the forest's edge, torn between the imposing castle they had just departed and the ominous tree line that lay ahead. Doubt gnawed at her, but the allure of uncovering the secrets Shadow Weaver had withheld from her was too powerful to resist. After a deep breath, she summoned her courage and ventured forth, her trust in Shadow Weaver outweighing her trepidation.

"I will not let anything befall you, Angella," Shadow Weaver assured her, extending her hand. Angella clasped it, and together, they delved further into the forest.

The towering Bright Moon castle gradually receded behind them, and the sights and sounds of the kingdom began to fade as if they were moving from the bustling world of Bright Moon into an isolated vacuum. Angella felt a peculiar pressure in her ears, as though the very atmosphere was changing. Shadow Weaver released her hand but continued to lead with confidence.

"Watch your step," Shadow Weaver advised as they navigated a path known only to her.

Eventually, Shadow Weaver came to a halt and gestured beyond a broad, sheltering leaf. Angella peered over the edge and was met with an unexpected sight: animals, large and small, all nestled in slumber. Some were diminutive enough to cradle in her arms, while others dwarfed mountains.

Angella's disappointment was tangible. "You brought me here to watch Terrahogs sleep?"

"Look closer," Shadow Weaver encouraged.

Angella obeyed, her eyes focusing intently. She gasped as her vision adjusted, and her amazement surged. Countless ethereal spheres of light quietly radiated from the animals' skin, sinking into the earth beneath them. The once-dark patches of moss started to glow, and the entire forest transformed. It was as though the trees themselves had borrowed the luminance of Bright Moon.

Angella's initial skepticism slowly dissolved, replaced by a sense of wonder and deep intrigue. She couldn't help but voice her amazement, "What is this?"

Shadow Weaver, her face illuminated with a spark of passion, gestured to the incredible surroundings. "This is the true Etheria. Between the war with the Horde and the Elemental magic of the Princesses, we have a planet that's fighting to sustain itself." She knelt beside a Terrahog and gently pressed her hand against the creature's snout. 

"Everything we've been told about the First Ones is a lie," she explained while reaching for two orbs that floated before her. With a flourish, she passed them to Angella. "It's said that they saved the planet when, in reality, they were mining it for its magic."

Angella cupped the two orbs of magic, feeling their energy pulsate in her hands before they fluttered away. "If you know all this, why haven't you exposed it before today?"

Shadow Weaver sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "I tried," she admitted as she stood. "I brought my concerns to the Head Sorcerer at the time, but he dismissed me. He believed it was better for everyone to think the First Ones were saviors. He even threatened to label me a heretic if I pursued the matter any further."

"I had hoped to visit Mystacor, but Norwyn didn't allow many visitors once the war started."

Shadow Weaver nodded solemnly. "I'm not surprised. He maintained a tight grip on Mystacor during his years in power."

Angella's expression darkened briefly. "Mystacor declined requests for aid many times during the First Princess Alliance. So many years and lives were lost due to their inaction."

Shadow Weaver replied, "I assure you, that was not my intention. I tried to rally the Sorcerer's Guild to my cause but was unsuccessful."

"I'm sure you attempted to rally them with the most rational ideas and non-dramatic arguments," Angella said lightly. 

A glint of light flickered from the eyes of Shadow Weaver’s mask, and Angella recognized it as the moment the brunette was rolling her eyes beneath the mask. “Never you mind that.” 

"I've been told I'm pretty funny, you know." Angella grinned. "In time, perhaps you'll come to appreciate my sense of humor."

"By whom? Your subjects, who you could probably punish at any moment?" Shadow Weaver quipped, her voice dripping with dry humor.

Angella's eyes widened in mild surprise, and then she realized the playful tone. "You're teasing me now, aren't you?"

"Aren't you a smart one," Shadow Weaver cooed mockingly. 

Angella, giving in to her childish impulse, stuck her tongue out at the Sorceress, a rare moment of levity.

Shadow Weaver chose to ignore the playful gesture, instead placing her hand gently on Angella's back and guiding her to a different clearing, one concealed under a shimmering magical dome. On a gingham-patterned blanket lay a delightful spread of fruits, sandwiches, and dainty tea cakes.

Angella's soft gasp of surprise filled the air. "When did you have time to put this together?"

Shadow Weaver, with a trace of mystery in her voice, replied, "You should know by now I am a woman of many talents."

"What if I had eaten already?" Angella inquired.

Shadow Weaver, pouring tea into delicate cups, responded, "I know you tend to eat late when you're going over the reports for the day."

"You noticed that?"

"I'm particularly observant when the subject interests me," Shadow Weaver admitted, her tone softening as she silently motioned to the dish of sugar cubes and the container of milk.

"You have an odd way of complimenting someone," Angella observed. 

"If you desire more flattery, my queen, you need but ask," Shadow Weaver replied with a touch of sincerity, her gaze locking onto Angella's.

"Truly?" Angella playfully batted her eyes at her fiancé. "I'll have just a splash of milk in mine, please."

"When did I agree to serve you?"

"When you proposed to be my wife," Angella replied with a saucy grin.

The queen watched as birds swooped down to the trees and nestled together for the night. It was like literally witnessing the planet power down for a nap, a tranquil serenity she hadn't seen since the war began. She brushed the crumbs off her hands and let out a sigh.

Angella glanced at the brunette. "What do you envision yourself doing if we manage to end this war?"

Shadow Weaver raised her hand, then hesitated. "Angella." She slowly lowered her hand until it rested on top of the queen's. "We will end the war. I give you my vow on that." She withdrew her hand. "After that, I will dedicate myself to being co-ruler of Bright Moon."

"Is that all?"

"What more is there?" Shadow Weaver asked.

"Don't you want to reconnect with Adora? Mend your relationship with Catra? Strive to be a better person?"

"Your majesty, as much as it pains me to admit, I fear I am too old for such significant changes."

"That's the most untrue statement I've ever heard from you." Angella rose to her feet. "You've orchestrated a coup, a wedding, joined a rebellion, and are currently plotting to end a war, all after being a prisoner. Your past few months have been nothing but enormous changes."

"These are skills I've honed over my long life. You're asking me to alter behavior I've cultivated over fifty years. I don't see how—"

"Enough!" Angella snapped. She let out a heavy exhale through her nose. "I know for certain what I want for my marriage boon." She paused, blinking. "You're only fifty?"

"Only fifty? I was the most senior figure in the Horde, and certainly, I am the oldest in this castle."

"I have guards more than double your age. Life expectancy on Etheria seems to reach into the hundreds, and you're not even middle-aged. You have so much life ahead of you. You can start making better choices now."

"I do not follow," Shadow Weaver said.

Angella stated her decision. "You will go to therapy after the wedding."

Shadow Weaver's response was brief but firm. "No."

"You cannot refuse me," Angella insisted. "I did the impossible by securing a pardon for your war crimes. You have no idea how insufferable Castaspella was when I presented my argument on your behalf."

"I do appreciate your efforts, but I will not go to a Mind Healer," Shadow Weaver maintained.

Angella pressed the matter further. "I believe it would be the best thing for you."

"Your majesty, you will forget this ridiculous notion."

"My desire for my spouse to be mentally healthy is not ridiculous," Angella's tone took on a hint of frustration.

"I do not need it."

"Do you believe Adora and Catra might benefit from someone to talk to?"

Shadow Weaver hesitated before reluctantly admitting, "They might."

"How can I convince them it would be beneficial if you don't set the right example?"

"Your majesty, there's simply no time for this."

"Make time for mental health, even if it's just once a week."

"This is an unreasonable request."

"But you need to go."

"This is precisely why the Rebellion has struggled against the Horde – your insistence on coddling weakness instead of embracing strength." Shadow Weaver's hair lifted as she levitated her body to a higher vantage point. "I'd wager you've never visited a Mind Healer yourself."

"I have," Angella confessed in a hushed tone.

Shadow Weaver heard her, and the area fell silent for a moment. "Angella..."

"Glimmer doesn't know," Angella said quickly as she turned her gaze toward Bright Moon, wrapping her arms around herself. "I felt like giving up. Everything came crashing down at once. Micah's death, the dissolution of the Princess Alliance. It felt like fending off the Horde's forces alone. If we didn't have a Mind Healer on staff during the First Alliance... I don't know what I would have done. It's not a sign of weakness to seek help or admit that you're not as put-together as you appear."

"My mind and experiences are too burdensome to place on someone else," Shadow Weaver finally relented. Her objection sounded half-hearted and hollow. "I will consent to one session."

Angella responded with an enigmatic smile. “That’s all I ask.” 

The dress rehearsal had officially commenced, but beneath the façade of cheerful cooperation, tension lingered in the air. The regal gardens of Bright Moon had been meticulously arranged, with rows of chairs awaiting the guests. The final touches of decoration would be added once the rehearsal concluded. 

Yet, even with all the diligent preparations, there was one detail that stood out—Frosta's insistence on crafting ice sculptures to represent absent individuals. Her determination to include those who couldn't be present was unwavering. Under the gentle radiance of the twelve moons, the Princess Alliance, Catra, and Scorpia waited for the mock ceremony to begin with varying levels of enthusiasm.

"Shadow Weaver," Angella greeted with regal composure.

"Your majesty," Shadow Weaver responded, her tone laced with a touch of formality.

"Have you spoken to Adora recently?" Angella asked. 

Shadow Weaver's response was curt, "Why should I?"

"Why indeed?" Angella's gaze shifted meaningfully between the Sorceress and Adora. 

"If you're referring to the incident from the other day, Adora has fully recovered," Shadow Weaver replied, a note of defensiveness in her voice.

"I expect you to apologize to her," Angella told the Sorceress, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Now."

"Your majesty, we are preparing for our wedding rehearsal," Shadow Weaver protested.

Angella raised an elegant eyebrow. "How does that affect your ability to speak?"

Unperturbed, Shadow Weaver strode across the elegant grounds until she was standing in front of Adora. The blonde Princess visibly stiffened as the Sorceress drew near. "Adora."

Adora remained silent, her gaze fixed on Shadow Weaver warily.

"You have healed," Shadow Weaver remarked.

Adora blinked, a bit taken aback. "Yes?"

"It is good to see," Shadow Weaver acknowledged, her words genuine.

Before Adora could reply, Catra smoothly maneuvered herself between the two. "Hey, Adora," she drawled with a mischievous grin.

Adora shot her a slightly annoyed glance. “What do you want, Catra?”

Seizing the opportunity, Shadow Weaver departed, making a quiet exit.

Once Shadow Weaver had put some distance between herself and the group, Angella didn't mince words. "I almost wish my boon was to coach you on how apologies are actually given."

"Catra interrupted us," Shadow Weaver offered by way of explanation.

Angella sighed, her patience wearing thin. "It didn't seem like you were using the brief time you had constructively."

"Adora is strong," Shadow Weaver replied. "She doesn't need my words."

Angella, understanding that this conversation wasn't going any further at the moment, let out a resigned sigh just as Castaspella clapped her hands together, demanding everyone's attention. She stepped forward to address the gathering.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Castaspella began, her voice carrying a sense of authority. "We have all gathered here today for the dress rehearsal of Angella and Shadow Weaver's wedding. This practice is a crucial step in ensuring that everything proceeds flawlessly tomorrow. So, let's begin with a quick rundown of the ceremony."

Castaspella turned to Shadow Weaver and Angella. "First, we'll have the procession. The two of you will meet here at the altar. I'll bind you under the treaty's spell and conduct a Bright Moon handfasting." She turned back to the group. “Places everyone!” 

Each Princess and their escorts stood ready to make their way down the aisle, an air of anticipation and grandeur filling the room.

Angella watched with shimmering eyes as Bow and Glimmer, the picture of grace and elegance, strolled arm in arm up the aisle. At that moment, it felt as though she was witnessing Glimmer's actual wedding, not just a rehearsal for her impending union. She couldn't help but steal a discreet glance at the enigmatic woman standing beside her. If everything unfolded according to her carefully laid plans, she too would one day experience the joy of a real wedding, much like the one unfolding before her.

"Now, let's rehearse the vows and the ring exchange. Angella and Shadow Weaver, please face each other."

Angella nodded to Shadow Weaver. "I vow."

"I do vow mutually," Shadow Weaver replied.

Castaspella couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Very humorous, you two. I hope you've prepared some actual vows?"

"We have." Shadow Weaver confirmed. "Do not work yourself into a tizzy." 

"I am NOT ," Castaspella began with a hint of frustration before taking a deep breath and adopting a more soothing tone. "Next, we'll have the ring exchange and a brief kiss."

Swift Wind knelt, presenting the pillow that cradled the rings. With practiced gestures, Shadow Weaver and Angella mimicked placing the rings on each other's fingers. Angella then leaned in for a gentle peck on Shadow Weaver's mask.

"Next, we'll have the recessional," Castaspella continued. "Following the ceremony, there will be a brief window for photos, and then you'll join your guests for the reception."

“After this, our newly bonded queens will exchange crowns and we will have the procession to the other side of the grounds.”

“Uh, excuse me,” Swift Wind whinnied. “Castaspella, when can I begin my wedding song?”

“Ooh is there a song?” Scorpia asked with a big smile. 

Adora's exasperated groan filled the air as she addressed her incorrigible companion. "Swifty," she sighed, "there's no song, okay?"

"Oh, but there is!" Swift Wind declared with a playful gleam in his eyes, inhaling dramatically as if he were about to launch into song right at that moment.

Shadow Weaver's patience was wearing thin. She leaned in, her tone dripping with a threat. "If you insist on a song, I'll make sure you're magically muted throughout the entire ceremony."

Swift Wind, now realizing the gravity of Shadow Weaver's warning, relented with an annoyed huff. "Fine," he grumbled, narrowing his eyes and snorting in her direction. "No song."

Castaspella released a discreet sigh of relief. The momentary pause in the wedding preparations provided a welcome break. Castaspella began to outline the schedule for the day. "Next, we'll move on to the meal, then the cake-cutting ceremony, and finally, the couple's first dance." Her words conveyed a sense of meticulous planning and organization.

However, Angella had more on her mind. "Aren't you forgetting about the speeches?" she inquired.

"Not to worry, Angella," Castaspella responded with confidence, glancing at her meticulously organized notes, shuffling through several pages as she continued. "I have everything completely under control. There's one critical piece we've omitted: Glimmer's speech."

“Sparkle and public speaking, This I gotta see.” Catra chuckled from her place next to the altar. 

Adora, with an amused smirk, asked, "And what about yours?"

Scorpia started to reply, "Oh, Wildcat is ready. I finished her speech," but she was abruptly stopped by a sharp elbow in the ribs, causing her to wince and rub the sore spot with a claw.

"My speech is done, blondie. That's all you need to know," Catra said with a scowl.

Angella's gaze darted around the garden, seeking out Glimmer, who seemed to be discreetly inching her way toward the exit as if attempting to evade the situation.

Observing her daughter's escape plan, Angella called out, "Glimmer, you told me you turned your speech in."

Glimmer quickly reassured her mother, "Don't worry, Mom. I've got it in my room. I'll be right back." 

Without further ado, Glimmer attempted to teleport away from the gathering. Before she could vanish completely, Castaspella raised her hand, signaling for her to stay. In response, Glimmer reappeared in the room, looking slightly flustered.

"Just one moment," Castaspella requested. "I need to time your speech to ensure it fits seamlessly within the schedule."

Glimmer groaned with a whine, "Aunt Casta, it will be fine."

Castaspella's response was equally determined, "Nothing will be fine if we are off schedule."

"It's a wedding, Castaspella. You can't plan for every contingency.” Angella said exasperatedly. 

“The weather will be delightful," Perfuma chimed in, her voice reassuring.

"I believe the dress rehearsal went splendidly," Shadow Weaver said, raising her voice to restore some order. 

"But there's so much more left to finalize," Castaspella protested.

"I have every confidence that you will resolve everything," Shadow Weaver stated calmly, before she strode gracefully from the garden, effectively declaring the rehearsal's end.

Chapter Text

The wedding was scheduled for late afternoon. The ceremony's timing was deliberate, intended to coincide with what was sure to be a breathtaking dusk as the Moons waned overhead. Shadow Weaver found the symbolism of light being embraced into darkness fitting, but she knew the Moonstone would be the brightest beacon at the reception.

The Sorceress declined to have anyone help her with her preparations. She took a few moments to gaze in awe at the floor-length wedding dress that was made for her. The sheer bodice, which embraced her like a second skin, boasted a daring Sabrina neckline, further accentuated by the elegance of long cape sleeves that flowed over her arms and passed her matching gloves. 

Sequined lace appliqués adorned the dress, their delicate patterns adding a subtle yet enchanting touch of sparkle as they cascaded gracefully down the fit-and-flare skirt. With a sense of reverence, she carefully slipped into the gown, feeling its fabric envelop her in a cocoon of radiance. 

For her hair, Shadow Weaver summoned her magic to craft an exquisite plaited updo. Strands of ebony hair intertwined with an otherworldly grace, forming an intricate pattern that crowned her head like a work of art. 

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she wiped her hand on a napkin and resisted the urge to smooth down the fabric of her dress. Suddenly, a persistent knocking echoed through the door of the room. She was annoyed by the interruption as she called out. 

"It is not time for the wedding. Why must you bother me, Catra?" Shadow Weaver opened the door, only to find no one on the other side. 

She started to lean forward when a voice quickly said out. 

"Don't look. It's me."

Shadow Weaver partially closed the door, leaving just a crack. "It is too late to call the wedding off," She said in greeting.

"It must be exhausting thinking the worst every day," Angella said. 

"One must be prepared for all possibilities." 

Angella sighed. "I'm not leaving you at the altar and I am not calling off the wedding." 

"Angella, you insisted on the tradition that we do not see each other until the ceremony. Why are you here?" Shadow Weaver asked. 

"I wanted to give you a wedding gift," Angella said, extending her arm to present a gift box.

The Sorceress accepted the plain white box, her curiosity instantly piqued. With delicate fingers, she opened it to reveal a masquerade mask, intricately cast in metal. Its design was nothing short of exquisite. Above each eye, an array of 18 crystals sparkled, their size gradually increasing and then decreasing as they curved around the mask. In the center, a large Bright Moon crystal glistened, catching the light.

“You don't have to wear it if you’re not comfortable," Angella explained, her voice soothing. “My tailor assured me it would compliment both of our ensembles.”

Shadow Weaver examined the mask for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I'll think about it,” she replied softly, then closed the door. However, a few seconds later, she reopened it. “Thank you, Angella.”

"You’re welcome, of course," came the queen’s gentle reply.

Shadow Weaver meticulously ensured that not a strand of her hair was out of place and pressed the new mask to her face. It conformed to her features, covering her from forehead to chin. Unsurprisingly, it matched her wedding dress perfectly.

She made her way to the balcony, hidden behind thick curtains, offering her a discreet view of the bustling activity below. Castaspella was working diligently, managing the final details before she had to relinquish control and prepare for her role as the officiant.

Shadow Weaver's gaze trailed over the last-minute servers who scurried to the banquet hall, carrying trays laden with appetizers. She felt a faint flutter of nerves in her stomach at the thought of food but quickly dismissed it. 

Ridiculous. 

She couldn't be nervous . This union wasn't born out of love or affection; it was a marriage of convenience and political power. What they had been working towards had finally arrived and the next part of her plan could come to fruition. Once the day was over, her new title would be Shadow Weaver, Queen of Bright Moon. 

She would only be a queen consort officially, but her influence would extend across all of Etheria, and she would use it to crush Hordak. Taking a steadying breath, Shadow Weaver mentally rehearsed the vows she had crafted, ready for the role she was about to play in this war game.

"Everyone's ready," Catra said from the doorway.

Shadow Weaver just managed not to start from the sudden appearance of Catra. How long had she been lost in her thoughts?  "Do you not know how to knock?" She demanded, turning from the window. 

"You wanna be late for your own wedding?" Catra asked with an eye roll. "I can leave and you can make it there on your own. I won't care."

"It will be to your peril." Shadow Weaver warned.

Catra chuckled. "You can't do anything to me. Hordak can still send you to Beast Island." 

"How pathetic," Shadow Weaver replied with a tilt of her head. "Using others to fight your battles for you." 

"I can handle one old woman but why get my hands dirty?" Catra said with a shrug.

"I have heard you will have to sully your hands and more in the upcoming weeks." 

Catra frowned, glaring at the older woman. "What do you mean by that?" 

Shadow Weaver glanced out the window once more. "It seems everyone has decided this will be the party of the year." She said. 

"What's a party?" Catra asked. 

"It is a social gathering of invited and sometimes non-invited guests. The activities involved are normally dancing, eating, drinking, and other types of entertainment."

"Oh, like Princess Prom." Catra guessed. 

"It's similar but there are fewer rules and etiquette involved."

"Sounds like my kinda place." Catra grinned. She looked away and mumbled to Shadow Weaver, 

"I said your dress is pretty." Catra snapped then lowered her voice. "You look...You look great."

Shadow Weaver flicked her fingers dismissively. "I don't need you to tell me that."

"Forget I said anything." Catra huffed, turning to leave. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

"In the hall, until you're ready to go," Catra said over her shoulder. 

"Catra."

Something in the tone of Shadow Weaver's voice made Catra turn around. "What?" She asked gruffly. 

"You also look quite fetching," Shadow Weaver said as softly as she dared. 

It was the truth. The younger woman did wear her tuxedo well. 

Catra blushed as her ears twitched. With a grumble, she walked backward to avoid looking at the older woman and offered her arm to Shadow Weaver. Shadow Weaver placed her hand into the crook of Catra's arm and waited for their cue.

A soft breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers and whispered through the leaves of the nearby towering trees. The entire realm of Etheria held its breath in anticipation of a union that would mark a momentous step toward peace. The Bright Moon guards formed a protective wall along the garden's edge, keeping excited spectators at bay. This was no ordinary wedding; it was a symbol of unity, a tentative promise of a better future.

A touch of magic transformed the garden into an ethereal wonderland. Along the aisle, where the guests would soon be seated, enchanted pearl candles dangled from tree branches conjured by Perfuma's botanical prowess. Each of these young trees held a touch of their enchantment, adding to the garden's mystical ambiance.

The focal point was an ancient tapestry that ran down the aisle, a living record of all the weddings that had taken place due to the treaty. Shadow Weaver and Angella would soon grace the fabric with their union. The sound of the music was a mix of gentle lute strings and a flute's sweet melodious notes. 

Castaspella materialized at the altar, her skilled hands conjuring a delicate illusion to form an arch overhead. The crowd hushed in anticipation as a majestic sight unfolded. 

Queen Angella glided down from the sky, her wings carrying her with effortless grace. She touched down in the heart of the walkway, and the orchestra transitioned into a lively, elegant melody to mark her arrival.

As Queen Angella took her place at the forefront, her brow furrowed slightly. Everyone had agreed that Glimmer and Bow were the first couple; however now that the time had come, Mermista and Sea Hawk began their journey down the aisle. Bow and Frosta hurriedly joined the procession, positioning themselves behind Netossa and Spinerella. Angella's protest was poised on the tip of her tongue, but it remained unspoken as Bow urgently shook his head.

With remarkable composure, Bow assumed his position next to Netossa, as though it had always been the plan. Angella's searching eyes scanned the gathering, seeking Glimmer but failing to find her. A pang of worry tugged at her heart, and she discreetly bit the inside of her cheek to quell her unease.

The music swelled, and the next pair made their entrance. Perfuma, escorted by Scorpia, strolled down the aisle, scattering fragrant petals in her wake. 

A sense of awe overcame the onlookers as an ethereal presence approached. With an almighty whinny, Swift Wind, adorned with floral accents, trotted down the center of the aisle. Upon his back, She-Ra held a pillow bearing the wedding rings, her confident grin radiating warmth. 

Reaching the altar, Swift Wind executed a careful bow, and She-Ra gracefully dismounted, sinking into a reverent kneel before Queen Angella. With practiced finesse, she presented the pillow, offering the two rings. A radiant smile graced Angella's lips as she nodded, her hand sweeping to acknowledge her side of the congregation.

Finally, Castaspella looked over the crowd pasted a smile onto her face, and asked everyone to stand. Shadow Weaver took a breath and moved forward to the end of the runway. All eyes were on her as she and Catra walked past the rows of chairs.

As Shadow Weaver's gaze fell upon Angella, the world seemed to dissolve around her. Her steps faltered momentarily, and she felt Catra tugging at her arm. Even she could admit that on any given day, Angella was always strikingly beautiful. However, on this day, the queen transcended mere beauty. 

Angella wore a meticulously crafted formal tuxedo tailcoat and matching vest. The tuxedo featured broad, padded shoulders that exuded authority and elegantly framed her graceful neck. The low-cut neckline hinted at her décolletage, adding a tantalizing touch. Silver buttons adorned the front of the coat, catching the soft light and making her shine.

A formal, asymmetrical ruffled high-waisted skirt gracefully cascaded to her knees, seamlessly blending style and sophistication. Angella's hair was elegantly gathered in a French hawk updo, revealing a daring undercut that underscored her sense of bold individuality and style. 

Most shocking however was the final accessory Angella decided to add. A metal filigree masquerade mask graced her face, curling gracefully along her left side. It perfectly matched the mask on the Sorceress' face.

Nerves surged through Shadow Weaver as she drew nearer to Angella. They were about to embark on a journey together, bound not only by this marriage but by the challenges of the impending war. Angella, with her kind words and adventurous spirit, held an irresistible allure. Her soft lips and sharp teeth had made an indelible mark both physically and emotionally on Shadow Weaver since their first kiss. 

She even found herself smiling at the memory of that bite. Their pre-wedding debates had always been a delight. And now, as she gazed at Angella, Shadow Weaver realized how easily someone could fall for the queen.

No. She wrangled her brain into submission before it began to panic and pressed her thoughts forward. So she had a small affection for Angella. That was normal during the close-quarters atmosphere. Not to mention the dancing made for intimate situations. It was fine. She vowed to lock these thoughts away and never revisit them. 

She decides instead to be thankful that Castaspella did have decent tastes and the wedding was beautifully done. If it weren't so clichéd, it could easily be said to be romantic, but this wasn't a romance so much as it was an engagement in name only. This was a marriage of convenience. Nothing. More. 

As they reached the end of the aisle, Catra hesitated. Her grip tightened on the hand resting against her arm. Shadow Weaver pulled away from the younger woman which seemed to shake Catra from her stupor. 

Catra placed Shadow Weaver's hand in Angella's waiting palm and stepped back. She glanced between her and Adora. She glared at the blonde and took her place next to Lonnie.

"You may be seated," Castaspella told the guests. She waited until her instructions were followed before she began her speech. “Welcome one and all. Angella, Shadow Weaver, and I would like to welcome everyone on this gorgeous day. Thank you for being here, now let’s begin.”

Castaspella turned her gaze to the brides. Before her stood two powerful souls. One noble and one determined, ready to bind their fates together in the presence of loved ones, associates, and the land of Etheria itself.

 “Angella and Shadow Weaver, what you’ve accomplished here today is no small feat. Your journey began the moment you agreed to get married. Marriages bring hard days, just as they bring beautiful ones...”

Unseen Glimmer teleported into the entrance of Bright Moon’s side door, watching the wedding. She couldn’t attend. She couldn’t be a part of the destruction of Bright Moon. She knew no matter how much everyone was convinced, her mom shouldn't marry Shadow Weaver.

"First as is tradition, I will perform the bonding ceremony." Castaspella started the spell. The Sorceress motioned and Shadow Weaver and Angella held both hands together in a gentle press. 

Two spells floated through the air and encircled Shadow Weaver's and Angella's wrists. A soft pink beam of light twisted like a braided rope and slinked forward tying their hands together. 

"Just as these runic rings are symbols of your commitment," Castaspella said, her voice resonating with the gravity of the moment, "this cord represents the lives you've chosen to weave together. It has been carefully woven, symbolizing the intricate intertwining of your journeys. Until this very moment, your paths have been separate in thoughts, words, and actions."

As she spoke, Castaspella's eyes narrowed, her gaze briefly locking with Shadow Weaver's. It was a silent reminder, a challenge to the dark Sorceress to truly embrace this union. The older woman met Castaspella's challenge with defiant resolve. Angella cleared her throat discreetly, breaking the tension between Castaspella and Shadow Weaver. 

Castaspella pressed on, undeterred. "As this cord binds your hands together, so do your lives become intertwined. As your hands are bound together, so are your lives and spirits joined in a union of profound hope and unyielding trust ."

Turning her gaze upward, Castaspella directed their attention to the moons in the night sky, their silver radiance illuminating the grove. "Above you are the twelve moons, ever watchful and constant. Below, you stand upon the magical land of Etheria. Just as the Moonstone is a steady source of light, so should your marriage be a constant beacon in each other's lives. And like the ground beneath us, let it be the firm foundation upon which your love will grow and flourish."

She spoke with deep conviction, the words carrying the weight of tradition and magic. "May the Moonstone grant you new energy with each passing day. May the moons softly restore you by night, soothing your spirits and rekindling your devotion. May the rain wash away your worries, cleansing your hearts, and may the wind bring new strength to your beings, fortifying your bond. May you walk gently upon the sacred land of Etheria and appreciate its beauty all the days of your life."

With a final, heartfelt wish, Castaspella concluded, "And may your days together be good and long, filled with the enduring love and enchantment that this ceremony represents."

With a graceful twirl of her fingers, Castaspella prepared to seal the handfasting between Shadow Weaver and Angella.

Glimmer's initial unease transformed into urgent determination. She couldn't stand by and let her mother make such a colossal mistake. With a trembling but resolute voice, she ran from her hiding spot and called out, "Wait!"

A heavy silence descended over the garden as all eyes turned to Glimmer. Angella's expression revealed a mix of surprise and concern, while Shadow Weaver's eyes widened momentarily.

Taking a deep breath, Glimmer began, "Mom, I love you, but I can't ignore my instincts. You know Shadow Weaver can't be trusted."

"Is this how Bright Moon conducts their gatherings?" Hordak stood from his seat in the front row. "By not honoring their agreements?"

"No, it is not," Angella said, attempting to approach Glimmer. “Glimmer we can speak about this later.”

"Angella, no." Shadow Weaver tightened her grip. "Castaspella must finish the enchantment."

"Glimmer," Shadow Weaver said, her voice calm. "Know that I am committed to Angella. I will do everything in my power to make this marriage a source of strength, not a cause for fear."

Glimmer's gaze shifted between her mother and Shadow Weaver, her frown deepening. "You're lying," she accused, a hint of tears glistening in her eyes. She held her hand up, palm raised parallel to the sky. "Hear me, Torn overseers. I call on your decisions. I ask for your intervention." She pulled  a vial of Lunar Lenses from her pocket and held it above her head.

"Where did she get those?" Castaspella demanded.

"I don't know," Angella said softly.

Both women looked at Shadow Weaver.

"I did not supply Glimmer with Lunar Lenses," Shadow Weaver said. "She likely acquired them on her own. Are Micah's belongings still in the castle?"

"Everything is locked in storage." Angella insisted. 

"It appears the storage is no longer secure." Shadow Weaver said. 

"We can recast, yes?" Angella asked. 

Castaspella nodded, "Well, yes, but—"

"Dispel it now," Angella said. 

The second the spell ended, Angella began to approach her daughter, desperation in her voice. "Glimmer, I know you don’t want this to happen, but please understand that you cannot make this decision lightly. If you finish this incantation—”

"Glimmer, do not be foolish," Shadow Weaver hissed, interrupting. 

“I invoke,” Glimmer said shakily, her voice unwavering. “I invoke the Torn de Negotium.” She threw the vial on the ground, shattering it.

With that action, a blinding light filled the garden. Glimmer, Angella, Adora, Catra, and Shadow Weaver vanished without a trace.

The last thing the wedding party and guests heard was Angella's anguished cry, "No!"

The group appeared in what could only be described as an immaculate throne room. The castle's vast, pearl-white walls were a canvas for intricate, delicate carvings that depicted scenes and stories of angelic benevolence. Elaborate stained glass windows, aglow with every hue of the celestial spectrum, punctuated the facade, casting prismatic reflections on the pristine floors beneath their feet.

Behind them, massive gilded doors were inlaid with precious gemstones such as sapphires, amethysts, and diamonds, each symbolizing different aspects of Angelic virtue. These gates were guarded by majestic seraphim, whose stern gazes conveyed a sense of unwavering, almost lethal protection.

Angella rushed across the room to her daughter. "What have you done?"

"This is the only way to stop this," Glimmer explained. 

"It's not that simple, Glimmer," Angella stated, holding her daughter by the shoulders. "The Torn is governed by the will of the people hosting it for that millennia. You can't predict what the challenge will be."

"I know, Mom." Glimmer looked at her mother earnestly. "I've done my research. I believe we can win this."

"This is why we needed those magic lessons, Angella," Shadow Weaver chimed in, crossing her arms.

"You're not helping," Angella snapped at the Sorceress.

"Darling, Ella," a melodious voice echoed throughout the dimly lit room, its gentle cadence painting an aura of enchantment. "You've finally come to see me." 

A figure twinkled into existence, bathed in a soft light that danced in the air. 

Angella tensed, her face falling as her grip on Glimmer loosened. She turned, her eyes tracing a path up the seemingly endless steps that led to a grand throne crafted from the purest, shimmering quartz crystal.

"Hello, Grandmother."

Chapter Text

The figure seated on the magnificent throne seemed to embody celestial beauty and grace in every possible way. While she may not have been particularly tall, her presence commanded the entire room, filling the air with a palpable aura of power. Her lavender-hued skin emitted a subtle, radiant glow, casting a gentle, ethereal light on everything around her. 

The features of her face were exquisitely sculpted, with high cheekbones and a pert button nose. Yet, her lips, painted in a soft shade of rose, bore a smile that had a deceptive quality. It was a smile that seemingly extended a warm welcome, but if you dared to look closely, you'd realize it didn't quite reach her emerald eyes. 

It was the kind of smile that a predator might wear before it stealthily closed in, ready to clamp its jaws on your jugular. A paradox of beauty and danger, her face held secrets that ran deeper than its enchanting surface.

A cascade of shimmering, silvery-white hair flowed down her back like liquid moonlight, forming elegant waves that framed her delicate, heart-shaped face. She was adorned in a gown that defied earthly description, appearing as though it were woven from moonbeams. 

What truly set her apart, however, were her grand, ash-colored wings. These majestic appendages extended outward, each feather seeming to possess an insatiable hunger for light. They absorbed the ambient illumination of the space around her and used it to cast a radiance of their own, turning her into a luminous figure in the heart of the cosmos. 

"Please, don't use that title," the woman said from her ornate throne, her eyes twinkling with mirth. " 'Grandmother' makes me feel so old," she continued with a playful wrinkle of her nose.

"As you wish, Empress Anghiel," Angella nodded demurely, bowing slightly.

"Angella, won't you introduce your companions?" The Empress inquired, her gaze sweeping over the group.

"Wait!" Glimmer exclaimed, her eyes widening. "Mom, did you just say 'grandmother'? Are you my great-grandmother? "

"Glimmer!" Angella said. She quickly turned to her grandmother, bowing her head respectfully. "Begging your pardon, Empress. She does not know of our ways."

The Empress sneered from her imposing throne. "I can see that. Unruly and rebellious, like someone I used to know," she continued, her voice carrying an edge of authority. "Educate her quickly, or I will." She snapped her fingers, and a pair of guards stepped forward. 

Angella flinched at the sound, seemingly haunted by some distant memory. "Yes, your Excellence."

The guards led the group away from the throne room to a smaller, more private chamber. Angella was the last to enter, closing the door behind her.

Shadow Weaver was the first to speak. "Why are we on the Angelic plane?"

Angella sighed, her gaze heavy with responsibility. "I want to start by saying I apologize. My grandmother will delve into the very core of your insecurities. She enjoys..."

"We don't have to take this," Glimmer interjected, her defiance clear.

"No!" Angella insisted, her voice firm. "Angelic beings, particularly the older ones, are not as benevolent and forgiving as they're rumored to be. It took Etheria a very long time to accept me. Glimmer, promise me you will never speak to her alone. She is more powerful than you can imagine, and she will not hesitate to eliminate anyone she perceives as a threat..."

"How do you know this?" Shadow Weaver asked though she was certain she knew what the answer would be.

"It happened to my mother," Angella replied quietly, her eyes clouded with sadness.

"Her own daughter?" Adora interjected, her voice carrying surprise.

"I vowed that day to never become like her," Angella continued, her gaze ablaze with unwavering determination. "I made a solemn pledge to rule with kindness and a willingness to compromise."

Shadow Weaver started to interject, but Angella pressed on, her voice resolute. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I have only a limited time to impart these crucial rules to you. First, you must understand that you should never address the Empress unless she speaks to you first, regardless of what she hints at or suggests. Disobedience is met with swift and severe consequences," she cautioned, her voice laced with urgency.

"Second, discretion. Conversations within the palace walls must never be repeated outside them. Loose lips can lead to imprisonment or worse."

Angella paused, her eyes searching the group's eyes for understanding. "Lastly, remember, the Empress's word is law. Her orders are to be carried out without question. Failure to comply is unthinkable."

"Well, Sparkles, thanks to you, we get to play a game we can't even win." Catra snarked, flicking her claws in the Princess' direction.

"Wow, never thought I'd see you doubt your skills, Catra," Adora smirked. "Are you scared ?" 

"What?" Catra huffed. "No. That's not what I'm saying at all. I’m gonna win this blondie, don't worry. Just don’t appreciate Sparkle's set is all I’m saying." 

A guard knocked on the door. "The Empress said your time has elapsed." 

"Let us be finished with this." Shadow Weaver said. 

The group once again stood before the Empress's imposing throne, a mixture of trepidation and anticipation in their hearts.

"Now, let's take a look at you. Oh, Ella, is this your new intended?" Anghiel's piercing eyes trailed up and down Shadow Weaver. "She's got more potential than the other one."

"Yes, Empress. We were to be married today," Angella confirmed.

Anghiel's lips drooped in feigned sympathy. "And your daughter objected. That must have been disappointing."

"Yes, Empress," Angella replied, her tone resigned.

Anghiel continued to assess the group, her penetrating gaze seemingly capable of reading their very souls. "I've made my decision. You will complete the Trials of the Universe." 

With a flick of her fingers, three images appeared in front of the group. "You must seek a glimpse of a Trollan's face.” The first image had beings wearing red robes and red hats with their faces behind scarves. 

The Empress continued, pointing to the final two images. “Retrieve the Sword of Power, and obtain the Sword of Protection." The two greatswords looked nearly identical. One had slits forged into its metal toward the base and the other had a jewel embedded in it. 

Adora stiffened at the mention of the Sword of Protection while Shadow Weaver resisted the urge to look at the very sword strapped to the blonde’s back. 

"That false idol is not the Sword of Protection," Anghiel remarked as if she had plucked the thought from Adora's mind. "Are there any questions?"

"Yes, Empress. How long do we have to complete these trials?" Shadow Weaver inquired.

"You will have five days," Anghiel declared, pointing to a colossal hourglass. At its base, four identical adventure packs were arranged. "Angella will wait here. If both groups fail their trials, she will remain here for five years as penance."

Shadow Weaver sensed the anger and the simmering magic radiating off Glimmer, who had been silently fuming since the slight on Micah. She saw Angella make a discreet gesture, calming her daughter, though her determination remained evident in the determined frown.

"The Torn de Negotium has commenced," Anghiel announced. With a blinding burst of light, the group vanished into an unknown world, their fate now bound to the challenging Trials of the Universe.

Shadow Weaver carefully surveyed her surroundings. She and Catra found themselves isolated in a peculiar place. The sparse trees in the area defied gravity, their roots suspended in the air while their leaves burrowed into the ground. The clear blue water nearby seemed to swirl and bubble without any accompanying heat or humidity. 

Above them, the sky displayed an unusual pale green hue, with a few faint, opaque clouds scattered across it. The ground beneath their feet was a pale, almost puce silt, its texture curious and foreign. In the distance, an enchanting rainbow arched in the opposite direction.

As they stood there, a school of fish defied all logic, swimming through the air, their movements reminiscent of a synchronized dance. They circled Catra, brushing against her.

"Argh!" Catra swiped her sharp claws at the closest flying fish. "Why do these things keep brushing against me?"

"If we judge by the appearance of our surroundings, I don't see any feline creatures in the local wildlife," Shadow Weaver pointed out. "These fish likely don't recognize the need to be cautious."

"I'll have to teach them," Catra growled, her heterochromatic eyes narrowing, and she roared at the school of airborne fish. In response, they scattered, darting into the clear blue water and disappearing beneath the surface.

Shadow Weaver couldn't help but applaud her companion. "You've conquered a truly formidable foe," she remarked sarcastically. “You should be proud.” 

"I'm already sick of this place. It's so weird. Trees are upside down, and clouds trail along the floor," Catra started to rant.

"That is fog," Shadow Weaver pointed out with a sigh.

"Call it what you want. I'm gonna call it -" Catra's sentence was abruptly cut off by a scream.

Catra's leg was ensnared by a dripping talon, and a massive bird screeched as it carried her higher into the air. With its eight wings beating in unison, it spun against the sky and dove toward a pond below.

"Let me go!" Catra growled, slashing her claws through the thick, water-resistant feathers around the bird's feet.

The bird jerked in pain and released Catra, ascending into the sky again. Its eyes locked onto Shadow Weaver, who was preparing to cast a defensive spell. Catra fell onto the roots of a nearby tree, sliding to the ground in a tumble. She quickly wiped dirt from her face and made her way out of the tree line.

"Thanks for your help," Catra snapped as she brushed leaves from her hair. She seemed ready to run until Shadow Weaver stopped her.

"Stay where you are," Shadow Weaver cautioned, extending her hand towards Catra. "This creature does not know who to come after."

"We can't stand here all day," Catra argued. "Time is wasting, and we need to figure out how far behind Adora and Sparkles we are."

"There's no need to antagonize a creature we are unfamiliar with."

"What is your plan then?" Catra asked. “Because standing and glaring at it won’t work.” 

Shadow Weaver's head snapped toward Catra. "Use some common sense for once in your life."

The bird creature let out a deafening roar as it swooped down, its massive wings casting a shadow over Catra and Shadow Weaver. With a desperate maneuver, it attempted to grab them, but Shadow Weaver swiftly reacted, hurling a spell at it. The incantation burst into a dazzling display of harmless fireworks upon contact with the creature. The bird looked stunned and paused, storing its strength for another attack. 

"What was that?" Catra demanded, pointing at the fireworks fizzling out above them. "You've had magic this whole time!?” 

“I am first and foremost a Sorceress.” Shadow Weaver said as she tracked the bird slowly circling above them. 

“A passive one.” Catra scoffed. “Unless you wanted to impress the bird with the light show.” 

The bird screeched again, and a second bird shot out of the water to hover next to its companion. 

"Time to run, Old Woman!" Catra called out as she sprinted away, already putting some distance between them and the menacing birds.

Shadow Weaver wasted no time and raced after Catra, feeling the rush of air caused by the birds’ powerful wings as they pursued them relentlessly. She instinctively tried to evade the impending threat, but one of the hawk-like creatures landed on her back. Sharp talons dug into her backpack, lifting her.

The second bird swooped at the first, and with a single forceful tug, the strap snapped. Shadow Weaver plummeted to the ground, grateful for the protective mask that shielded her face from the sticky mud below. She quickly wiped away the filth, shaking her hands free.

Regaining her footing, she made another attempt to cast a spell, but to her dismay, her magic seemed to be affected by the planet's unique properties. Her fire spell, intended to harm, transformed into water as it left her hand. She had to adapt and fast. Concentrating, she realized she couldn't risk another spell misfire. After a moment's thought, she decided to try a healing spell. If she couldn't harm it, perhaps she could manipulate its energy for the better.

Focusing her energy, she sent a healing spell toward the hawk-like creature. The bird froze mid-air, its body beginning to emit smoke. A flame gradually erupted from its tail, and the creature squawked in distress before hastily retreating, plunging into a nearby pond. The second bird retreated to a nearby burrow, apparently deciding that the current prey was not worth the effort. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Shadow Weaver assessed her soaked backpack, her belongings now drenched in tepid water and caked in mud. She managed to salvage a canteen of water and one ration bar, her determination driving her to catch up with Catra. 

Despite her extensive knowledge and mastery of magic, Mystacor, and the mysteries of Etheria, this place remained an enigma. She lacked a frame of reference for this foreign planet, where a large star beamed down intense heat, causing her clothing to cling uncomfortably and her skin to glisten with sweat. 

Nearby, smaller birds swam in puddles, their tiny heads turning with curiosity as they watched her. The rationing of her sips of water became a meticulous task, for there were no settlements on her journey, no signs of Catra's whereabouts.

Upon reaching the top of a hill, Shadow Weaver's eyes finally fell upon Catra, who stood in the middle of a bustling town square, engaging in lively conversation with the curious onlookers. The beings in this strange place were diminutive, floating along the sidewalks and patches of grass, cloaked in wine-red robes that concealed most of their forms, leaving only their bright, shining eyes, slender gray hands, and floppy, pointed ears exposed. The younger woman found the Trollans. 

From the bustling crowd, a figure emerged, a being with a female form. She possessed long, flowing blonde hair that cascaded like a golden waterfall, and her green eyes radiated a sense of urgency as she glided swiftly toward Shadow Weaver.

"Oh, you poor dear, look at you," she cooed in a genteel, high-pitched voice. "I'm Dree Elle. Let me get you cleaned up."

Shadow Weaver, still catching her breath, responded, "It is fine." With a deep breath and a heavy sigh, she focused her magical abilities and attempted a cleaning spell. What manifested, however, was a rain cloud that showered soap foam all around.

Dree Elle's eyes widened with surprise. "You have magic!" she exclaimed. "Oh, dear, you're experiencing the same issue Orko used to." She cupped her hands near her face. "Orko! Orko, come quick."

Another figure, presumably Orko, floated over. "Dree Elle, is everything okay?"

"I'm okay, but we need your help with magic," Dree Elle explained. "This youngling's magic is having issues."

Shadow Weaver dispelled the soap cloud, though her clothing still clung to her, sticky with soap. "I assure you there's no need," she insisted and attempted a stasis spell, which removed the excess liquid but left her attire covered in a filmy residue.

Orko sighed in understanding. "I had the same issue when I was on Eternia. The rules of Trollan magic don't apply there." He placed a hand against his face, murmuring an incantation, "Most other beings can not cast when on Trollan soil."

He held up his fingers and wiggled them, causing a shimmering effect. "Beeny sinny tippy rye, clean these clothes until they're dry."

What followed was unlike any magic that Shadow Weaver had ever encountered. In a flash, the transformation was complete.  

“Adequate.” Shadow Weaver muttered, rubbing a hand down her sleeve. Her clothes were not only cleaned but also felt even softer than before as if they had just come laundered and pressed from the royal tailor.

"Now then, we don't usually have travelers in Trolla. Who are you, strangers?" Orko inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"I am Shadow Weaver of Etheria, and this is Catra," Shadow Weaver replied, introducing herself and her companion.

"You're from Etheria?" Dree Elle exclaimed in amazement. "No one has seen the planet in over one thousand years."

"We thought Etheria was lost. What are you doing here?" Orko asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

"We're supposed to finish this stupid Tournament," Catra said impatiently, her frustration evident.

"Catra," Shadow Weaver hissed in warning, trying to maintain decorum.

"Look, they are obviously Trollans. We just need a look at someone's face so we can get out of this crazy place," Catra added in a slightly exasperated tone.

The words hung in the air, and it was as if the entire congregation gasped in response. The sound of silence permeated the village.

"The Tournament? Tournament? Oh, do you mean the Torn de Negotium?" Orko asked, seeking clarification.

"That's the one," Catra confirmed and glanced back at Shadow Weaver, a silent 'I told you so' in her expression.

Orko scratched his head, visibly uncomfortable. "Oh, we'd love to help, but we can't. It just isn't allowed."

Catra growled in frustration. "Why not?"

Dree Elle stepped in to explain, "The gaze of a Trollan to an outsider is forbidden. It's as intimate as a kiss."

Catra threw her hands up in exasperation. "Great. What are we supposed to do now?"

Shadow Weaver interjected, "We are participants of the Torn. Surely, some exceptions can be made."

Dree Elle shook her head. "It's always been this way."

Orko began to weave a tale, "It started with the Great Overlords of Trolla after they created the worlds of old—Eternia, Autretia, and Etheria..."

The smallest Trollans sensed a story coming and squeaked with delight, floating in a circle around Orko.

"Orko," Dree Elle whispered, leaning closer to him.

Orko's eyes widened, and he realized something. "I see. Storytime is over."

The Trollan children groaned in disappointment but soon found new amusement in Catra's twitching tail, provoking her.

"Leave me alone, you little pests!" Catra shrieked and ran away from the playful Trollan children.

Shadow Weaver watched the scene with silent amusement before Orko turned to her. "You must really care for the Magikat?" He asked. 

"Excuse me?" Shadow Weaver replied, a bit taken aback by the question.

"It's obvious that you hold affection for her.” 

“That is a ridiculous and untrue notion.” 

Whatever response Orko was about to say was interrupted with a sharp cry. Two colossal Octohawks descended from the sky fixing their piercing gazes upon the unsuspecting village. Panic ensued as the villagers ran, startled by the sudden appearance of the creatures. Shadow Weaver, the mask of her eyes glowed, identified the apparent leader—the bird she and Catra had battled before—which landed with a thunderous thud in the village square.

Without warning, the bird unleashed a torrent of gale-force winds from its flapping wings, tearing through the thatched roofs of cottages surrounding them. The villagers screamed as their homes crumbled, eyes etched with despair. Orko floated forward, eyes narrowed with determination. He and Dree Elle exchanged a knowing glance, recognizing the imminent threat. 

“Jiggle moogle fickle tee. I call a ward until my foes' defeat.” Orko said with a flourish, conjuring a shimmering barrier, encasing the entire village in a protective bubble. 

Dree Elle focused on using her meager restoration magic amidst the chaos. Shadow Weaver, summoned protective shadows that coiled around her like sentient ropes. Catra, claws unsheathed, moved to stand by Shadow Weaver. 

Shadow Weaver raised her hands, stopping the younger woman. “Make yourself useful and help the villagers.” 

“I have a better idea. You can sit this one out. Unless you wanna bathe in mud again.” Catra snarked and continued her path.

“If the Trollans are wiped out before our first task begins, we will fail.” Shadow Weaver said, towering over Catra. 

Catra glared up at the Sorceress “Then watch and learn, Old Woman. I’m not gonna fail,” she declared.

As a second wave of winds surged, the quartet stood firm. Shadow Weaver countered the attack with her shadows. The two forces met in the middle and dissipated with a thunderclap. Shadow Weaver slid backward and began to conjure another strike when Catra leaped off her shoulder. 

“Get back here!” Shadow Weaver demanded and she watched as Catra slammed into the largest Octohawk. 

“Orko, look out!” Dree Elle called. 

He spun just in time to avoid the second Octohawk’s talons. Orko ducked under the swipe and held up his hands in preparation for another spell. 

“Poggle, mickel, tinky, gird. Spell to strike this hunting bird.” Orko wiggled his fingers and his magic lit up the field between him and the creature. The bird halted its descent and a large wooden club smacked it into a nearby tree. The bird landed with a shriek and Shadow Weaver held the avian menace with dark magic. The bird struggled and flapped its wings desperately. 

Orko's magical barrier held steadfast. Dree Elle's hands moved gracefully, reconstructing shattered homes. Above, Catra and the Octohawk engaged in a deadly aerial ballet, the wind howling around them from the large bird’s attacks. 

Villagers watched in awe and relief as the mystical bubble pulsated with vibrant energy, holding back the storm's fury. Shadow Weaver felt her hold on the Octohawk waver and she watched helplessly as the bird shot up into the air. 

The second bird collided with the first, knocking it out of Catra's range. It retreated with a wounded cry, disappearing into the horizon. The remaining Octohawk screamed its rage, but the quartet held their ground. In a final, acrobatic leap, Catra caught the elusive second bird in mid-air. 

The triumphant moment hung in the balance as the bird plummeted to the ground unmoving. The village fell silent, the only remaining sound was the faint crunch of grass beneath Catra's feet. 

Dusting herself off, Catra grinned at Shadow Weaver. “Told ya I'd win.”

“Anyone can brute force their way to win against two paltry birds.” Shadow Weaver said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. 

“Just admit I did what you couldn’t.” 

“What?” Catra asked with wide eyes. 

“You contributed with decent effort.” Shadow Weaver said finally. 

Suddenly there was a cheer from the tiniest Trollan with a teal hood. Orko stopped the protective barrier and the villagers surged forward. They clapped and congratulated Catra and Shadow Weaver. 

A rounder Trollan with white hair peeking under her hood, “I propose we honor our new friends that defeated the trio of Octohawklings with Fizzy Wicks and a Roast Gooble feast!” 

“Oh boy, Roast Gooble!” A skinny Trollan called out. 

“Yay!” Orko and Dree Elle embraced happily.

“I'll prepare the gooberry pie.” Dree Elle offered. 

“Has everyone had complete leave of their senses?” Shadow Weaver’s voice boomed through the clearing.

The group of Trollans paused and looked at her in confusion. Orko floated forward. “Do you not celebrate when you defeat a foe?” He asked.

“Yes, we celebrate, but this is more than celebration. You are preparing a feast in the middle of a previous battlefield.” Shadow Weaver pointed out. “The Torn is ongoing, and my goal has yet to be reached.”

Dree Elle, ever the diplomat, soothed the tension. She placed a hand on Orko’s shoulder. “Dear, we do need to get Shadow Weaver and Catra to the High Muck-muck.”

“Aw, you think it’s time?” Orko asked. 

“Whatever you are discussing, I would say it’s more than time,” Shadow Weaver retorted, her gaze flicking to Catra. "Whatever this ‘feast’ business entails, it can wait."

Catra, intrigued, surveyed the bustling scene. "Parties? We could definitely use more of these in the Horde."

Shadow Weaver scoffed. "A commendable thought, Catra, but for another day. Now, how do we reach this..."

"High Muck-Muck," Dree Elle supplied with a giggle.

"And what, pray tell, is that? A swamp?"

Dree Elle chuckled again. "No, silly, that's our ruler!"

"And how does one visit this 'king'?" Shadow Weaver asked. 

Orko zipped into a nearby cottage, flinging objects like confetti. He returned with a scroll scribbled with arcane symbols. "Here's the spell!" he declared, thrusting it towards Shadow Weaver.

The Sorceress eyed the scroll with disdain. "I will not read this."

Orko's ears dropped. "But you have to! The magic of Trolla won't work otherwise." He pressed the scroll into her hand, his pleading eyes impossible to ignore.

“Look I don’t want to stay here with flying fish any more than you do,” Catra said. “Just say the stupid spell, I mean, how bad could it be?” she snatched the card from the older woman. Her eyes widened as she started laughing.

Shadow Weaver snatched the card back. “Tell me there is another way."

“You saw what happened when you tried to fight off the Octohawkling. Who knows what would happen if you tried to teleport to the Unfortress of the High Muck Muck?”

“I can use my own methods.” Shadow Weaver countered. 

“You don’t even know where the palace is.” Catra pointed out. 

The Sorceress sighed in irritation. Lifting the paper in a limp hold, she recited the words written there in a bland tone. “Mukaroo. Mukarow.  Zippo. zappo. Here we go.” 

“Don't forget to do a spell wiggle.” Orko encouraged gently. 

“I would, but I am most concerned about my ward. It appears she is once again dying of laughter.” Shadow Weaver pointed out sharply. 

Catra sobered up quickly and stood closer to the Sorceress. Shadow Weaver raised her arms and lazily wiggled her fingers in an imitation of Orko’s earlier actions. The group saw a magical aura surrounding them as they were pulled away and deposited in front of a very colorful castle with a sleeping face. 

“So how do we get in?” Catra asked. 

Orko and Dree Elle floated up to the sleeping face of the Unfortress. “Hey excuse me.” 

With a snort, the castle opened its eyes leveling a glare at the two Trollans. “Who goes there?”

“Orko the Great and friends.” 

The Unfortress looked unimpressed. “What is your business?” the castle boomed. 

Dree Elle and Orko shared a look before she spoke. “We wish to see the High Muck Muck. It's about the disappearance of the Crimson Council.” 

“One moment please.” The building rumbled.   

“And what’s the Crimson Council?” Catra asked. 

“It's a group of the most powerful beings on Trolla. They keep all of Trolla’s magic running smoothly.” Dree Elle replied. 

Orko nodded. “Trolla works entirely on Magic.” 

The tired voice of the castle announced. “The High Muck-Muck will see you now.” A curved drawbridge extended from the depths of its floppy hat. “Step this way.”

The group walked across the bridge and quickly found themselves standing in front of an ornate door of red clay. Floating chairs sprouted from the floor, rushing them toward the end of the hall. 

Orko shrugged as Catra tried to fight the insistent chairs. “You get used to it.” 

“Your Crimson Council is lost?” Shadow Weaver asked. 

“No. At least I don't think so, but the Unfortress doesn’t let anyone in to see the High Muck-muck. It has to be important.” 

A door at the end of the hall opened on its own to reveal a throne room unlike Shadow Weaver had ever seen. The floor was a swirled green, and there were statues of what appeared to be various galaxies strewn carelessly about. 

“Your Highness?” Orko called out when the High Muck-muck didn't immediately float to the door. 

Orko ducked an odd-looking train set and found the High Muck-muck giggling as his chair rotated across the room. It rose and fell as he clutched his scepter in a tiny fist. His long white beard flopped over his face. 

“This is your ruler?” Shadow Weaver asked, unimpressed. 

“Don't judge a tome by its cover,” Orko said to her and zipped over to the High Muck-muck who was still bouncing to and fro. “Begging your pardon, Blim. Are you alright?” 

“Sorry about that.” The High Muck-muck chuckled. “Thank you, Orko. Not that I wasn't having fun.” 

“I heard a ruckus.” Emerging gracefully was a woman who was undoubtedly Trolla's queen. 

Draped in robes of deep pink, adorned with white sleeves, and accompanied by a bubblegum-pink cape billowing in the air. Her most striking feature was a voluminous satin dome of fur perched proudly above a golden tiara. Framed by a tastefully arranged cascade of tight blonde curls, her face remained partially veiled like all Trollans. In her grayish-blue hands, she delicately wielded opera glasses affixed to a slender stick.

“Well, Orko, Dree Elle, so good to see you.” The Muckess said. 

Orko bowed his head and kissed her hand through his face scarf. “Muckess, I'd like to present this youngling Shadow Weaver and her daughter-” 

“Ward.” Shadow Weaver was quick to correct him.

“Begging your pardon, her ward, Catra. They are participating in the Torn de Negotium and will need to be assessed by the Crimson Council.” 

“What sort of trickery is this?” Shadow Weaver demanded. She siphoned the magic she could from the air. It outlined her body and began to curl and fluff her hair. 

Orko held up his hands in a placating motion. “Ah, it's no trick. Everyone with magic must appear before the Council.” 

“Come let's take a look.” The regal voice said. She put her opera glasses on her face and peered at both Catra and Shadow Weaver. “You're both quite tall, aren't you? I also noticed you don't float. How odd.” 

Shadow Weaver steepled her fingers upside down and focused on staying on the ground. Just as she suspected, she began to float just as easily as the other Trollans. 

“But she's awfully powerful, dear.” The High Muck-Muck said with an adoring look to his wife. 

The Muckess didn't take her eyes off Shadow Weaver. “Why don't you go make a law or two, my dear Blim?” She asked her husband.

“Ah!” Blim leaned in, kissed his wife's cheek, and waved to the group. “See you all later. Uh, I think.” He muttered softly and drifted out of the room. 

“Well now then, what is this I hear about the Crimson Council?” The Muckess asked finally turning her attention back to Orko. 

“Nothing is wrong, Muckess.” Orko held up his hands, waving them dismissively. He glanced around quickly before lowering his voice. “Foosabella, you know how the Unfortress is,” he continued with a shrug. 

“Yes, I know.” Foosabella trilled. “I may grant your request but first I will speak with Shadow Weaver.” She said and left the room. 

“We cannot waste more time.” Shadow Weaver called out. 

Dree Elle tentatively floated closer to Shadow Weaver. “If the Muckess sees you as worthy you may finish your goal sooner than you think.” 

“Just go and get it over with,” Catra huffed. “I doubt Adora and Sparkles are having an easier time.” 

Shadow Weaver marched into the hall after Foosabella, only to find it deserted except for a rhythmic dance of floating doors. She reached for one, intending to pass through, but...

"Ah, there you are," Foosabella's voice chimed, tinged with an unexpected softness. "You appear unfamiliar with your heritage."

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Many years ago," Foosabella began, her voice taking on a nostalgic hum with a chuckle. "Several years ago I gave birth. The babe was a bright star in my life. She spun the light around her effortlessly.” She paused, turning pointed eyes to Shadow Weaver. 

The statement hung in the air. Shadow Weaver recoiled, "Do you mean to say… you are my mother?"

"Yes," Foosabella confirmed, her voice tinged with sorrow. "Though you have grown, you are still a young sapling in the forest of knowledge. There is so much to teach you."

Shadow Weaver bristled. "I am no child! I do not require your mothering."

"Perhaps not," Foosabella conceded, her voice regaining its customary lilting chime. "But you do need guidance. Guidance… which only a mother can truly offer." She said patiently. “I can sense you performed the Rite of Obtainment.” 

“The Spell of Obtainment was unsuccessful.” Shadow Weaver said. “The power it promised was fleeting and volatile.” 

“It was supposed to grant you great power and balance of Etheria.” Foosabella clarified. “Your father should have explained this."

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed to thin slits, daggers in the dim light. "My father ?" The word was a hiss, filled with years of unspoken resentments. She rose, her shadow stretching across the chamber like a predator's warning.

"Yes, Master Norwyn of Mystacor. We had a brief... connection, and the Crimson Council granted their blessing with your birth."

"How could you?" Shadow Weaver's voice dripped with contempt. Her anger flared, filling the void left by years of unspoken hurt. She rose to her full height, silhouetted against the luminescent Muckess tendrils, a storm cloud about to burst.

But the Muckess remained calm. "What do you mean, dear?" She inquired.

The dam of Shadow Weaver's control threatened to crack. "You left me. Abandoned me with him." The words choked in her throat, raw and bitter.

"Your father," the Muckess supplied gently.

"He was no father!" Shadow Weaver spat the word as if it were poison. "He was a tyrant, a misogynist, a monster who…" Her hands clenched into fists and she welcomed the bite of her claws into her palm. 

"He told me he sought to protect you," the Muckess insisted. 

"Protect me?" Shadow Weaver's laugh was a harsh bark. "He locked me away. Treated me like some hedge witch, feared me because of my thirst for knowledge."

The Sorceress’ bravado faltered, her anger ebbing. “ I protected myself. I tried…He…” The rest went unspoken. The truth, tangled with memories of neglect and pain, refused to leave the cage of her clenched teeth.

"What, dear?" The Muckess floated closer. Her innate magic, though limited, reached out to her maternal instinct, attempting to soothe her daughter. She extended her hand, yearning to touch her, to offer solace. The pain emanating from Shadow Weaver was almost tangible, a psychic bruise radiating from her very core. 

Shadow Weaver mastered the tremors in her voice, the emotions of their fraught discussion receding like a tide. "I was informed there was a meeting with the Crimson Council?"

Foosabella simply inclined her head. "The Unfortress notified me of their arrival mere moments ago.”

"Then let us not waste more time," The Sorceress retorted, her stride resolute as she left the room.

The throne room thrummed with a different energy when they returned. The Muckess, now cloaked in somber silence, watched as three figures materialized from the shadows. They were taller than the Muckess, their faces hidden beneath flowing white scarves, eyes like molten gold glinting with age and wisdom.

"Where are Orko and Dree Elle?" Shadow Weaver demanded, her gaze searching the chamber.

“They said they needed to return to the village to enjoy the feast,” Catra said with a glare. 

The Muckess’ shimmering trinkets dimmed as stark white light pulsed from the Crimson Council. Robed in crimson and gold, each Councilor closed their ominous yellow eyes as they began a chillingly unified hum.

Their hands rose, fingertips weaving together, magic crackling between them like miniature lightning storms. A frigid silver aura engulfed Shadow Weaver, a chilling probe examining her very soul, seeking answers in the hidden corners of her being. The silence in the chamber stretched taut.

Finally, the Councilors spoke their voices in a chorus of booming thunder. "She has been judged."

Shadow Weaver held her breath, the fate of their mission hanging in the balance.

"Shadow Weaver of Etheria," the Council's pronouncements echoed through the throne room, "you shall face the Overlords of Trolla."

A collective gasp rippled through a stunned Foosabella. “Surely she is already worthy.” 

"She will face the Overlords," the Councilors concluded, their voices dropping to a chilling whisper, "or be banished from these lands forever.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with finality. 

"You can't do that." Catra's voice, sharp and defiant, cut through the silence. "We just need one thing. A glance of someone’s face!"

The Councilors' cold gazes shifted to Catra but did not repeat themselves. Catra's jaw clenched, but she knew arguing was futile. From the way everyone was acting, the Crimson Council had spoken, and their decision was law. 

With a flick of their gloved fingers and a disconcerting wiggle of their ears, a shimmering portal materialized behind them, beckoning Shadow Weaver towards her uncertain fate.

“I cannot accompany you in the inner sanctum,” Foosabella said, stepping back and allowing Shadow Weaver to pass. “Just be truthful. The Overlords will know and see all. You will be more than worthy, Lightning Bug.”

“Lightning Bug!” Catra let out a howling laugh that was cut off by a bubble of water splashing her in the face. She sputtered and glared at the Sorceress. 

Shadow Weaver walked into the darkness only turning once the door had fully disappeared. All around her torches illuminated to reveal her surroundings. The obsidian throne room hummed with an ancient power, the gluey air thick enough to taste. 

Three gargantuan figures, cloaked in shadow and silence, occupied the distant dais, their forms barely discernible in the gloom. Shadow Weaver approached the dais with measured steps. Her heart hammered against her ribs from the sheer ambient power in the room, though she refused to show her hesitation. These were the Overlords of Trolla, beings older than the First Ones, likely older than time itself, each burdened with the crushing weight of an eternity's knowledge. 

Orpo, the first to stir, was a mountain of a man, his head wreathed in mist. His eyes, two pits of bottomless darkness, seemed to see not Shadow Weaver, but the tapestry of time unfurling behind her. His voice, when it spoke, was the static rustle of dead leaves, "You come before us, Weaver of Shadows, bearing a fate most curious."

Zoonabar, cloaked in shifting sand, rose next. His voice, a sibilant whisper carried on the desert wind, "Tell us, what has brought you before the Three Who Know?"

Jabi, the last to break the silence, was a woman sculpted from living moonlight. Her voice, the chime of distant bells, resonated with the weight of futures untold, "Speak, Shadow Weaver, and let us judge the worth of you."

Shadow Weaver raised her head, meeting their gaze with unwavering defiance. "Lords of Trolla," she began, "the threads of fate twist and turn, and an old darkness rises in the space beyond the veil of Etheria." 

She paused, letting the silence stretch, feeling their awareness crawl upon her like unseen spiders. "I come to you during the Torn de Negotium," she continued, her voice ringing with conviction, "because you alone possess the knowledge and power to defeat the full might of the Horde and mend our planet before it is torn apart."

The room remained silent, the air thick with anticipation. Orpo's eyes flickered, a glimmer of curiosity piercing the abyss. Zoonabar's sands whispered secrets to the air, swirling in an unseen current. Jabi's moonlit gaze seemed to pierce through time itself, tracing the threads of Shadow Weaver's plea.

Finally, Orpo spoke, "The darkness you speak of," he rumbled, "is tangled in magical decay, its threads steeped in betrayal. To mend it will require a sacrifice greater than any you can imagine."

Shadow Weaver met his gaze directly. "I am prepared," she declared, her voice ringing with the steely resolve, "To save Etheria's magic. I will give all that is required, all that is asked."

Zoonabar chuckled. "A bold claim, Shadow Weaver," he rasped. "Are you willing to pay the price of prophecy, to bear the weight of knowing what must be done, even when it shatters your family?"

Before Shadow Weaver could respond, Jabi spoke then, her voice a celestial echo, "To bind the coming threat of darkness, you must become the darkness, Shadow Weaver. Are you prepared to walk that path?"

“I already do.” Shadow Weaver stood unflinching, the shadows of her magic swirling around her like a living cloak. "I tried what others were afraid of years ago. I attempted the Spell of Obtainment and failed," she whispered. 

The chamber fell silent once more, the Lords of Trolla considering her words. The air buzzed with an unseen power, the fate of all of Etheria hanging in the quiet. 

"Your Spell of Obtainment was performed admirably however the spell is incomplete," Orpo revealed. “The result you seek lies not in just power, but in a sacrifice of understanding. The Spell of Obtainment cannot be completed with pure magic but with acceptance. You must delve into the very abyss you seek to forget, Shadow Weaver. Only then can you weave a countercharm from empathy and forgiveness."

A ripple of shock passed through the room. Zoonabar's sands settled, Jabi's gaze softened, and even Orpo seemed surprised by his own revelation. 

Shadow Weaver, however, stood stunned. "To face what I seek to forget?" she questioned, her voice laced with a dawning sense of terror. “Is there no other way?” 

The weight of that truth settled upon Shadow Weaver like a physical blow. The shadows around her danced, not with power, but with pain. The air shimmered, and the scene faded, leaving Shadow Weaver standing back in front of Catra and Foosabella as if she never left. 

"What did they say?" Catra's voice was sharp, her eyes searching for answers etched across Shadow Weaver's stoic mask.

“It’s of no importance.” the Sorceress spat, her voice clipped, hiding the storm of emotions churning within.

“I knew you were worthy, Lightning Bug.” Foosabella approached Shadow Weaver with a gentle smile. 

“My name is Shadow Weaver.” The Sorceress reminded Foosabella. 

“Of course, Shadow Weaver,” Foosabella said. “It’s a name you’ve earned and I am glad to call you my daughter,” She said. With a flourish, she removed the scarf shrouding her face, revealing gray skin, framed by kind wrinkles around her eyes. “I hope you find the destiny you seek,” She said with a fanged smile. 

Catra's mouth gaped open. Her gaze ricocheted between Foosabella and Shadow Weaver, a flicker of recognition sparking in her mind. A buried memory surfaced, a fleeting glimpse of Shadow Weaver's face, unmasked and vulnerable, amidst the darkness of childhood.

The throne room dissolved again, replaced by a swirling vortex of color that deposited them before a pulsing orb, Anghiel's smug visage grinning within.

"The Torn de Negotium's first round is over," the Empress swept her hand to her left. "Shadow Weaver and Catra, congratulations. You are…barely…ahead."

The orb shifted, revealing the hourglass, two vast sections of sand swallowed by time. Two days were spent navigating the first test, leaving a mere sliver for the next two objectives.

"Let the second task begin," Anghiel's voice boomed, dripping with cruel amusement.

Chapter Text

Catra pushed through the thicket, light filtering through the dense canopy of the unfamiliar forest in broken dots. Shadow Weaver glided through the same darkness with unnerving ease, her silence a stark contrast to the symphony of the forest.

"We should stop here and make camp," Catra said, squinting up at the sky.

Shadow Weaver paused, her mask’s eyes glinting in the fading light. " You can make camp," she said. "I will create a fire and a barrier to repel any creatures that wish us harm."

Catra rolled her eyes. "Why do I have to do all the work? Like all you can do is gather twigs."

Shadow Weaver’s hands tightened against themselves, but she remained silent. Catra sighed, hefting her pack higher on her shoulders. Picking a clearing bathed in the last rays of orange light, Catra began clearing the ground for their tent.

Shadow Weaver hacked at the nearby pine, her magic forming into ebony blades that tore chunks from the trunk. Dark magic writhed and lashed, slicing the lumber into manageable logs and firewood. With a flick of her wrist, the wood danced into a stacked pattern, landing into a fire pit carved into the earthen floor. A spark, ignited by her will, bloomed into a crackling blaze. 

Even the hypnotic flames couldn't quell the storm brewing within her. Now that the tension of the journey had slackened, her thoughts raced, clawing their way to the surface. The Torn de Negotium was supposed to expose one's weaknesses, and rip secrets from their hiding places, but she never anticipated this - an unearthed truth about her mother.

The mere thought of that word, ‘mother,’ felt foreign. In her youth, the yearning for the unknown had gnawed at her. To know of the beings that made the powerful Sorceress she came to be, to find solace in their shared power. But now, the revelation was a bitter truth coupled with the one she'd spent years locking away. Each flicker of the fire mirrored the turmoil within her.

What was she now? Was she Shadow Weaver, the fearsome Sorceress, or was she merely a twisted reflection of the man who helped give her life?

A wave of nausea rolled across her stomach, the name Norwyn leaving a bitter tang on her tongue without speaking. To her eternal misfortune, Norwyn was also…her father.

"Hey!" Catra's voice cut through the tumult, sweat plastered to her forehead. "Plan to sleep in the next few hours? Might wanna lend a hand, Old Woman."

“You should be able to manage.” Shadow Weaver didn't break her gaze from the fire, her voice dripping with venom as she snapped, "Unless you , of all people, suddenly require my assistance."

Catra yelped, leaping backward like a startled cat as stakes sprouted from the ground, driven by Shadow Weaver's unchecked magic. They missed narrowly, embedding themselves in the earth mere inches from her face. 

"Thanks, I guess," Catra muttered, rubbing her nose with a grimace.

Without another word, Shadow Weaver shoved past Catra and retreated into the dim confines of the tent. The canvas flap billowed shut, leaving Catra alone with the crackling fire behind her.

The next morning Catra and Shadow Weaver continued their journey. Across the barren expanse, a colossal skull-shaped castle sat perched on a throne of massive bones. It stared down at them with menacing emptiness, its bottom jawbone forming a precarious drawbridge over an abyss that stretched as far as the eye could see. The wind whistled a mournful tune through the plain, the only sound in the oppressive silence.

A rustle in the bushes to their left made them whirl around, ready for whatever foe or beast dared to challenge them. Shadow Weaver and Catra tensed, hands readying for a fight. But from the tangled foliage emerged not an enemy, but a flash of gold – Adora's sword carving through the undergrowth to reveal herself and Glimmer.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra drawled with a smirk.

“What are you doing here?” Glimmer demanded.

“Competing in the same tournament you are, Sparkles," Catra retorted, relishing the way Glimmer's face flushed in anger.

“How did you even solve the first task?” Glimmer huffed. 

“Oh that part was easy once we found out Shadow Weaver is a Trollan.” 

“I can definitely see how Shadow Weaver might be one,” Adora said, looking at the older woman with a tilt of her head.

“Oh totally, for one the Trollans we encountered were super mean.” Glimmer agreed.

“Really? Maybe it’s your winning personality there, Sparkles.” Catra suggested. “Our Trollans threw a feast for us.”

“This game has to be rigged.” Glimmer grumbled under her breath.

“There is no time to waste debating our different experiences.” Shadow Weaver said, pointing toward the castle. “That must be where the Swords reside.”

“Well this has been fun, but we have a tournament to win.” Catra boasted. The bark of the old oak scratched at Catra's fingers as she swung through the branches. 

“Get back here!” Glimmer said. 

"You’ll have to catch me first!" Catra taunted.

“Catra!” Shadow Weaver called out. 

She tried to jog behind the younger woman but to her dismay, Adora and Glimmer overtook her. Shadow Weaver slowed to a halt and concentrated on bringing herself to Catra's location. With a burst of magic, Shadow Weaver materialized next to her. 

Catra flinched. "What did you do?" she hissed, hand flying to her neck as if searching for an invisible mark.

"I simply used magic," Shadow Weaver said. 

“Why didn’t you just go inside the castle?”

“I will not teleport into a building I’ve never been in.” Shadow Weaver said, assessing the castle ahead of them. “We do not know if the ruler has minions or is a being of great power.”

They stalked toward the back of the castle, their movements silent. Moments turned into minutes, yet no guards emerged, no patrols crossed their path.

"We need to move. Adora and Glimmer won't be far behind." Shadow Weaver said. 

Suddenly, sunlight burst through the trees, and Catra skidded to a halt. Adora and Glimmer stood there, hands on her hips.

"Caught ya," Glimmer chirped, with a laugh. "Thought you could outrun us, Horde scum?"

"Always so predictable, Sparkles," Catra retorted, her back straightening. 

Adora's frown deepened. "It doesn’t matter what you do, Catra. We’re gonna win this," she said.

The rumbling groan of ancient hinges and the snap of rusted metal was their only warning before the floor beneath them melted away. A collective gasp echoed through the group as the ground rushed up to meet them. 

When they landed, it was in an ancient throne room. Sitting on a tall stone chair, a skeletal figure loomed. Time had ravaged its form, leaving behind a brittle cage of bone, its surface etched with the passage of countless moons. Yet, amidst the decay, hints of a former life lingered. The tattered remnants of an orange, blue, and white bird-motif costume clung to the bones, whispering of vibrant plumage and feathers that once adorned its owner.

In the heart of the crumbling chamber, water dripped from cracked stone onto the gleaming Sword of Power. Bathed in its inner light, Catra stared at Shadow Weaver, searching for any hint of the Sorceress's true intentions behind her mask.

"Go, now," Shadow Weaver said to Catra.

Dark mist, conjured from the shadows that clung to the ancient castle walls, whipped around Adora and Glimmer. It dropped to the floor and liquefied like tar, pinning their feet. They struggled, kicking and straining against the bonds, but the shadows held them fast. 

As Adora struggled, she desperately reached for the Sword of Protection on her back. Its polished surface humming with latent power. With a whispered spell, Shadow Weaver propelled herself toward the dais. Catra, normally swift and focused, stumbled into her next step, adrenaline thrumming through her veins.

Glimmer's eyes widened in alarm at their progress. “No, you don’t!” She summoned a blinding burst of light, shattering the magic that bound her. 

Glimmer released another burst of light that disrupted the Sorceress's continued advance. With a mighty heave, Adora broke free as well. The Sword of Protection gleamed as she swung it toward Shadow Weaver, who quickly tried to sidestep the attack. 

Catra engaged Glimmer with a whirlwind of acrobatic strikes. Glimmer made defensive barriers and retaliatory bursts of light.

Glimmer teleported forward quickly, her fingers grazing the hilt of the Sword of Power. But Catra intercepted, sending the Princess sprawling. At the last moment Glimmer blinked away just in time, leaving Catra to fall to the dirt.

"Enough games," Shadow Weaver hissed. "Catch the Princess."

“I'm trying.” Catra, dust clinging to her like battle paint, snapped. "Think you can do any better?" she asked.

“I know I can.” Shadow Weaver said, waving a hand as she saw the telltale shimmers of Glimmer reappearing. “Handle Adora.” 

Illusions of several Swords of Power appeared in the clearing, conjured by Shadow Weaver's magic. Glimmer hesitated at the wall of copies unsure of her correct target.

Adora charged, the gleaming steel of her blade a beacon in the gloom. She slammed into Catra, their blades, and claws clashing in a shower of sparks. 

Meanwhile, Shadow Weaver unleashed a wave of dark magic against Glimmer. The Princess countered with dazzling light, the two magical forces of dark and light collided in a burst of shimmering colors. 

With a devious snarl, Catra aimed a kick at Adora's knee. Adora stumbled, her grip on the Sword of Protection faltering. Catra's eyes flashed with triumph as she wrenched the hilt from Adora's grasp and tossed it across the room. 

With a final, desperate leap, Catra soared through the air, her outstretched claws slicing through the shimmer of Shadow Weaver's illusory swords. Her fingers closed around the true Sword of Power, a surge of intoxicating energy flowing through her. 

“Hey, Adora.” A laugh tore from Catra’s throat, echoing through the room. "Better luck next time,” she said. 

The room groaned in protest, ancient stone splitting under the combined weight of Catra and the crumbling platform. Before Shadow Weaver could react, the platform shattered, sending both Catra and the Sword of Power plummeting into the abyss below. 

“Catra!” Adora's scream ripped through the air as she lunged forward, her outstretched hand reaching for Catra in a desperate attempt to save her former friend.

But it was too late. The cavern below swallowed them whole, the echoes of their screams the only remaining trace of the intense battle that had just unfolded. Glimmer and Shadow Weaver stood frozen in stunned silence.

With a shared look of understanding, both Glimmer and the Sorceress made their choices. Glimmer teleported away in a flash of light, likely in pursuit of Adora. Shadow Weaver followed suit, disappearing into a burst of swirling shadows.

Moments later, Shadow Weaver materialized in a room unlike any she'd ever seen. Soaring cathedral ceilings arched overhead, their intricate stonework pulsing with inner light. Crystal growths, each a glittering prism reflecting the cavern's glow, jutted from the walls like frozen waterfalls. The air crackled with a strange energy that felt oppressive to Shadow Weaver. 

Glimmer appeared next to Adora, dust clinging to her like a second jacket. She brushed the remnants of the journey off her clothes. The blonde’s eyes searched for Catra.

"Catra?" Adora's voice echoed through the cavern.

Catra twirled the sword with practiced ease, its weight a familiar comfort. "Hey Adora, who am I?" she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "By the Honor of Grayskull!"

Adora's relief, etched on her face for just a moment, melted into exasperation. "Cut it out, Catra." 

"Oh, come on, blondie," Catra teased, batting her eyelashes. "I’m just having a little fun with a fancy sword."

"Do not trifle with things you are not familiar with." Shadow Weaver warned. 

Glimmer tried once more to teleport the Sword away but Catra pulled it out of her reach. A bright light shined off the sword for a second later and everyone held their breath. 

Catra was grinning wider than ever, the sword resting nonchalantly on her shoulder. "See? Nothing to worry about," she said. "No big transformations." She looked at where they landed taking in the tall ceilings ravaged by time. 

Catra's eyes widened at the sight of the Sword of Protection, nestled against a towering door with its halves painted in starkly contrasting hues. Before she could take a single step, an unseen force tugged her across the chamber, her feet whispering against the dusty marble floor. She stood before the sword, its shimmering blade humming with an alluring power.

Catra tiptoed to the sword’s perimeter, fingers trailing hesitantly across the cool crystal of the Sword of Protection. A lone chime echoed as walls of translucent stone surged from the floor. The sword's pedestal hummed with raw power, encased in a dome of light.

"Catra!" Adora's voice cut through the sudden silence, laced with urgency. She shoved Catra aside. Catra stumbled, landing hard against Shadow Weaver, who promptly shoved her back with a snarl, the touch electric and unwelcome.

"What's your problem?" Catra spat, frustration simmering.

Catra and Shadow Weaver stood shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes glued to the metallic doors slamming shut one by one, sealing them in this crystal prison. Each clang resonated like a death knell. Shadow Weaver, her expression thunderous, launched a torrent of black magic at the nearest door. The energy slammed into the barrier, absorbed like water into sand. 

A heartbeat later, it pulsed back, a malevolent echo aimed at the sorceress. She flung up a magical shield, deflecting the blast against the wall with a deafening crack. Not even a whisper of scorch marked the unyielding surface.

"Where's the Sword?” Shadow Weaver asked.

Catra's eyes darted around the chamber, claws unsheathed and itching for a target. "Argh!" she roared, slashing them against the air. "Adora must have snagged it when she shoved me."

"Predictable," Shadow Weaver spat, her voice laced with bitter amusement. "I should have known you would fail once more."

"What now?" Catra snarled.

"Cease your prattling," Shadow Weaver hissed, scanning the doorway before her eyes narrowed. On the frame, etched in glowing runes, hung an inscription: "To open the door, the soul must delve, recall the wounds where memories dwell. But heed the caution, lest emotions seethe, for a beast stirs, if negativity is breathed.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a cryptic riddle that held the fate of their escape. 

Catra squinted, looking around the room. “Why does this look so familiar?” 

A brilliant white light exploded in the chamber, engulfing them in a blinding embrace. Shadow Weaver recoiled and shut her eyes to the light that tried to sear its way through her mask. Catra stumbled back, her senses overwhelmed. The light, an unnatural one unlike any they'd ever witnessed, crawled over their skin, probing and scrutinizing in its scan. 

The room's ambient lights dimmed as Catra blinked open her eyes. Before her stretched the familiar surroundings of the Horde base in the Fright Zone. A sense of disorientation gripped her until she noticed the younger version of herself, aged around five or seven, standing beside Shadow Weaver.

"Adora!" Little Catra's voice rang out as she ran towards the younger Adora, a specter of the past.

The present Catra watched the scene unfold, her eyes tracing the interaction between her younger self and Adora. Catra, with a dramatic sniffle, turned to Adora, her expression a mix of worry and curiosity.

"Does it look broken to you?" Catra inquired, presenting her face to Adora.

Adora chuckled a warm and reassuring sound. "It's not broken, you're fine," she replied, a comforting smile playing on her lips.

However, the drama wasn't over. Catra examined her hand, her eyes widening in shock. "I'm bleeding!" she shrieked.

"You're not bleeding! And why would you try and pick a fight with Octavia anyway?" Adora questioned, a mix of amusement and exasperation in her tone.

"I didn't do anything, all I did was exist near her... and scratch her on the eyeball," Catra shrugged nonchalantly. "And call her a dumb face."

Adora scoffed at the last statement. "Catra—"

"What?! She has a dumb face!" Catra insisted, her defiance echoing through the room.

"Okay." Adora lowered her voice, adopting a disarming tone, and offered her hand. "Where is she?"

Catra, taking Adora's hand, led them to another room, pointing down at Octavia, who seemed preoccupied with something.

"Hey, Octavia!" Adora called out, her voice echoing in the space.

Octavia grunted in acknowledgment, her attention momentarily diverted from whatever she was occupied with.

Adora glared down at the Force Captain, a determined spark in her eyes. "You're a dumb face!"

Octavia roared angrily, stomping up the ramp in pursuit of the two girls.

"She's coming!" Catra giggled with delight.

"Run!" Adora shouted, reaching for Catra.

The two girls sprinted away, holding hands and laughing, as the memory dissolved.

"How touching," Shadow Weaver remarked, her tone laced with sarcasm as she fixed Catra with a glare.

"What?" Catra responded, throwing her hands up defensively. "I can't control it. This room is reading my memories."

"Clearly," Shadow Weaver replied, her eyes piercing.

In the training arena, a younger version of Catra, seemingly pre-teen, charged through the present-day Catra, wielding a staff and yelling. A clash ensues with a pre-teen Adora, their staves crackling with electricity as they grunt and shout during their lively duel.

Catra poked at Adora's forehead with a claw tauntingly and the blonde strained to see it while Catra laughed. Adora goes for a swipe and Catra dodges, stamping Adora’s staff out of her hands. Catra brought her staff down for a hit, but Adora caught it and threw Catra off to the side who landed with a thump on the ground.

“Ow!” Catra cried out, feigning pain.

Adora frowned in concern as she kneeled beside Catra. “You okay?”

Catra swept Adora's feet out from under her and they continued to fight shouting and grunting. With Adora now on the ground; Lonnie came in from behind and swiped down at Catra while Adora rolled out of the way. Lonnie and Catra struggled, and finally, Catra poked at Lonnie's breastplate which buzzed her out. 

Young Catra panted as Adora came back in and knocked her staff out of her hands, hitting and buzzing her out.

“And there's our winner.” The training handler announced. 

The training simulation's darkness faded away as the rest of their squad and the Handler came into view. Adora offered her hand to help Catra up.  The brunette grumbled but took the proffered hand anyway.

“Good work, cadet.” The Handler congratulated Adora. “I like your focus. This win will definitely be reported back to Lord Hordak.” 

“What was that?” Catra marched up to Lonnie. “Way to gang up on me!”

Lonnie rolled her eyes. “You were fighting dirty. I was just leveling the field.” 

Catra shook and growled in anger as Adora walked up and placed a hand on Catra's shoulder.

“Hey, you were awesome!” Adora said with a small smile. “Did I hurt you?”

Catra waved off her concern. “No, I'm fine. You're just lucky I let you win.”

“Right…” Adora replied smugly, holding out the syllable. 

Catra scoffed. “I'm serious! If I came in first, people might expect me to actually start doing stuff around here. Trust me, second place suits me just fine.” 

Adora still looked a little smug, but let it go. “Yeah, okay. Come on, let's go cool down.” 

“In a minute, I'll meet you there,” Catra said. 

“Hey, guys, wait up!” Adora called out to the group behind her. 

Adora goes over to the rest of the squad, laughing as they commented on how cool the training was.  

The air around Shadow Weaver tightened, a subtle chill creeping in despite the strange warmth emanating from the symbol on the door. She scowled at Catra, her voice edged with icy frustration. "You must focus your thoughts," she hissed, "Every wasted moment in these echoes could cost us our escape."

Catra met Shadow Weaver's gaze with a glare. "I read the plaque the same as you did," she said, jabbing a finger at the golden glow beginning to seep into the symbol's grooves. "Right now my thoughts are the only ones getting us out of here.” 

The chamber seemed to shudder with Catra's anger and Shadow Weaver’s annoyance. The once neutral glow took on a faint crimson tinge. As the next memory pulsed into existence, a creeping dread replaced the tension in the air. 

A giggle echoed through the darkened hall of the Fright Zone. A five-year-old Catra rocketed across the room, her small form silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the Fright Zone’s dingy panels. With a grunt of effort, she launched herself from one hanging cable to another, swinging with practiced ease. 

Behind her swung Adora. Her grip on the cables seemed looser, her movements less sure. Her brows furrowed in concentration, and her laughter, when it came, was more a breathless gasp than a joyous outburst.

“Hey Catra, wait up!” Adora grunted.

Catra, fueled by the adrenaline rush, ignored the warning bells in her head. With a final triumphant yell that echoed through the deserted halls, she landed with a thump on a nearby platform, her bare feet kicking up a small cloud that lingered in the air.

"What's it like being the world's slowest person?" Catra taunted. 

Adora, lagging, missed the next handhold and ended up in a heap of discarded scraps, groaning as she untangled herself. She chased after Catra, her steps echoing in the cavernous space, but her friend had already stopped.

Catra stood frozen, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as she stared down the long hallway. Adora, catching up, tugged playfully at her hair, but Catra remained oblivious, her attention drawn to the end of the passage.

Together, they turned their eyes towards the Black Garnet chamber, at the end of the hall. The heavy oak doors usually sealed shut, stood slightly ajar, a tantalizing glimpse of the forbidden treasure within.

Adora's breath hitched in her throat. "Whoa," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

"It's open," Catra gasped. 

"We're definitely not allowed in there," A nervous chuckle escaped Adora.

With a joyous shout, Adora turned and sprinted towards the room, her laughter echoing through the quiet halls. Catra, torn between caution and the thrill of the unknown, hesitated for a moment before following, her laughter bubbling up as she chased after her friend, their footsteps echoing into the darkness of the Black Garnet chamber.

In the heart of the room, a platform of metal and pipes held captive a massive gem, larger than their both girls combined. The Black Garnet. Its facets glimmered like captured lightning was trapped within its depths. 

An irresistible pull tugged at young Catra, drawing her closer. Curiosity warring with caution, she inched forward, fingers reaching out, trembling ever so slightly.

“Wow.” Catra gasped, staring up at the large Runestone. 

With a whisper-soft touch, her world went ablaze. The Black Garnet surged, igniting Catra's tiny fist in a blinding flash. She shrieked as her hair shot skyward, electrified by the gem's raw power. 

But her hand remained clasped around the Garnet, an unyielding grip born of wonder, not fear. The gem's magic, no longer hostile, pulsed through her, wrapping around her small frame in a cocoon of crackling energy. At that moment, young Catra wasn't afraid. She was exhilarated, a tiny kitten holding back the very breath of a storm.

Present-day Catra frowned in confusion. “I don’t remember this happening.” She mumbled. 

“Not surprising as your memory is faulty at best.” Shadow Weaver said. 

“I remember everything else about that day,” Catra said, glaring at the Sorceress. “Especially what happened next.” She said, averting her eyes. 

“Ma-maybe we should get out of here,” Adora said nervously. 

They heard Shadow Weaver groaning from the hallway and ran to hide. Shadow Weaver came in and touched the Garnet, electricity zapping around her hand; she seemed to sigh in relief, going over to her scrying table, where she took off her mask with a click as it unhinged.

Adora gasped in shock at the sight and Shadow Weaver turned around and also gasped in shock at the two children. Catra scrambled to her feet as they started to run away. 

“Get out!” Shadow Weaver bellowed. 

Adora cried out in alarm as dark magic enclosed the exit, forcing it to shut. 

“Catra…” Shadow Weaver drawled. She enveloped Catra in paralyzing, zapping magic. “...you stay.”

Catra grunts as she is forced to stand. 

“What do you think you're doing in here?” Shadow Weaver asked. 

Shadow Weaver made Catra turn, feet squeaking on the floor as she did so without picking up her feet. Shadow Weaver clicked her mask back in place. 

“We were just playing,” Catra said fearfully. 

“Insolent child.” Shadow Weaver floated up to Catra, towering over her. “I've come to expect such disgraceful behavior from you. But I will not allow you to drag Adora down as well.” 

“Shadow Weaver, it wasn't her fault, it was my idea, too!” Adora pleaded. 

Shadow Weaver ignored the blonde, keeping her attention on Catra. “You have never been anything more than a nuisance to me! I've kept you around this long because Adora was fond of you, but if you ever do anything to jeopardize her future, I will dispose of you myself.” she slowly enunciated her next words. “Do. You. Understand?”

Adora ran between them, throwing her arms out to protect Catra. “ Please stop!” 

The dark magic dissipated back into Shadow Weaver's robes as she groaned and moved back toward the Garnet. Adora and Catra shared a look before Adora ran over to Shadow Weaver. 

“She didn't mean to.” Adora protested. 

“Adora, you must do a better job of keeping her under control.” Shadow Weaver finally let Catra out of the paralyzing magic. Catra grunted as she fell to the ground. “Do not let something like this happen again.” She said gently as she patted Adora's head and Catra looked on.

Without a word, Adora turned and started walking down the dimly lit corridor. Catra hesitated for a moment, then stalked after her, her silence louder than any accusation. 

“Adora was the one that trespassed in my sanctum?” Shadow Weaver asked once the scene was over. 

“Yeah of course that's what you focus on.” Catra scoffed. “Guess she's never been your perfect little soldier.” 

“No doubt from your influence.” Shadow Weaver hissed. 

“Of course, it's always my fault.” 

“I am delighted to know you understand your place.” Shadow Weaver glanced at the door and noticed it was inert and silent. “This will get us nowhere.” 

“I’m sick of this!” Catra roared suddenly. “You ruin people. All you did was pit me and Adora against each other.” 

“Catra now is not the time for petty squabbles. If you continue to feed the door these pointless negative emotions we will no doubt awaken the castle’s defenses.”

“No! I want to know the truth.” Catra said. “Tell me why you don’t care for me. I am just as good as Adora and you know it.”

“You wish to know why I keep you distant?” Shadow Weaver faced away from the younger woman. “I did tell you the truth before. You remind me of myself.” 

Shadow Weaver gestured as a memory began around them. They turned their attention to Adora as she hurried to catch up with Rogelio, Lonnie, and Kyle.

Catra frowned when she recognized the scene. “We’ve already seen this.” 

“Everything is not what you perceive.” Shadow Weaver insisted.

Catra saw the memory was now from the corner of the training room. The past Shadow Weaver's narrowed eyes tracked her as she left the room. They both watched as the Sorceress followed Catra unseen. 

Catra's footsteps faded down the hall, leaving the locker room silent. A moment ago, she'd stormed in, the metallic clang of her discarded breastplate echoing against the tiles. Her reflection caught her at the sink, jaw clenched, eyes rimmed with unshed tears. Then, in a blink, Present Catra stared back, the vision of her younger self dissolving.

The memory faded, swirling back into the recesses of Shadow Weaver's mind, leaving her and Catra alone in the room.

“What was that?” Catra asked with a frown. “That was just another memory where you could have helped me. You could have shown me just a little bit of kindness but you left me as you always do.”

“Of course, you would not see it as I do.” Shadow Weaver pointed out. “That was the day you gave up.”

“How can you say that?” Catra said.

“You decided to allow Adora to surpass you.”

“You didn’t exactly encourage me.”

“What was there to encourage? What did you give me to work with?”

“I was a child!” Catra stomped forward, shoving Shadow Weaver with all of her strength. 

Unseen by Catra and Shadow Weaver a bubbling mass of negative energy pulsed grotesquely in the corner.

“A child that decided that with one little set back she would choose not to exert any effort.  You must always succeed if given the chance.” Shadow Weaver couldn’t help but add. “Adora managed to perform this without my coddling.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe more ‘coddling’ is what she wanted. She left us both.” Catra said and her face became thunderous. 

“You were always jealous.” 

“Jealous?” A loud bark of laughter burst from Catra. “You have nothing I want.” 

The Fright Zone memories swirled together as Catra clamped her hands over her ears. She shut her eyes and turned away from the repeating memories. 

Lonnie’s voice floated forward first. “You were fighting dirty.” 

“Insolent child.” Shadow Weaver heard her voice reverberating around them. 

Adora, the quietest voice echoed nearby. “I'm sorry, Catra–” 

“Let. Me. OUT OF HERE!” Catra demanded as she swiped at the empty room. “I don't care about some dumb swords anymore.” 

Shadow Weaver flinched out of the way but not fast enough to avoid being slashed by Catra's claws. She watched as her clothing split apart. 

“Calm down before you destroy us both.” Shadow Weaver demanded 

“Leave me alone.” Catra groaned as she fell to the ground on all fours. She breathed in deeply and paused. “Wait a minute. We’ve only seen my memories. I thought this door needed memories from us both.”

“You do not know pain.” Shadow Weaver insisted. “You can't handle my memories.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re real tragedies.” Catra taunted with a roll of her eyes. “How can you stand to be an ‘all-powerful Sorceress’?” She used her fingers to put quotes around the last three words. 

The room around them wavered as the bright, floating mountains of Mystacor were projected around them. Their peaks morphed and blurred. Light danced erratically, that stretched and warped like phantoms. Suddenly, a voice called out, shattering the idyllic scene.

“Ew, guys look who it is.” A young girl taunted. “It’s Blight Spitter.”

Light Spinner flinched, clutching her leather-bound tome tighter. Turning, she saw a petite girl with her fiery red hair in braids. Her mischievous blue eyes sparkled under the brim of a wide-brimmed straw hat.

"Ember," Light Spinner mumbled. She quickened her pace, her worn leather boots sinking into the lush grass.

"Whoa, slow down, Blight Spitter!" another voice boomed. A broad-shouldered boy with windswept blue hair and freckles across his nose practically materialized beside Ember. His grin was malicious.

“My name is Light Spinner. As you well know." Light Spinner clutched her books to her chest. 

“As you well know.” Sparky mocked.

“She talks so weird.” Gild pointed out. 

"Just because you spend all that time in the library doesn't make you better than us," Ember said with a frown. 

"Yeah, we're sick of you correcting us just because you wanna be a little kiss ass," Sparky said, stepping into Light Spinner’s personal space. 

"What do you want?" Light Spinner managed.

“I just want to talk to my good friend Blight Spitter,” Sparky said, slapping a hand across Light Spinner's back. “You shouldn't be rude.” 

"Yeah, don’t be rude. Tell us where are you off to in such a hurry?" Ember tilted her head.

Light Spinner hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the intricate patterns on her book's cover. "Just... heading to the training grounds," she finally mumbled.

"Training grounds?" Sparky raised an eyebrow. "We didn't hear nothing about extra spell practice."

Ember snorted. "Knowing Blight Spitter, she's probably just rushing to get a head start on tomorrow's lesson. Teacher's pet, remember?"

Gild let out a nasty chuckle. "Aw, don't be mean, Ember. She just takes her studies seriously."

Light Spinner, flustered and embarrassed, mumbled a hasty goodbye and fled, trying to leave the childish taunts echoing in her wake. 

“Blight Spitter! Blight Spitter! Blight Spitter!” the children taunted.

A wave of icy dread washed over Light Spinner as she spun on her heel, her eyes meeting Sparky's terrified gaze. "Shut. UP." 

Sparky, usually a whirlwind of giggles and mischief, stood petrified, his eyes wide with terror. Before anyone could even ask what was wrong, his lips parted in a silent scream, no sound emerging. He crumpled to his knees, hand clutching his throat as if choking on an invisible fist. His skin bloomed an alarming blue, and from his eyes, a desperate plea. 

"What happened?" Ember asked, panicked. 

Gild pointed at Light Spinner. "It was her. She did something." 

"What did you do to my boyfriend?" Ember demanded. 

"I don't know." Light Spinner's eyes were wide as she looked at the convulsing boy. "I-I just wanted him to leave me alone." 

"She knows forbidden magic." Gild gasped. 

More apprentices were getting close to the group, eager to find out the source to the commotion. 

"I knew she was a freak." Someone in the crowd whispered. 

"Fix him," Ember said, pushing Light Spinner.

"I-I don't know how," Light Spinner said earnestly. 

There was another shove from Ember as she said. "Fix him right now." 

"Stop it." Light Spinner demanded. She felt her magic gather around her as another spell sprung to her mind when another voice was added to the fray. 

“Allow me through.” Norwyn’s voice rang out across the courtyard.

Everyone stopped immediately and parted to allow him through. His eyes tracked over the scene and asked Ember. “What is the meaning of this?” 

“We were just trying to tell Light Spinner how we enjoyed her information today in the lecture and she attacked Sparky." 

“That’s not true!” Light Spinner protested. “They wouldn’t let me pass.” 

Norwyn waved a hand and Sparky was able to finally breathe.

“Thank you, Master Norwyn.” The boy croaked out. 

“Everyone go to your lessons,” Norwyn clasped a firm hand on Light Spinner’s shoulder and steered her out of the courtyard. “You come with me.” 

Shadow Weaver tried to shut her mind to the pain and the memories. It was too much to reveal. Shame coiled around Shadow Weaver, squeezing the air from her lungs. Memories pressed against the walls of her mind, threatening to burst forth. 

It couldn't happen now. Not here, not now. Not with Catra's judging gaze boring into her. The Angelic Beings could be watching. Angella could be watching. These were her private demons. What right did the universe have to witness her torment?

She tried, with shaking hands, to grasp at the darkness, to shove the memories back into the abyss of her mind. But the thoughts persisted, seeping into the next scene.

"No!" Shadow Weaver's cry ripped through the air, a desperate plea lost in the echo of her failures.

The hum of magic in the chamber, once a comforting pulse, now sounded like mocking laughter in the face of her shattered self. 

The dimly lit chamber echoed with the soft hum of magical energy, and Light Spinner's focus wavered. Her eyes glazed over, losing their sharpness as if gazing into another realm. Her mind was a labyrinth of memories and secrets, and in the lecture, she found herself wandering through its dark corridors.

Norwyn’s rhythmic cadence stayed in the background of Light Spinner's disintegrating awareness. He and the room became a distant echo, the words flowing around her like an elusive mist. 

Or fog maybe. Darkness danced on the periphery of her vision, and the room itself seemed to warp, bending reality to the whims of her unraveling thoughts. 

Norwyn gave a slow smile and adjusted the strap of Light Spinner’s tank top. “Our lesson for today is over.” He cupped her face. “If someone asks you what we practice, what will you say?” 

“Advanced spell theory,” Light Spinner said in a monotone. 

“That’s a good girl,” Norwyn stated gently, rubbing teasing fingers through the ends of her hair. “You know I only spend this time with my most special pupils.” 

Light Spinner just nodded. She walked in a daze to her stack of books when Norwyn’s voice stopped her once more. 

“Did you forget something?” He asked. 

“No, sir.” Light Spinner said. She carefully replaced the fastenings on Norwyn’s breeches. She avoided his eyes and hoped she didn't do anything to encourage more time alone with him.

She smoothed down the fabric like she was taught and waited for him to give her permission to leave. She must have made it outside because it was raining. She felt the warm droplets falling off her skin. 

The cold tiles of the shower sank into her skin past her clothes. Steam rose and curled into a humid curtain of comfort as Light Spinner scrubbed her exposed skin raw. 

The first sob startled her. She almost looked around the shower to see if anyone else was there with her. Then she couldn't stop her tears from mingling with the water as she curled into a fetal position near the drain. 

The memory ended and silence descended. 

Catra's voice was a soft tremor as she said. “S-Shadow Weaver?”

“Don’t.” Shadow Weaver rasped, her voice choked with barely contained rage. “I don’t need your pity.”

"I think I get it now," Catra said after a beat of silence.

"You will never truly understand what it feels like to be used by someone who was supposed to protect you in ways that defy nature and morality," Shadow Weaver retorted.

"Yeah, you're right," Catra admitted. "But I-"

"Stop. Talking," Shadow Weaver's command reverberated through the chamber, cutting through the tension-filled air. She turned her gaze back to the door, her eyes fixated on the glowing seal. As her attention shifted, she realized that the seal to the door was now three-quarters of the way full, indicating that it was Catra's turn to confront her own deep-seated conflicts and reveal her innermost struggles.

Catra's hand hovered hesitantly above the older woman's shoulder. "But… are you…?" she choked out, the question hanging heavy in the air. “Are you okay?”

Shadow Weaver's breath hitched, a sob trapped in her throat. For a moment, the walls threatened to close in, crushing her under the weight of her shame. “Leave me alone!”  Her voice boomed through the vaulted ceilings with a thunderclap.

Shadow Weaver allowed a ripple of dark energy to pulse around her like cold flames. The younger woman leaped away and tried to escape the attack.

“That’s right, run away!” Shadow Weaver taunted as she pursued the Catra. “You talk to me about how much I’ve ignored you like there aren’t other things to consider.”

She shot a blast of energy at Catra who ducked out of the way.

“I could have been an overbearing mentor to you, smothering you until you were too afraid to breathe in the real world. I could have been like him .” Shadow Weaver spat in disdain.

The roped energy crackled around Catra. Shadow Weaver towered above her, a dark specter against the glow of the chamber. In her hand, an energy ball thrummed.

"This is what caring gets you," Shadow Weaver thundered, voice echoing off the crystalline walls.

But she never unleashed the blow. A monstrous roar cleaved the air, snapping jaws erupting from a shadowy fissure. A barbed tentacle slammed her aside, sending Shadow Weaver crashing into the wall with a grunt. Wind knocked from her lungs, and she slumped to the floor, coughing dust and tasting bile.

The creature reared, unleashing a primal scream that rained crystal shards from the ceiling. Its spotted fur and serrated teeth snapping with deadly intent. Shadow Weaver tried to stand and winced, clutching her side. The beast lunged, hot breath chasing Catra like a creature possessed.  Catra, a feral spark in her eyes, met each attack with balletic precision.

Catra vaulted onto its snout, claws unsheathing. A shriek ripped through the chamber as her blade-like claws raked across the monster's sensitive nose. The beast recoiled, whimpering, rubbing its bloodied snout against the ground.

Shadow Weaver pushed to her feet, ribs screaming in protest. Ignoring the searing pain, she lurched towards Catra, "Get away from it!"

Catra spun towards the older woman, fangs bared. "Why should I care what you want?" she spat, dodging another snap from its mouth.

But her bravado faltered as she glanced behind her to the monstrous guardian, its form rippling with more raw, primal fury. The creature let out a deafening roar, tentacles tipped with barbs waved in the air. Catra's eyes widened.

Seeing Catra's terror, a surge of something long dormant sparked within Shadow Weaver - a flicker of protectiveness that battled against the gnawing pain in her chest. With a desperate grunt, she hurled a binding spell at the guardian. The air shimmered, a silken net materializing and ensnaring the creature mid-charge. It roared in fury, thrashing against the shimmering bonds.

But the binding couldn't hold forever. It begun to fray under the creature's onslaught, threads snapping apart. Shadow Weaver, her magic reserves drained from the battle for the Sword of Power, knew there was only one thing left to do. With a final, agonizing push, she propelled herself forward just as the net gave way.

She threw herself in front of Catra, a living shield against the creature’s attack. A barbed tentacle lashed out, slicing through her back. A searing pain ripped through her. It was an effort to keep her eyes open, to hold onto the sight of Catra, the younger woman’s face contorted in horror. She tried to stay upright but her body refused to cooperate. 

"No!" Catra's scream tore through the room. She slid to her knees beside Shadow Weaver. With a desperate sob, she pulled the older woman close. 

“Get up.” Catra begged. “Please. Don't…don't leave me again.” 

The chirping laugh of the canine-like guardian sounded above Catra and her grief mingled with rage. Tears still streaming down her face, she rose to her feet, facing the monstrous thing that had dared to strike down her…Shadow Weaver. She felt an almighty force rise inside her and in instinct she didn't know existed before that moment, her hands shot out, palms facing forward. 

A shimmering barrier erupted around them, pulsing with raw, untamed magic. The guardian screeched, tentacles flailing against the solid magic wall, but it couldn't penetrate. Catra stared at the barrier, her reflection distorted in its shimmering surface. 

A phantom of Shadow Weaver and a toddler Adora passed through Catra before another Fright Zone hallway appeared. Shadow Weaver strode purposefully into the infirmary, only to be greeted by a chaotic sight that unfolded before her eyes. 

"What in the name of Etheria is going on here?" Shadow Weaver asked. 

One of the attendants, Grizzlor, struggled to contain a small, feisty creature. "We stumbled upon this unruly little runt in the village, and she's been quite a handful to manage."

"We've been trying to tranq the little nightmare for like ten minutes, but she's proven to be a pain," Octavia growled. 

As if sensing an opportunity, the agile feline swiftly wriggled free from the grasp of Grizzlor and Octavia, darting towards Shadow Weaver. In a daring display, the kitten leaped onto her, its tiny claws sinking into her legs as it nimbly climbed up her robe. 

A sharp hiss escaped the Sorceress’ lips as the pain seared through her legs, but she couldn't help but be captivated by the unexpected audacity of the creature. 

Undeterred by her initial resistance, the fearless feline found its way to Shadow Weaver's shoulder, delicately pawing at it. Intriguingly, it pressed its head against her mask, as if seeking solace or connection. The tension within the room momentarily dissipated as the kitten settled down, emitting a contented purr that reverberated through the air.

Shadow Weaver's stoic facade momentarily softened as the small feline nestled itself against her, its unexpected display of affection both irritating and endearing. In this fleeting connection, amidst the chaos that perpetually enveloped her, she found a brief respite.

"Kitty!" Adora's voice rang out as she stumbled forward, her small legs propelling her with an innocent giggle. She reached out eagerly, her eyes filled with delight at the sight of the potential furry companion.

Shadow Weaver's voice turned stern. "Adora, be cautious. We don't know what illnesses this little cur may carry."

Adora halted in her tracks, her young mind comprehending the serious tone. A touch of disappointment clouded her expression as she remained on the floor. "But kitty," she murmured, longing evident in her voice.

Shadow Weaver held the kitten by its scruff, inspecting it with a critical eye. "I suppose if my ward insists on keeping you around..."

The kitten playfully swiped its tiny paws in the air, an impish glint in its eyes. The brown mane behind the kitten was growing and Shadow Weaver gasped. The kitten was in her grip one moment and on the floor clutching Adora in the next. 

A flicker of thought ignited in the depths of Shadow Weaver's mind as she observed the endearing interaction between Adora and the kitten. "What shall we name your new companion?" she mused aloud.

Adora's response was simple yet filled with innocence. "Meow Meow Applesauce."

A soft chuckle escaped Shadow Weaver's, her eyes lingering on the kitten nestled against Adora's side. "I believe we can grant a more fitting name than that," she mused. "Let us call her Catra."

The memory dissolved, leaving Shadow Weaver and Catra once again in the dark expanse.

A heavy silence pressed between them, broken only by Shadow Weaver's voice, echoing in the stillness of the bubble. "You were always a fighter, Catra," she admitted, her voice tinged with a bittersweet note as she went still. 

Darkness greeted Shadow Weaver's eyes as she opened them. There was nothing, just a suffocating void that stretched on forever. Her fingers flew to her face, searching for the familiar cool caress of her mask, the weight that anchored her to sanity. But it wasn't there. Only bare, scarred flesh met her touch.

A guttural rumble echoed through her head and the emptiness. "Finally, you grace us with your presence."

Shadow Weaver whipped around at the voice. Behind her writhed a monstrous entity. Luminous tentacles, thick as trees, pulsated with an unnatural light, their tips dripping with a viscous slime. Gleaming fuschia eyes with y-shaped pupils, stared into her soul.

Shadow Weaver recognized it was the creature that appeared after she performed the Spell of Obtainment. “Why have you brought me here?” she asked. 

“This place is as good a place as ever.” The Shoggoth said.

“What do you want from me?” Shadow Weaver asked. She thought if she could keep it talking, she might be able to restore enough magic to attack. 

"Release your magic," it boomed, the sound vibrating through her. "Empty yourself of power before you unlock the gift we bestowed."

Shadow Weaver's breath hitched in her throat. "Using my magic feels like death," she admitted. "I cannot function without draining external sources. It would be…terminal."

The creature chuckled, a sound like stones grinding together. "And yet, you resist the call. Why?"

"My ward. Catra. She has magic I can feed from." Shadow Weaver's gaze darted to the shimmering window beyond that separated her from the young woman. Catra, her face etched with concern, pounded frantically against the translucent wall, her eyes pleading with Shadow Weaver to wake up.

The Shoggoth, its tentacles shifting and writhing. "You have much to learn," echoed in her skull, each syllable a harbinger of the nightmare to come. 

As it lunged, a monstrous, oozing mass of tentacles and teeth, an instinctive reaction flared within her. Her hands shot up, fingers weaving through the air in a familiar pattern, a desperate echo of the protective shield she'd conjured that fateful night. The gesture, etched into her muscle memory with the searing, held a power she barely understood. 

…And it worked.

The Shoggoth, a churning behemoth of eldritch flesh, slammed to a halt mid-charge, its grotesque form suspended in a mockery of motion. 

Its voice emanating from nowhere and everywhere at once, shook the cavern, "Good! You are already adapting."

The praise, if it could be called that, rang false to her ears. The spell shimmered before her, then dissolved into wisps of errant energy that dribbled away onto the cavern floor. Shadow Weaver stared at the fading remnants, hoping for a clue to what was occurring.

A tremor passed through Shadow Weaver. It wasn't pain, not yet, but a disquiet, a dissonance she couldn't place. Her magic, usually at her beck and call, a swirling, current, felt… different. More like a torrent, an unchecked river carving a new path through her veins.

She had drawn upon its reserves with an abandon she hadn't felt since her years in Mystacor, pushing it, twisting it, bending it to her will like a seasoned blacksmith forging molten steel. It had come effortlessly, as it always had, her power a wellspring that never seemed to run dry. Yet, now, a whisper of unease snaked its way through her.

Catra didn't notice through fighting her tears, but a tremor flickered through Shadow Weaver's hand, a subtle twitch hinting at the sorceress slowly clawing her way back to awareness. 

Before Catra could even blink, she barked into the emptiness, "Not now!" A new memory, unwelcome and intrusive, began to unfold before her eyes, demanding her attention.

Octavia, immersed in the Fright Zone's training room, unleashed her wrath upon simulated targets with a lethal dance of precision and ferocity. Each strike, a testament to her skill, reverberated with a palpable intensity.

"Take that, little brats," Octavia muttered under her breath as she decapitated the next target, her frustration echoing in the cold, metallic room. "I can't wait until I see those two—"

Before she could finish her sentence, a sudden chill enveloped the room. Shadow Weaver, a master of silent entrances, materialized behind Octavia, her ominous presence casting a shadow upon the Force Captain's ruthless training.

"You'll do nothing," Shadow Weaver's voice, like a roar of impending doom, cut through the air.

Octavia, unyielding, chuckled derisively. "That little nightmare claws out my eye, insults me, and I'm just supposed to let that go?"

"Precisely," Shadow Weaver confirmed with a wave of her hand. Dark magic crackled, freezing Octavia in an electrified grip. The Force Captain's movements stilled, bound by the constricting tendrils of magical energy. "I think it's a marked improvement on your overall features, don't you?"

Octavia, despite the magical restraint, shot a defiant look at Shadow Weaver. "Why do you care?" she questioned, her voice edged. "You hate her more than I do."

Shadow Weaver plunged into the cell's inky depths, her final warning swallowed by the steel of the floor. "Heed my words." She slammed Octavia against the far wall with a flick of her wrist. 

Emerging beside Adora's bunk, she found the blonde curled around Catra. A wave of acrid jealousy hitched in her throat, replaced by an unexpected pang. She reached for Catra, her magic poised to lift the sleeping feline away.

The kitten, sensing the intrusion, burrowed deeper into Adora's warmth. Shadow Weaver let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, tucking the blankets around the pair with a hesitant touch. Brushing a stray strand of hair from Adora's face, she finally allowed her gaze to linger on Catra.

There, etched starkly across the bridge of the girl's nose, was a bruise, a brutal testament to Octavia's hand. Catra whimpered in her sleep, flinching away from the Sorceress' touch. 

Shadow Weaver whispered magic into existence, coaxing it into a soft yellow aura that mirrored the Light Spinner she once was. This gentle luminescence enveloped Catra, soothing the visible and unseen wounds. 

Before she could flee the echo of her tenderness, Catra's eyes flickered open. A small, sleepy voice escaped her, "Mama?"

Shadow Weaver's throat caught. "Go back to sleep, cadet," she rasped, the authoritative edge strangely absent. 

As Catra drifted back into slumber, Shadow Weaver breathed a heavy sigh of relief. 

The memory faded, leaving Catra in stale darkness with an unmoving Shadow Weaver and an aggressive guardian. She watched through her tears at the collapsing barrier as it fractured like glass. Each crack throbbed with a silent countdown, an ominous warning urging her to action.

"Come on!" Catra said.

She didn't wait for Shadow Weaver to stir. And stir she would. She refused to think there was any other alternative. Catra launched herself at the guardian. It roared as she darted around its flailing tentacles.

Her claws raked across the monster's hide, leaving deep furrows but barely slowing its assault. One blow wouldn't be enough. She needed a weapon. Her eyes darted on a fallen crystal stalactite, its tip gleaming. With a burst of speed, she dodged a snapping tentacle, her paw skimming the sharpened stone but she was too slow. She felt rather than see a tentacle snag her ankle and pull her away.

"What is happening?" Shadow Weaver asked. 

"Magic." The Shoggoth inching closer with a horrifying slithering sound. "You are the only one of your kind on Etheria. Trollan blood rests in you."

“I've already been shown this,” Shadow Weaver said. 

"I can show you more. I can show you what I know," Shoggoth continued. "The knowledge of Trollan magic is not an easy venture."

But before she could even contemplate the offer, before she could voice the questions that clawed at her throat, agony exploded within her. Her world contorted into a crucible of pain as every cell in her body screamed in protest.

Her skin prickled, then boiled, as if touched by an invisible inferno. Each vertebra in her spine felt as though it were simultaneously submerging in molten lead and being impaled by a thousand needles, twisting and warping under unimaginable pressure. The air itself turned into barbed wire, ripping at her lungs, and her eyes.

Then, just as abruptly as it began, the torture ceased. She stood, legs trembling, breath rasping, her body a wreck of raw nerves and searing agony.

But amidst the wreckage, a strange clarity pulsed. Fear remained, an icy serpent coiled around her heart, but alongside it danced a spark of something else. Hunger. Curiosity. And a terrifying, exhilarating possibility.

She might be the only one of her kind on Etheria. But she was not powerless. And the Shoggoth, with its cryptic pronouncements and whispered promises of forbidden knowledge, was offering her a path. A path into the darkness, yes, but also a path to power, to answers, to a truth more terrible and wondrous than she could have ever imagined.

A jolt surged through Shadow Weaver's chest, the crimson rune of the Rite of Obtainment beneath her burning brighter. The rune’s sigil, etched upon the stone floor echoed in Shadow Weaver's veins. From the floor, the Shoggoth's darkness, a viscous inky tide, surged into her flesh.

She ascended, a feather on a hurricane of power. The gash on her back closed as though stitched by unseen hands, ribs clicking back into place. Dark magic erupted from her chest—a pillar of churning smoke that swallowed the rune whole.

Wings of swirling black flame fanned the air, casting eerie shadows on the chamber walls. Each feather shimmered with the granted power of the Shoggoth. Her form pulsed with newfound vitality.

Her mask appeared once more and hummed with borrowed brilliance. The jagged crack in the middle mended until, with a flash of fire, the mask dissolved and reformed in an instant, revealing lenses that burned with the cold light of long-gone stars. The previous Shadow Weaver was gone. In her place, a being of darkness and light, shadow and fire, rose from her ashes—an Etherian phoenix taking flight.

Pain speared through Catra, a dull throb radiating from her skull. Then, a rough impact jolted her, the stone floor scraping her skin. A hazy figure flickered above, voice distorted and muffled. Through the fog, a familiar touch reached down, cupping the side of her face. 

“Shadow Weaver?” Catra rasped, the words thick with grogginess. "You're alive?"

"Rest now." Shadow Weaver's voice pierced the haze. 

"No… you can't fight it," Catra mumbled. "It's too strong."

Shadow Weaver's fingers tightened, a silent pressure implying more than mere restraint. "Hush, Catra. Leave this to me." A surge of raw magic crackled, weaving a dark barrier to cocoon Catra within.

The true battle ignited. Shadow Weaver lunged, her hair billowing like a cape. Her hands spun, releasing a whirlwind of energy at the Guardian. The creature responded with unnatural strength.

With viper-like precision, Shadow Weaver's spells were calculated strikes. Dark, shimmering hands materialized from her form, pummeling the creature's flailing appendages. The Guardian shrieked, a sound that scraped against the soul, desperate to escape the castle's confines. Catra, in a mix of awe and apprehension, watched as Shadow Weaver battled the nightmarish creature.

"I insist you stay," Shadow Weaver drawled, her voice infused with icy power.

One more ghostly hand stabbed toward the writhing mass, pinning it against the wall with a burst of crackling energy. The castle's stone cracked and groaned under the Guardian's fury.

Raising her other hand, Shadow Weaver snapped her fingers. The magical hand restraining the Guardian erupted in flames. The creature shrieked as it was consumed by heat, and when the flames settled, no trace of the Guardian remained.

Catra gingerly pushed herself up, groaning as stiffness and aches protested. She glanced at Shadow Weaver, who hovered before her, her form a swirl of obsidian and moonlight.

"Shadow Weaver," Catra said, her voice barely a whisper. "You… you did it."

Silence. Then, a sharp, "You are unharmed?" Shadow Weaver asked.

Catra frowned, her gaze darting over the older woman. "What?"

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed, her frustration palpable. "Are you unharmed?" she snapped the magic around her flaring momentarily.

"Y-yeah," Catra stammered. "I'll be okay."

Shadow Weaver's hand rose, then faltered as Catra instinctively cowered back. But instead of the dark magic, Catra expected, a soft, healing light emanated from the older woman's fingertips. It moved over Catra, a gentle caress that soothed the aches and pains.

Catra stared, her eyes wide, unsure what to make of this sudden shift. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft hum of magic. 

“When you were gone.” Catra’s said. “Something weird happened.” She fidgeted with her claws, avoiding Shadow Weaver's gaze. “I think I did magic.” A shaky laugh escaped her, laced with disbelief. “I mean that's crazy right?” 

Shadow Weaver remained silent. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and measured. “Have you ever noticed your innate ability to dispel illusions and wards with your claws?”

Catra stared at her hands. “I just assumed they were really sharp.”

“You have magic Catra.” Shadow Weaver affirmed. “You always have.” 

“What? How did you…You bound my powers, didn’t you!?” Catra's anger flared. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Every time I think you can’t get eviler, you just prove me wrong.”

“You were a volatile conjurer. I had no choice." Shadow Weaver's said.

“Yeah right, I know you are just trying to protect Adora.” Catra spat, her voice laced with bitterness. “Everything revolves around her.”

"You're one to talk about obsessions," Shadow Weaver countered, her tone sharp.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Catra's voice cracked with emotion.

"Anyone with eyes can see, Catra," Shadow Weaver said. "Your feelings for Adora are hardly subtle."

Catra's face burned. "I hate her! I hate her stupid hair poof and her perfect princess face! I hate that you ever styled her hair like that."

Shadow Weaver chuckled mockingly. "Don't protest so much, Catra. One would almost think you were trying to convince yourself." Her eyes narrowed. "Scorpia will be delighted to know she has a chance with her ‘Wildcat’.”

The words hit Catra like a punch to the gut. "She doesn't have a chance," she blurted, her voice raw with desperation. She spun away, pacing the room like a caged animal. "I don't… I don't care about anyone. Besides, what do you even care? I know you wouldn't want us together because we're both…"

"Incompatible?" Shadow Weaver cut in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "As Adora is simply far out of your league?"

Catra stopped, her back stiffening. "I was gonna say both girls," she muttered. "But it's nice to know you're consistent in your little pep talks."

“Is that what you think? If I cared about same-gender pairings, I would have broken up Cobalt and Grizzlor years ago.”

Catra blinked. “They’re together?”

“Yes, they are and the key was that you did not know. It’s not a distraction to the Horde.” Shadow Weaver knew the moment Catra and Adora became attached. 

The first time Catra disobeyed her orders was for Adora and the first time Adora defied her authority was for Catra. She vowed to never allow them to date. She pushed Adora harder to complete her goals and ensured Catra always came up short though Catra always rose to the challenge. Too much like her and not enough like her. It was disappointing.

“But you make them hide it don’t you?” Catra asked. 

“Why would I care what the senior Horde soldiers do? Grizzlor, Cobalt, Octavia, and the others have all proven themselves to be efficient without my oversight.”

“I can be even more efficient if you unbound my powers,” Catra said. 

Shadow Weaver's sigh seemed to echo through the cavern. With a flick of her wrist, she wove a spell, a faint glow bathing Catra in its light.

Catra looked over her body, checking for any differences. When she saw none she said, “That's it?” 

Shadow Weaver nodded. “You will need a teacher.” 

“And who's gonna teach me?” Catra asked with a disapproving eyebrow. “You?” 

“You will find no better instructor.” Shadow Weaver boasted. “I am the only Sorceress to ever tap into a Runestone.” 

“Look how that turned out.” 

Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes to slits. She created a runed attack and flung it at Catra without a word. 

Catra used her hands to slice through the enchantment and felt the magic overcome her. She felt recharged and powerful. “What was that?” she asked excitedly.

“I would tell you however I'm not your instructor.” Shadow Weaver replied with a casual cross of her arms. 

“Just answer the question.” 

“How will you know I'm being truthful?” Shadow Weaver asked. 

Suddenly, a familiar figure materialized before them. Adora, clad in a form-fitting jacket, stood with her arms crossed, a playful smile on her lips. "Hey, Catra," she drawled, her voice a husky purr.

"Adora?" Catra squinted. Something was off. The jacket, the shorts, the way the blonde moved - it was all… wrong. "What are you wearing?"

Adora's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Do you like it?" She released her ponytail, letting her hair cascade down her shoulders.

Catra took a step back, unease creeping over her. Adora's playful advance felt like a predator closing in on its prey. "What are you doing, you weirdo?"

The Adora-clone stalked closer, her voice oozing with a seductive warmth. "Just getting closer, cutie."

"Did you do this?" Catra demanded, her voice laced with panic. She glared at Shadow Weaver. 

“You are a conjurer. You have the will to make your very thoughts real.” Shadow Weaver said. “This is a consequence of your untapped magic.” 

The fake Adora, unfazed by Shadow Weaver's words, reached for Catra and tried to pull her into a hug. “I used my magic to bring Adora here?” 

“This is merely a facsimile.”  

As if on cue, another Adora materialized, her laughter echoing through the chamber before she collapsed to the ground, her form shimmering with instability.

"What's wrong with this one?" Shadow Weaver asked, her amusement turning into a poorly stifled chuckle.

"Nothing! Ignore her," Catra hissed, slapping away the first Adora's advances. The room was spinning, multiplying Adoras flitting in and out of existence.

Suddenly, a soft boop touched her nose. The second Adora, eyes sparkling with mischief, stood before her, booping her repeatedly with her index finger as Catra flailed her arms in a futile attempt to defend herself.

"Boop!" Adora chirped, her laughter filling the air.

A pulsating orb materialized above them, illuminating Anghiel's triumphant grin. "The Torn de Negotium's second round is over," the Empress swept her hand to her left. "Adora and Glimmer, congratulations. You secured both the Sword of Protection and the Sword of Power. This Torn de Negotium is hereby over.” 

An automated voice, devoid of emotion, intoned, "Preparing teleportation."

Catra's face burned from embarrassment. She swatted at the Adoras that clung to her, their fawning whispers grating on her nerves. "Are they gonna appear with us?" she choked out.

“That is very likely.” Shadow Weaver said. 

“No, they can't,” Catra's voice cracked with desperation. “No one can see this. I'll never hear the end of it from her.” 

“From who?” Shadow Weaver inquired, her voice laced with a subtle mockery.

"You know who!" Catra roared, her frustration boiling over.

"Perhaps," Shadow Weaver conceded, feigning sympathy. "But how unfortunate for you. If only you had a magical mentor to help you navigate this... predicament."

“Really?” Catra's eyes widened in disbelief. “You're doing this now?” 

“I do not hand out magical advice freely.” 

“What do you want?” 

Shadow Weaver raised a hand, silencing the phantom Adoras with a flick of her wrist. “Someday soon Hordak will demand you go to the Crimson Wastes. Allow me to accompany you and return to the Rebellion with me.” 

“How do you know about-?” Catra began then paused. “You want me to defect?” she asked, looking startled. She eyed the Sorceress with suspicion. 

“I want you to come fully into your power.” Shadow Weaver held out her hand. “We can do great things together.” 

Catra stared at the older woman, her mind racing. Could this be genuine? Or was Shadow Weaver weaving another intricate web of deceit? Memories flickered, a small Catra held by the scruff of the neck, the warmth of a name bestowed. Against her better judgment, a spark of trust ignited within her.

“I don't know what you're doing.” Catra grasped the hand. “But I’ll do it for now.” 

The Sorceress concentrated, allowing her magic to flow into Catra. “You will not regret this.” 

Catra squeezed the older woman's hand, a silent vow burning in her eyes. “I better not.” 

As the spell subsided, Catra knew, instinctively, what to do. Closing her eyes, she conjured a scene devoid of witnesses, just her and Shadow Weaver, standing alone in the dimly lit chamber. When she opened them, the Adoras had vanished, leaving only the Sorceress, their pact sealed in the air crackling with newfound magic.

Catra's triumphant cry of, "Yes!" was swallowed by the blur of reality shifting. When the world solidified, they found themselves back in the opulent Angelic throne room.

Angella, a whirlwind of relief swept Glimmer and Adora into a crushing hug. Glimmer grumbled through gritted teeth but hugged her mom back just as hard. While Adora stood stiffly, a blush rose across her cheeks. Catra, unable to stifle a snort of laughter at Adora's awkwardness, felt a warmth bloom in her chest despite the lingering bitterness.

The sound of Shadow Weaver clearing her throat cut through Catra’s amusement. Her pointed gaze flickered between Catra and Adora, a silent commentary that hung heavy in the air. 

Catra's laughter choked off, replaced by a defensive growl. "Shut up!" she spat, her voice laced with irritation.

"I haven't said a word," Shadow Weaver countered, her voice dry.

Catra glowered. The warmth from a moment ago evaporating. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," she argued, her jaw clenched.

Adora, as if sensing the brewing tension, stepped forward. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Catra was momentarily thrown off guard by the genuine question. "Yeah, of course," she mumbled, scuffing her foot against the polished marble floor. "Guess you won this one."

Adora's smile was genuine. "But you let me win, right?" she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

Catra glanced at Shadow Weaver. “Not even. I'm gonna beat you so bad next time.”

Angella moved closer to Shadow Weaver, her gaze softening as she noticed the trembling of the older woman's hands. "How are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a murmur.

Shadow Weaver took a deep breath. “I am thankful," she finally said. “The Torn de Negotium is over and it is in Anghiel’s hands now.” 

Anghiel, her gaze steady, nodded curtly. “I've come to my decision,” she announced to the group. 

The room held its breath, every eye fixed on the Empress. She waved a hand at Adora and Glimmer. "Here are our victors of the Torn," she declared, "Glimmer you are granted a request as the summoner."

Glimmer felt the weight of a thousand expectations settle on her shoulders. She met her mother's gaze, a silent plea hanging heavy in the air. Then, her eyes flickered to Catra before finding solace in Adora's unwavering support, the blonde squeezing her hand in silent encouragement.

Glimmer took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Empress Anghiel," she began, "I must ask that you ban the marriage between my mother and Shadow Weaver."

Anghiel's face hardened, ice settling in her eyes. "Denied."

Glimmer's heart plummeted. "Denied?" she echoed, incredulity echoing in her voice.

"The fate of Etheria hangs in the balance, Little Princess," Anghiel said, her voice laced with steel. "This is not the time for petty grievances."

"Petty?" Glimmer spat, anger flaring, momentarily pushing past her fear. 

A collective gasp swept through the court. Glimmer saw Adora's hand tense at her side, and saw the flicker of worry in her eyes. 

“Glimmer, enough!” Angella said. She stepped forward, her intent to shield Glimmer clear however there was a force holding her captive. She recognized the uncomfortable itch of her grandmother's magic on her skin.

Anghiel narrowed her eyes, her gaze cold and calculating. "You dare question my judgment, child?" 

“No!” Angella called out. 

Feathery specters of smoke and steam coalesced in Anghiel's palm, twisting and writhing under her command. It morphed into a swirling echo of Glimmer's voice. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening in silent shock. But the scream that clawed at Glimmer’s throat never escaped. Instead, it materialized – a luminous orb, swirling with stolen volume, ripped from her very soul. Anghiel raised her hand, and the stolen voice obediently drifted towards her, nestled in her palm like a captive butterfly. The silence in the room hung heavy, thick with the weight of what had been taken and the chilling promise of what could be done with it.

Anghiel's voice dripped honeyed venom as she juggled the stolen voice between her hands. "Let that be a lesson, all of you. I normally take heads for less, but the Torn de Negotium binds even my wrath…for now." Then, with a cruel smile, she beckoned Angella forward.

Terror bled into Angella's eyes, a stark contrast to the queenly facade she'd tried to hold in place. 

"Do you believe Glimmer's request is valid for the good of Etheria?" Anghiel's hand tightened on the stolen voice when Angella was silent. "Answer the question."

Angella's jaw clenched, muscles working against the tide of tears threatening to break. "There's… a lot to consider," she stammered.

"Consideration won't keep the Horde at bay!" Anghiel thundered, her voice echoing like a whip crack. "Answer. Do you agree with Glimmer's plea?"

The silence stretched. Finally, the words came, choked and heavy as stones. "No," Angella said quietly. 

Glimmer's face contorted, betrayal twisting her features into raw pain. Her eyes,  normally bright with youthful hope, now burned with unshed tears. She stood there shaking her head in silent disbelief while Angella could only watch as her own words carved a chasm between them.

Across the room, Anghiel savored the silence, a predator relishing the kill. Then, with a smug nod, she declared, her voice dripping with feigned benevolence, “By the grace of the celestial forces and under the sovereign seal of the Torn de Negotium, let it be known that the union between Angella and Shadow Weaver of Etheria is granted with my blessing. This sacred matrimony, once consecrated, shall stand as an unbroken bond. Shadow Weaver, the Trollan halfling, is hereby bestowed the title of Guardian of Etheria, endowed with the authority and dominion over all the powers that such a prestigious mantle confers.”  

Shadow Weaver, caught off guard by the pronouncement. She had anticipated opposition, even censure, but not this... this sudden elevation. A torrent of emotions warred within her: suspicion, pride, and a flicker of fear that danced at the edges of her resolve. What was Anghiel to gain from this move? Her gaze darted to Angella, searching for any hint of understanding, of shared bewilderment, but the queen's face remained a mask of stoic acceptance.

The stolen voice, flung with cruel disdain by Anghiel, crashed back into Glimmer like a physical blow. The Princess crumpled to her knees, chest heaving as a strangled gasp ripped from her throat. Then, a cough wracked Glimmer's frame, each rasping effort seeming to fight for the space of its own return. 

Angella, tears blurring her vision, rushed forward, hands outstretched in apology. But Glimmer, as if burned by the touch, flinched away. Instead, she lurched towards Adora, burying her face in her friend’s chest. Adora could only gaze guiltily at Angella, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. 

A knock on the ornate door shattered the tense silence. A guard stood framed in the opening, his voice hesitant. "Your Excellence?"

Anghiel, still savoring the power play she'd just orchestrated, waved him in. "Yes?"

"Your...pets have finished their walk," the guard mumbled, glancing nervously at the gathered heroes.

Anghiel's lips curved into a pleased smile. "Let them in."

The door creaked open wider, revealing two figures who sent gasps of shock rippling through the room. Two figures shrouded in scant leather, chained and kneeling, leashes trailing from their mouths. Angelic Beings, yes, but stripped of their wings and dignity, reduced to Anghiel's twisted companions.

"Smiles everyone," Anghiel said, rising to her full height and snatching the leashes with chilling nonchalance. "Not many have escaped the Torn with their lives intact. Consider yourselves lucky."

Shadow Weaver, her keen senses tingling, picked up the hum of a brewing teleportation spell. 

"Angella," Anghiel drawled, her voice dripping with false cheer, "When your little war is over, consider it an open invitation to visit."

Angella could only offer a numb nod.

Quick in a flash, they were gone, whisked away by the magic Anghiel wielded so effortlessly. Back in the heart of the chaos, five days seemed like an eternity. Their absence had plunged the wedding celebration into pandemonium. The Princesses, Bow, and Castaspella, faces grim, faced down Hordak and the small Horde squadron that accompanied him. Scorpia, ever the kind soul, struggled to maintain a semblance of order.

Formal attire, miraculously restored, clung to their bodies like ill-fitting reminders of their life interrupted. And as they looked around, taking in the scene of stunned confusion, one thing was clear: their ordeal had only just begun.

Chapter Text

The wedding guests erupted in a cacophony of voices. Some inquired about their well-being, while others speculated on their sudden disappearance, convinced they'd teleported to the ends of the cosmos.

Glimmer launched herself at Bow, knocking the wind from his lungs. "Bow!" she cried.

"Glimmer!" he exclaimed, returning the hug. "Where were you?"

Adora, hesitant but relieved, joined the huddle. “It’s a long story."

"The Angelic plane," Angella interjected, brushing dust from her robes and fluffing her wind-tousled feathers. "The Torn de Negotium needed the current matriarch's touch." Her gaze, tinged with sadness, drifted to Glimmer, still clinging to her friends.

"How long were we gone?" Shadow Weaver's voice cut through the reunion.

"You don't know?" Castaspella asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's been about an hour," Frosta grumbled, her eyes darting to Hordak and his handful of soldiers. "We were about to launch a search party."

"Yes, we were," Bow admitted sheepishly, "but we didn’t know where we would even look."

Perfuma's voice, soft and calming, cut through the tension. "Then the Horde wanted to call off the wedding," she said.

Netossa, standing next to Frosta, glared at Hordak. "He even accused us of trying to stop it!"

“Not an unreasonable assumption,” Hordak conceded. “Magic was undeniably involved in the teleportation.” He didn’t spare a glance at Catra, who was stalking by his side.

Angella spoke. “The treaty stands. The wedding will proceed as planned.”

Castaspella chimed in, “We must complete the handfasting before the spell fades.”

A worried silence hung in the air. Angella’s gaze landed on the uncharacteristically subdued Shadow Weaver. “Are you certain about this?”

"Yes." Hordak’s voice echoed the question, “Do you have second thoughts, Shadow Weaver?”

“None whatsoever, Lord Hordak,” she snapped, then turned to Angella, her voice steady. “I am more sure than I was before."

Angella’s eyes searched Shadow Weaver’s, seeking reassurance. With a sigh, she addressed Castaspella, “Twenty minutes. We will all take some time to tidy up and finish the ritual. There will be no more interruptions, hopefully.”

Shadow Weaver wasted no time. Her long strides ate up the distance to the palace, the Royal Gardens fading behind her. Angella hurried after her, trying to maintain a controlled pace that wouldn’t alarm their guests, all the while burning to reach her. Reaching the private bedroom where Shadow Weaver had prepared for the ceremony, she gently touched her sleeve.

“Do not touch me,” Shadow Weaver hissed, whirling around.

“Of course, my apologies,” Angella said, hands instinctively held aloft.

“Yes, it is,” Shadow Weaver agreed, striding into the room.

Angella paused at the doorway. “May I join you?”

A beat of silence, then a shrug and a languid flick of the wrist. “It is your castle, your kingdom.”

"Shadow Weaver," Angella said earnestly, "please don't shut me out."

The brunette turned, her eyes searching Angella's face. "We are to be bonded soon. Married. I will bend to whatever requests you have."

"I don't want that," Angella said firmly. "I can't imagine how much it hurts to have your past laid bare."

Every muscle in Shadow Weaver's body was locked down. She suspected that Angella may be privy to the full events of the Torn but it was another thing to be fully aware that she saw her innermost thoughts and memories. 

"If the next thing out of your mouth is an apology," The Sorceress said, her voice now dangerously low, "I will not be responsible for my actions."

Angella knew the precipice of her next step. She saw the tension in Shadow Weaver's shoulders. "You're an incredibly strong woman to have survived what you did," she said softly.

Shadow Weaver offered a curt nod. "We need to leave," she said.

"I want to revisit what happened," Angella pressed, trying to gently break through the Sorceress's defenses. "We need to talk about what you experienced in the Torn de Negotium."

"I do not wish to," Shadow Weaver spat, the walls around her heart slamming shut once more.

But Angella held her ground. "It's not healthy to hold your experiences in."

The sound of the orchestra reached their ears, a stark reminder of their dwindling time. Angella took a deep breath, then held out her arm. "Are you ready?" she asked, a small, hopeful smile gracing her lips.

Shadow Weaver, her eyes locked on Angella's, took the offered arm. With a shared sigh, they stepped back into the hallway.

“Thank you all for your patience,” Castaspella announced. “Welcome once again to the bonding ceremony between Angella of Bright Moon and Shadow Weaver.” 

Angella reached out her hand and waited patiently for Shadow Weaver to take it. Once the Sorceress accepted her hand, she squeezed it reassuringly. The two spells from before floated through the air and encircled Shadow Weaver's and Angella's wrists. A soft pink beam of light twisted like a braided rope and slinked forward, tying their hands together.  

"Most of the handfasting is done," Castaspella said, her voice resonating with the gravity of the moment. "We just need your vows to each other to start the marriage seal." 

Angella turned to Shadow Weaver and began. “I, Angella of Bright Moon, commit myself to you, Shadow Weaver, nee Light Spinner, in the sacred bond of marriage. We stand bathed in the light of the Angelic Council's blessing and the enduring peace of the Scorpio treaty.

I vow to be your unwavering supporter. I vow to listen with open ears and an open heart and to stand beside you as we navigate all that awaits in the unknown. Your independence, your vibrant spirit, and the magic that pulses within you—these are treasures I will cherish and honor.

And should our paths intertwine in the dance of love, I promise to be your haven, your solace, your champion, and your confidante. I will hold you close in joy, comfort you in sorrow, and celebrate every facet of your being.” 

Angella took a deep breath before she continued. “And with unyielding devotion, I pledge to forsake all others, for in you, I would find my forever.”

A flash, and the magic was entwining. Their hands pulsed as if accepting Angella’s words. Shadow Weaver tried to stomp down the tenderness rising inside her at Angella’s heartfelt words. She realized she had taken a beat too long to respond.

“Shadow Weaver,” Castaspella said, “What are your vows?” 

“Angella, today is the day I stand with you at the edge of peace, ready to embark on a journey into the unknown. I vow and promise to stand beside you as we face the mysteries of the cosmos, hand in hand. In this shared journey, I promise to cherish the light moments as much as the shadowed ones and to stand by you in moments of joy and in times of trial.

With you, I've discovered a friendship that's more profound and enduring than any incantation. Your strength, your grace, and your wisdom have brought a new and wondrous magic into my life.” Shadow Weaver said, ending her vows with a final statement. "May all our enemies know defeat under our reign." 

Castaspella's face remained unreadable, masking any surprise at Shadow Weaver's words. With a final, dramatic flourish, the handfasting cords entwined, weaving into a single braided rope before vanishing altogether. The marriage seal was complete.

Swift Wind, his hooves clicking in a gentle rhythm, stepped forward. He bore a pillow laden with two magnificent crowns, their filigree gleaming with interwoven Bright Moon crystals. A third item nestled alongside them was a custom-made piece designed specifically for Shadow Weaver.

Castaspella swept her hand towards the crowns, drawing attention to their intricate beauty. "These crowns," she spoke, "symbolize the unending circle of life. Place them upon one another, a seal of your union that transcends time and challenges."

Angella extended her hand, placing the crown on Shadow Weaver's head. "No need to kneel," she whispered, her words meant for only one pair of ears.

“I also had this made. It’s the Moonstone from my original crown.” Angella held up an ear cuff earring with a single crystal hanging from the bottom. 

Angella's touch was feather-light as she secured the earring to Shadow Weaver's left ear. When her fingers brushed the point, a barely there tremor passed through Shadow Weaver that sparked a curious warmth in Angella's chest. 

In return, Shadow Weaver silently lifted the Moonstone pearl, its luminescence casting a subtle magic in the air. With practiced care, she placed it on Angella's forehead, its brilliance echoing in the Queen's eyes.

"Repeat after me," Castaspella commanded. "I offer you this crown, a remembrance of this day, before our cherished community, where we pledge that our union shall endure all. A beacon of inspiration, a testament to love, forevermore."

As one, Angella and Shadow Weaver echoed the words, their voices harmonizing in a vow etched in eternity.

"By the power entrusted to me," Castaspella declared, her voice rising in grandeur, "I now pronounce you, Angella and Shadow Weaver, wife and wife! You may seal your bond with a kiss."

The crowd leaned forward, eager to witness the enigmatic Sorceress's face. Angella, with a playful glint in her eyes, leaned in and pressed a kiss upon Shadow Weaver's mask, a mere peck to acknowledge the pronouncement.

“The marriage rune is officially sealed with a kiss. You cannot substitute it.” Castaspella informed them.

But Angella wasn't finished. With a confident smirk, she pressed a hidden mechanism on the mask. The metalwork dissolved, revealing only Shadow Weaver's lips. A surprised gasp escaped the Sorceress.

"How-" Shadow Weaver began, but Angella silenced her with a gentle touch.

"May I?" Angella asked.

"You may," Shadow Weaver replied, a tremor of desire in her voice.

“No biting,” Angella warned as she stepped closer. 

Their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss. As their lips parted, the crowd erupted in cheers and scattered applause. Everyone was eager to finally enjoy peace. 

“Beings of Etheria,” Castaspella proclaimed, her voice resonating across the gardens. "I present to you Angella and Shadow Weaver, Queens of Bright Moon.”

The air shimmered with a runic seal, the symbol of their vows etched against the sky. This was not just a simple marriage; it was a testament to the power of a union that defied expectations. 

As the lighter moons dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the palace grounds, the last echoes of Castaspella's pronouncement faded. The air buzzed with a mix of relief and revelry as the guests of Bright Moon, adorned in their finest attire, began their procession from the open-air ceremony to the grand ballroom.

The ballroom itself, a testament to Bright Moon's artistry and opulence, shimmered with life. Crystal chandeliers, dripping with prismatic gems, cast a warm glow on the polished marble floor. 

Garlands of luminescent flowers snaked along the walls, their fragrance intertwining with the delicate aroma of spiced hors d'oeuvres carried on silver trays by flitting servers. Laughter and excited chatter filled the air as guests, freed from the formality of the ceremony, mingled in small groups.

Shadow Weaver, her masked visage betraying none of the emotions swirling beneath, inclined her head toward the expectant crowd. A sea of faces, both familiar and strange, shimmered in the crystal light. Whispers drifted through the air, then died down as she turned her gaze to the orchestra. The musicians, their faces etched with nervous excitement, poised their instruments, bows hovering over strings, fingers hovering over keys.

Angella, her brow furrowed with concern, hovered a hand above Shadow Weaver's arm. "Are you sure you don't need more time to rest? The Torn de Negotium is not to be taken lightly. Everyone would understand if you wanted to postpone the dance."

Shadow Weaver met her gaze. "I've rested enough."

"If you're sure?"

"Just don't drop me, Your Majesty," Shadow Weaver sniped as she took her place at the end of the dance floor.

"I won't," Angella said quietly.

The first, piercing note of the violin sliced through the hushed crowd, a summons both thrilling and intimidating. Shadow Weaver felt a tremor in her hand, a phantom echo of the Torn de Negotium's grip. But as Angella's gaze met hers, a warm ember flickered within the cold depths of her eyes.

They began with a stomp; the beat was a shared pulse between them. Circling each other, a silent conversation unfolded in their movements. Hands brushed like whispered secrets, fingertips trailing a tantalizing promise of connection. Then, a spin, a rush towards the center, and finally, the embrace.

Their fingers met, a fleeting spark in the charged air. But Shadow Weaver, overcome by this dance of vulnerability, stumbled, her arm reaching beyond its limits. Angella was there in an instant, a steadying hand on her back, a silent tether in the swirling storm of Shadow Weaver's emotions.

The music swelled, urging them closer. Shadow Weaver surrendered to Angella's lead, her steps mirroring the winged woman's graceful confidence. Together, they moved as one, the tango's rhythm echoing their unspoken desires.

Angella dipped Shadow Weaver low, the fabric of her dress swirling around her ankles. As they rose, their eyes met again, and this time, genuine elation bloomed inside Shadow Weaver's chest. In that moment, on the dance floor bathed in the warm glow of acceptance, they were no longer just queen and consort, but two souls dancing towards a future as equals, as partners.

Together, they moved as one, their feet following each note of the song. She felt her heartbeat grow with the brass section. Their dance was perfect; every spin, sway, and kick was an instinctual calculation. It was like they had been dancing together for years instead of mere weeks. As Shadow Weaver allowed herself to mold to the warm strength of Angella's arms, she left her cares in the Torn's chamber. Her past was her own. Norwyn couldn't reach her here. She would put all her hate and rage into her performance and show Bright Moon and Etheria who they were dealing with.

Angella squeezed Shadow Weaver's hand slightly, a nonverbal signal they had decided on during rehearsals. Even without it, Shadow Weaver knew they were meant to be here together, dancing through the hardships they had just endured. The crescendo started, and they twirled faster on the floor. With each climb of the music, Angella took them higher and higher above the crowd. At once, Angella let go of Shadow Weaver. The crowd gasped, with some people pressing a worried hand to their mouths.

As the horn swelled and echoed throughout the room, Angella caught the brunette an inch from the floor, sliding into an intimate dip with the final note. The room erupted into applause, but Shadow Weaver could hear none of it. Her heart sounded like rolling thunder in her ears. Angella pulled her upright with little effort, looking at her with more concern. The Sorceress struggled to control her breathing. Her mind raced as she gazed at Angella. She had the overwhelming urge to pull off her mask and kiss the other woman.

Angella's gaze lingered on Shadow Weaver, a soft amusement playing in her eyes. "I didn't drop you," she teased.

"No, you did not," Shadow Weaver acknowledged curtly. 

The Sorceress felt her cheeks heat beneath her mask. A foreign sensation that she quickly fought. The dance, the music, the lingering scent of Angella's perfume—it was all a potent cocktail that threatened to crack the walls she'd built around her emotions. She turned to face the cheering crowd. The Queen opened her mouth to say something more, but her words were stolen by a booming voice. 

Scorpia had scooped both Shadow Weaver and Angella into her massive claws. "That was the most magnificent tango I've ever seen!" she declared. "Well, to be fair, it's also the only tango I've ever seen. Maybe the dance will finally come back in style."

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint sparking in their depths. "Scorpia," she drawled, her voice laced with simmering ire.

"Oh, right!" Scorpia exclaimed, hastily dropping both women back onto the ground, albeit with a touch less grace than she'd intended.

“Not bad, Old Woman.” Catra said with a smirk. 

“Did you have any doubt I would not put forth an exceptional performance?” Shadow Weaver replied.

“I don’t think about you.” Catra snarked quickly. “I came to tell you we're returning to the Fright Zone.” 

“Send Hordak my regards,” Shadow Weaver said casually. 

Catra started to walk away. She looked back at the Sorceress then shot narrowed eyes at Angella. “Congratulations.” She grumbled and left with an excitable Scorpia yammering at her side. 

The warmth of the banquet hall pulsed around Angella and Shadow Weaver as they sat at the head table, the echoes of their vows still lingering in the air. Angella, a charming smile playing on her lips, tapped a butter knife against the crystal rim of her cider glass.

“I don't want to make this too long so we can enjoy the delicious banquet the chefs have prepared.” Angella paused for the light chuckles from the guests.  "Thank you all, from the bottom of our hearts," she declared, her voice ringing with heartfelt gratitude. "We know this isn't just a celebration for us, but a testament to the bonds of friendship and community that bind us all. So, let's raise a toast!"

The clinking of glasses filled the room as guests echoed Angella's sentiment, their voices one of shared joy. "To Peace and Tranquility!" they chanted, the words carrying the weight of a new dawn for Etheria.

As the final echoes faded, the chefs entered in a silent procession. Cloches were lifted, revealing an array of culinary delights, each dish a colorful masterpiece teasing the senses. Angella, however, barely noticed. Her fork danced nervously around her plate, carving random patterns into the Chicken Cordon Bleu nestled before her.

Shadow Weaver, ever perceptive, noticed her tense behavior. "Your Majesty," she said softly.

Angella looked up. "Glimmer was supposed to give her speech," she said lowly. While their table was at the head of the room she was aware of the attention everyone was granting them. 

A flash of understanding passed over Shadow Weaver. "Glimmer does not care for our union. I would not be surprised if she refuses to do the speech altogether," she said carefully. 

Angella sighed, her shoulders slumping. "She might never speak to me again," she whispered, despair creeping into her voice. "She was so upset when I disagreed with her in Anghiel’s palace."

"You were handed an impossible choice," Shadow Weaver interrupted her voice firm. "Blaming yourself for her reaction is a futile exercise."

"But I had a choice," Angella argued, her voice trembling. "I could have…"

"And you chose what was best," Shadow Weaver cut in. 

“Best for who?” Angella asked glumly. 

"Best for your people, and ultimately, best for Etheria."

Angella poked at her food, the image of Glimmer's tear-streaked face replaying in her mind’s eye. "It's the best decision for everyone," she said quietly. "Except Glimmer."

Shadow Weaver placed her hand on Angella's, a gesture rarely offered but weighty with understanding. "I see so much of Micah in her," she murmured, her gaze distant. "That same fiery spirit, that boundless courage.”

Angella flinched, her chin rising defensively. "But that's the problem, isn't it? She throws herself headfirst into every fight and sees only what shines the brightest. How can I make her understand the cold calculations of ruling?"

"I have no doubt she will come to realize the logic behind this decision," Shadow Weaver continued. "But expecting her full understanding, let alone her enthusiastic support, so soon that might be a touch…optimistic."

A sigh escaped Angella, heavy with the weight of a mother's worry and a queen's responsibility. “I fear any acceptance we were working toward was shattered by Anghiel.” 

"If you don't mind my saying, the Empress is a shrewd woman," Shadow Weaver said, her voice low and confidential. 

Angella snorted, a choked laugh escaping her lips. "That's one way to put it," she admitted, a flicker of amusement replacing the despair in her eyes.

"I could use words of even greater colorful vividness," Shadow Weaver said, "but decorum dictates a certain restraint on our wedding day."

Angella's lips twitched into a full-fledged smile. "I know you're trying to make me feel better," she said, her voice softer now.

"I never 'try' your majesty," Shadow Weaver replied, her voice laced with mock haughtiness. "I either succeed or learn from miscalculations. But trying implies doubt, and I have none."

Angella chuckled, the sound echoing through the hall like a tinkling bell. "There's that humility that made me first…," she began, but stopped abruptly, her cheeks flushing.

"That made you…" Shadow Weaver prompted. 

Angella shook her head, the smile still lingering on her lips. "It's not important," she mumbled.

Shadow Weaver gazed at her for a moment, her expression unreadable, before returning to her meal. But the question hung in the air between them for a moment longer.

A confetti-like shower of petals cascaded down from the ceiling, painting the hallway in a vibrant carpet as Shadow Weaver and Angella walked arm-in-arm toward the Royal chambers. The air thrummed with the echo of cheers and laughter, a bittersweet melody that trailed behind them.

Shadow Weaver slowed her pace, subtly attempting to discourage their persistent guide. "Castaspella, you needn’t escort us further," she said. "The chambers are but a few steps further."

Castaspella, however, remained unfazed. "Nonsense, Shadow Weaver," she countered. "As your officiant, I must ensure the marriage seal is properly affixed to the bedroom door," she added. 

With a final, playful flourish, Castaspella threw open the chamber doors, the sound of their heavy thud momentarily silencing the celebratory chatter outside. The room, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, was a haven of velvet and silk. 

The newlyweds walked in cautiously, and with a final, mischievous chuckle, Castaspella's laughter punctuated the closing of the door. The room fell silent, save for the gentle hum of the marriage seal, a constant reminder of their newfound bond. 

Angella, her cheeks flushed, turned to Shadow Weaver. "Well, then," she said, "It appears we are sharing a bed tonight."

Shadow Weaver tilted her head. "We have quite a bit to do before sleeping, Angella." 

Angella looked at the brunette in confusion. "You cannot be referring to having sex together." 

"The marriage seal and its accompanying consummation requirement is clear." Shadow Weaver pointed out. With a few swift steps, she sat on the bed like a queen on her throne.  

“I’m not going to do that,” Angella stated firmly. “There must be some other way.”  

Shadow Weaver frowned, the eyes of her mask narrowing. "I do not understand your reaction. Did you and Micah not have a contract drawn up for your marriage?" She asked.  

Angella shook her head. "No, we loved each other and just wanted to get married to show that. There were no negotiations or prenuptial agreements."  

"More the fool of him," Shadow Weaver said.  

Angella stiffened. "Stop it. We're not here to dissect the decisions of my past relationship. We need to talk about what happened in the Torn."

The Sorceress crossed her arms, her form rigid. "I've already stated my refusal to dwell on such trivialities."

Angella raised an eyebrow. “Believe it or not, couples talk, especially before sharing a bed. We need to consider turn-ons, boundaries, turn-offs, and even limits." She met Shadow Weaver's unwavering gaze.  

Shadow Weaver stared silently at Angella as the winged woman continued. “At the very least, we may discover we are not sexually compatible."  

"Why would we not be?" Shadow Weaver insisted, her voice low and controlled.  

"It does happen." Angella countered, her words laced with gentle insistence, “We should be prepared to adjust our relationship as needed. Relationships shift, ebb and flow. We need to be prepared to adapt, adjust, nurture what works, and trim away what doesn't.” 

"We will figure it out.” Shadow Weaver dismissed. “Beings engage in coupling every day. It cannot be that hard." 

Angella peered at the other woman with a frown. "Shadow Weaver, have you had sex before?" She asked bluntly. 

 "Of course I have." Shadow Weaver waved her hand. "It was a disappointing experience full of work and fluids that I have no interest in revisiting." She paused. "I will, however, fulfill my duties as queen." 

 "Don't be flippant right now." Angella huffed. "Not with this. Have you ever had a consensual sexual relationship?" 

"I see this is another attempt at coddling. My past is also not important." Shadow Weaver's voice was sharp. "Let's just get this over with."

Despite her words, a tremor ran through the Sorceress. A prickling sensation like cobwebs against her scalp, a clammy sheen forming on the nape of her neck. The mere suggestion of delving into her sexuality, a territory long locked away and unexplored, sent unpleasant shivers down her spine.

Angella met her gaze, her own eyes brimming with a quiet resolve. "It matters," she said, her voice a gentle, soothing balm to Shadow Weaver's harshness. Her hand gestured softly towards Shadow Weaver's form, tracing the outline of her shoulder with an unspoken reverence. "This is your body, Shadow Weaver. Every inch of it belongs to you, and only you. No one, not even I, as your wife, has the right to touch you without your consent or your invitation."

Each syllable seemed to unlock a door within Shadow Weaver, revealing a softness long-shuttered and shrouded in vast darkness. It was a vulnerability she wasn't accustomed to, a surrender she had fiercely resisted for so long. Yet, under the gentle warmth of Angella's gaze, a sliver of that resistance began to crumble, a tentative opening hinting at possibilities long denied.

“Your Majesty,” Shadow Weaver started exasperatedly.  

Angella's voice, gentle yet firm, cut through her reply. "Please just answer my question." 

Shadow Weaver's head jerked in a flinch. It was obvious the previous question struck a raw nerve. "I believe you have your answer from earlier," she spat. 

Angella's eyes widened. "I wasn't trying to judge you, Shadow Weaver. I just," She hesitated, her gaze seeking understanding. 

"No," Shadow Weaver finally whispered. "To answer your question in full, I have not had a sexual relationship that satisfied me but I'm not a demure maiden." She protested. 

"You may as well be," Angella said, stepping closer. She longed to give the other woman comfort. "What happened was a horrific event."  

Shadow Weaver felt her claws digging into her palms as she listened as Angella's words strayed dangerously close to pity. “Have no fear, your majesty. We will only have to do this once. Sexual contact cannot be that important."  

"It's not the most important part of a marriage, but it can be one of the most fun,” Angella said. “Intimacy in general and even having sex can take on different aspects for everyone."  

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed. "Will this lesson continue into the night?”  

“Not nearly that long,” Angella said and sighed. “Is there anything you would not be comfortable with?”  

“I don’t know,” Shadow Weaver said after a beat of silence. 

Angella’s next question hung heavy in the air, though she already knew the answer. It wasn't doubt that prompted her to speak, but the need for absolute certainty before embarking on this path. "Just to be clear," she began, her voice low and controlled, "you are consenting to our marriage being consummated through sexual contact?"

Shadow Weaver's eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched, and every muscle in her body seemed to vibrate with barely contained frustration. "Yes, Your Majesty," she spat, the title laced with venom. "Do not make me repeat myself again."

Undeterred, Angella continued. "It's important to me," she murmured, soothing against the Sorceress's simmering anger. "I want you to know, always, that consent is the cornerstone of this, and you can revoke it at any time."

Even Shadow Weaver's answering sigh was a tempestuous thing. The tension remained, a taut string vibrating with unspoken emotions, but it had shifted, ever so slightly, towards a fragile understanding.

“Do you have any questions for me?" Angella inquired.

Shadow Weaver's gaze flickered. "Keeping pets," she began hesitantly, "Is it common practice among Angelic beings?"

Angella shook her head. "Only in the past millennium. It started as a twisted form of victory, claiming dominion over your foes by keeping them as living trophies. Naturally, power-hungry individuals latched onto it, turning it into a grotesque status symbol."

Shadow Weaver's gaze turned more intense. "And are you...interested in such a relationship?"

Angella's eyes widened for a moment. "No," she said firmly. "The thought of owning another being, of denying their freedom, is abhorrent to me."

“I could see the appeal.” Shadow Weaver said.  

Angella gawked. “Are you joking?”  

“Perhaps,” she drawled, a sly note in her voice. "I won’t know until Hordak is under my heel.”  

Angella's shoulders were hunched with a weariness deeper than the weight of the day's events. She chose not to comment on Shadow Weaver's last declaration. “I’m going to get more comfortable before we retire for the night,” she said.  

“These are your chambers,” Shadow Weaver said. 

Angella met her gaze. "As of today," she corrected, "these are officially our chambers."

"I have no objections," Shadow Weaver stated, her voice even and controlled.

Angella searched her wife's face, a subtle crease forming between her brows. "If you're certain?" she pressed, her voice softer now, laced with concern.

"I am fine," Shadow Weaver said. "Make yourself as comfortable as you like," she added. 

With a nod, Angella peeled off her tuxedo jacket, the crisp fabric falling to the floor with a soft swish. Her fingers lingered at the pearl buttons on her white dress shirt, each click like a heartbeat in the quiet room. With a slow exhale, she unbuttoned it, the satin lining whispering against her skin as she pushed the sleeves down her arms. One by one, they slipped free, the fabric pooling at her feet. She stood there, bathed in the moonlight flooding through the window, in nothing but her sleek undershirt.

"Do you wish to change out here as well?" Angella asked gently. 

The Sorceress shook her head. "Perhaps not this time," she said, her eyes meeting Angella's briefly before flitting away. Her hand, trembling faintly, rested on the edge of the bed.

Angella crossed the room, her bare feet making soft prints on the plush carpet. Reaching for Shadow Weaver's hand, she paused before making contact, a question in her eyes. At Shadow Weaver's sharp nod, she closed the gap and squeezed it gently. "Don't be embarrassed," she said, her voice warm and reassuring. "We'll go at your pace. You can change into pajamas in the bathroom if that would make you more comfortable."

Shadow Weaver hesitated, the weight of unspoken anxieties pressing down on her. Could she truly trust Angella? Could this woman, unlike the cruel manipulations of Norwyn, offer her a night devoid of coercion, a night born from genuine desire and mutual respect?

"I doubt you would have anything that would fit me," the brunette said finally, her voice low.

A playful smirk danced on Angella's lips. "I had my tailor make you a few changes of clothing when you had your wedding dress made," she replied. 

A flicker of surprise sparked in Shadow Weaver's eyes before grudging admiration softened her tone. "How clever," she conceded. 

With a soft exhale, Shadow Weaver rose from the bed, Angella's touch lingering on her hand like a promise. Turning, she stepped into the bathroom. Despite Angella's reassurances, there was a weight on her chest, a knowledge that this wasn't just about shared blankets and whispered secrets. The magical seal, the very fabric of their bond, craved a different kind of intimacy. Consummation, a word heavy with history and expectations, loomed large.

The scent of ginger and sandalwood trailed after Shadow Weaver from the bathroom. The Sorceress was now draped in a floor-length nightgown the color of ripe plums. It cascaded to the floor, whispering against the soft rug with each step.

Angella, now perched on the edge of the bed, watched her approach with eyes smoldering in the candlelight. The Sorceress noted the rest of her wife’s formal attire was discarded and in its place a more intimate pair of sleep shorts and a short-sleeved top. 

“How would you like to start?" Angella asked, her voice a silky invitation. 

“I would be amenable to another kiss," Shadow Weaver said. "But first, I would like to remove my mask." Her hand rose hesitantly, brushing against the mask that had become an extension of her being. "I should warn you," she continued, "the Rite of Obtainment has ravaged my skin."

Angella's breath hitched. The mask, a symbol of power and mystery, had always hidden more than just Shadow Weaver's face. Now, the prospect of seeing what lay beneath ignited a curious blend of trepidation and yearning within her. “Only if you’re comfortable.” 

The mask hung poised on Shadow Weaver's fingertips. A metallic click, a soft hiss, and it surrendered, peeling back to reveal the woman beneath. Y-shaped irises, fluttered open, adjusting to the sudden light. Her gaze met Angella's, searching for a flicker of disgust. Instead, she found only soft acceptance.

"May I?" Angella asked, her voice a caress. Her hand hovered near Shadow Weaver's face, awaiting permission.

Shadow Weaver inclined her head, the mask dangling forgotten in her grasp. Angella's cool fingertips traced the map of scars etched across her face, from brow to jaw, each touch a caring caress. Then, with the gentlest reverence, she planted kisses on each mark.

Meeting Shadow Weaver's gaze, Angella's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Never doubt you, my wife, are beautiful," she breathed.

A tremor snaked through Shadow Weaver's breath, her eyes glistening. She bent her head, her lips brushing Angella's. 

Angella squeezed the brunette, leaning in for a deeper kiss. Tongues intertwined, sending a heat radiating through Shadow Weaver's body. She closed her eyes, savoring the winged woman's touch and her closeness. One of Angella's hands crept onto her shoulder, grounding her, anchoring her to the moment.

But the anchor felt like a sudden chain. She felt trapped and cold. 

Shadow Weaver jerked away, and the warm embrace shattered. Her breath hitched, eyes losing focus, a phantom ache blooming in her chest. Gritting her teeth, she sucked in harsh breaths, refusing to let him spoil this.

"It's alright," Angella soothed. "I know you're pushing this, but tonight isn't the night for us to try to be intimate."

"I could touch you," Shadow Weaver rasped, her voice raw.

"No," Angella cut her off, her tone firm. "There's no pressure for us to go further. I'm only willing if and when you're ready."

Frustration flared in Shadow Weaver's eyes. "But the ritual, the seal - it won't hold unless the bond is…consummated, or we have an heir."

Consummation. The word echoed in Shadow Weaver's head, churning against the ache in her chest. Her first proper kiss with Angella, this moment, her fleeting happiness was ruined once again by that bastard in her past despite him being dead. 

She met Angella's gaze, the unspoken question clear. How could they proceed? What consequences would they incur by not properly continuing the ritual?

For the first time, Shadow Weaver considered letting go of the reins. Letting the magic wait, letting desire guide her. Just for tonight, she wanted to trust Angella to hold her completely.

“I have heard.” Shadow Weaver began slowly. “Of couples performing for one another.” 

Angella's brow furrowed, perplexity etching itself onto her face. “What do you mean?” 

“Touching.” Shadow Weaver glanced away, another hint of reluctant vulnerability softening her usually stern gaze. "I cannot handle doing such a thing, not yet. But perhaps if I could watch you..." she trailed off hoping Angella understood what she was suggesting.

Are you sure you're ready for that?" Angella asked gently. 

“I would not mind attempting.” Shadow Weaver said. 

“Would it be okay with you if I removed my shirt?” Angella asked. 

A mute nod escaped Shadow Weaver, but her gaze betrayed her momentary lapse. It darted down, a fleeting flicker landing on the swell of Angella's chest before hastily snapping back up. The movement was subtle yet Angella felt its heat on her bare arms.

A self-conscious laugh bubbled up, but she pushed it down. This had to be done. With deliberate movements, she reached for the hem of her shirt, the soft linen whispering against her fingertips. Each rustle seemed amplified in the sudden silence, charged with unspoken tension. With a smooth sweep, she lifted the garment, baring the pale expanse of her skin to the air. Shadow Weaver's eyes widened, a dark well reflecting unspoken emotions. 

In the dimness of the room, a slight twinkle snagged the Sorceress' eye. Metal, glinting, two points catching the faint glow of the Moonstone. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Is something wrong?" Angella followed her gaze, then smiled knowingly. "You're surprised by the piercings, aren't you?"

Shadow Weaver swallowed, gathering her composure. "I am aware of body modifications," she said, her voice strained. "I wouldn't have ever imagined you had any."

Angella felt the weight of Shadow Weaver's stare like a tangible force. It burrowed through the regal layers of her demeanor, igniting a spark of warmth that spread from her chest to her cheeks. She raised her hands slowly, giving the brunette ample time to look away. 

Was it the way the Moonstone’s glow caught her skin, or the subtle rise and fall with each measured breath? Whatever the reason, Shadow Weaver's focus was undeniable, and Angella couldn't help but revel in the silent dance playing out between them. 

Angella caressed her breasts, teasing her nipples into hard peaks. "We all have rebellious phases." She said shakily. 

She loved it when her lovers paid extra attention to her breasts. They were always so sensitive and she suspected if someone was skilled enough she could cum from just someone playing with her chest. Her brain immediately flashed with the image of Shadow Weaver's soft lips and sharp teeth dragging over her nipples. She pinched them both arching into the pain. Her arousal was stymied by the thought as she looked at the other woman. Angella vowed to get through the act as fast as possible.

Angella ran her hand from her chest and lower, slipping under the waistband of her shorts. Her fingers brushed through the soft, trimmed bubblegum pink curls just below her belly button. A sigh escaped her lips at her touch. Pressing her middle finger to her clitoris, she began to rub in slow circles. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to just feel. With practiced ease, she felt herself reach the peak only for her climax to just...end. 

The arousal was still there and her hand felt great but she found it all just bland. Moving her hand faster, chasing her climax. Again it eluded her. She desperately shifted her hips and finally started to feel the familiar coil tighten inside her. She braced herself and nearly arched to a perfect bow for the final push only to sob in frustration. 

Angella slumped to the bed and opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry.” She breathed. “It isn't working." 

"There is no need for apologies. I know I'm not exactly the ideal lover," Shadow Weaver said. 

Angella's brow furrowed. "That's not what I'm apologizing for," she said, her voice softer than the whisper. "It's just…I feel so guilty. Thinking about you, wanting you, when you've been through something so awful."

Shadow Weaver's gaze softened. "Angella, do not apologize for that. It has been some time since I've been appreciated physically," she said. “Please," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky purr, "enjoy yourself.”

Angella's cheeks flushed, not just from the heat of the room, but from the bare honesty in Shadow Weaver's words. Permission, even unspoken, granted by the Sorceress, ignited a fire within her that she hadn't dared to acknowledge before. "Please don't feel you have to watch me if you don’t want to,” she said. 

A faint, almost conspiratorial smile curved Shadow Weaver's lips. "I find it hard to tear my gaze away from you," she confessed, her voice husky with a tremor of something unfamiliar.

Angella felt a shaky breath stutter from her parted lips. The unspoken confession hung heavy in the air, its power almost overwhelming. "Oh?" she managed as a sudden wave of warmth flushed through her, tingling all the way to her toes. There was a resulting pulse in her center.

"You're resplendent, Your Majesty," Shadow Weaver said, her eyes smoldering with an intensity that sent shivers down Angella's spine. 

"Tell me more," Angella dared, her voice a husky plea. She returned her hand to her clit. "Please tell me what you see when you look at me."

Shadow Weaver took a deep breath. "You are so breathtaking." Her voice was raw with longing. "I want to kiss you." 

Moving her middle finger down, Angella dipped it deep into her opening feeling the wet heat of her arousal. Adding a second finger, she began to move them slowly in and out before retreating higher back to her sensitive bundle of nerves. With her fingers now slick, Angella moved them faster over the swollen nub.

“Don’t be shy, my queen.” Shadow Weaver crawled into bed behind Angella and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Show me how beautiful you are." She nuzzled her nose against Angella's throat. "I want to taste your skin."

"Oh, please," Angella moaned. Her other hand moved over her breasts, slowly pinching and kneading her nipples. "I want you to kiss me." She pleaded. 

Shadow Weaver licked her lips. She shifted closer and leaned too far forward. She tried to catch herself and found her hand sliding over Angella’s as she nearly fell onto the other woman. 

Angella's eyes flew open. "I can feel the heat of your hand." She babbled. 

The ombré haired woman knew the brunette was able to feel just how wet she was even though her hand was just perched over hers. The heat building inside her caused her breath to come quicker. Feeling the muscles of her opening flutter, Angella knew it would not be long before she would feel her climax surge through her. 

"That was an accident. I will stop." Shadow Weaver shifted in preparation to give Angella space. 

"Don't you dare move your hand if you want to keep it." Angella growled, and then her voice softened. “If you feel you want to take this first step, I won't stop you.” She amended in an apologetic tone. “But please decide quickly.” she begged, trembling. 

Shadow Weaver reflexively pressed down at the initial sharp tone. She leaned in and brushed her lips against Angella's ear. “I will stay right here, my queen.” 

She promised softly. 

Angella closed her eyes again and focused on enjoying her pleasure.

A familiar feeling came over Shadow Weaver as she watched the blotches of dark pink on Angella's cheek. The other woman had looked at her like she was her only salvation. She was desperate and needy. It gave Shadow Weaver a sense of pride and purpose. She wanted more of that feeling. She experimented, pressing her thumb where she had seen Angella's fingers focus earlier. The reaction was like watching art in motion. Shadow Weaver came to the understanding of what she felt and it was as familiar as an old friend.

It was power. If she knew more she could keep Angella at this precipice for hours. Pulling her to the throes of pleasure until she didn't know which side of the moon was up. She would revisit this later. Now her wife needed her and Shadow Weaver is nothing if not a good study. 

"Oh yes. Right there." Angella canted her hips higher, chasing the pressure. 

She cried out. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave. The sound of Angella’s climax echoed off the walls. She cried out again for a moment before her body relaxed into Shadow Weaver’s embrace. 

Shadow Weaver had never dreamt this intimacy possible, yet here she was, basking in it, far more profound than any distant observation. Angella drained yet radiant, lay back in the bed, a smile clinging to her lips. Shadow Weaver couldn't resist, reaching out. She interlaced their palms, skin meeting skin. Drawing closer, she rested her head against Angella's chest, the steady rumble of the queen's breath soothed her more than she was willing to admit. A whisper broke the silence.

"Is this okay?" Angella asked. She cradled Shadow Weaver in her arms, the warmth of her touch like a hesitant plea for forgiveness. 

"Will you ask my permission every time you breathe my air?” Shadow Weaver asked, as she stirred, her voice thick with exhaustion. It wasn't the biting sarcasm Angella had expected, nor the venom that often laced the Sorceress's tongue. It was something more resigned.

"Yes I will," Angella replied simply. She felt Shadow Weaver's breath deepen, a subtle shift in the weight on the bed. Angella knew then that sleep had claimed her wife, yet she lingered, her gaze tracing the lines of wisdom etched on the woman's face. "Thank you for allowing me to.”

Morning moonlight streamed through the expansive windows, painting pale stripes across the polished surface of the castle’s dining table. Nestled amongst a bounty of fresh strawberries, bathed in honey and clotted cream, Angella sat, a hint of wistfulness in her gaze. Castaspella practically materialized in the chair beside her, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Shadow Weaver," she teased, drawing out the title with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows. Her fingers danced over the teapot, conjuring a steaming cup of tea. But the first sip sent a grimace across her face. "Why is this so bitter?" she asked.

Angella rolled her eyes. "Shadow Weaver normally brews the morning tea," she explained. "But she was asleep when I left this morning." She popped a plump strawberry into her mouth, the juice staining her lips a vibrant red. "You'll have to make do with my amateurish attempt." She said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. 

Castaspella snorted, the sound muffled by the rim of her cup. A second sip, slower this time, revealed a hint of hidden sweetness beneath the initial bitterness. "Tuckered her out, did you?" she teased with a knowing smirk. But as she met Angella's gaze, the smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of concern. The wistfulness in the queen's eyes deepened, a shadow cast by unspoken emotions.

"Don't tell me..." Castaspella's voice trailed off, 

Angella, nonchalant as ever, stretched out her hand. "Please pass the waffles," she requested, her eyes fixed on the golden squares perched precariously on the plate in front of Castaspella.

"I will not pass the waffles!" Castaspella's voice cracked with disbelief. "You...you slept with Shadow Weaver ?"

"Keep your voice down," Angella hissed, hand still outstretched. "And yes I did. She’s my wife. Isn't that what was expected?"

Castaspella blinked, her gaze ricocheting between Angella and the space beside her. "Expected?! No one expected you to actually consummate the marriage."

Anger flared in Angella's chest. "Was there some loophole in the agreement you neglected to mention?"

Castaspella snorted, flinging her head back in a peal of laughter that rang discordantly through the quiet room. "You both really thought consummation was what was needed to solidify the seal?" 

"There was a blatant paragraph about consummation." Angella insisted, teeth gritted.

"It didn't say that." Castaspella cackled, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"What in Etheria are you laughing at?" Angella asked.

"I can't believe I finally caught her out." Castaspella gasped, wiping her eyes. "My 'pathetic illusions,' as she so eloquently calls them, managed to finally deceive her." Laughter bubbled up again, shaking her thin frame.

"Will you calm yourself and tell me what you're talking about?" Angella demanded, patience wearing thin.

"She spends every other breath belittling my magic," Castaspella pouted, the mirth fading. "So, I added a little flourish to the wedding spell, a harmless illusion as a counterpoint to her snarky taunts."

"Of all the immature," Angella began, but her voice trailed off as a wave of understanding washed over her. This wasn't just some childish prank; it was a petty retaliation against years of Shadow Weaver's barbed comments. Still, the way Castaspella had played with her emotions, with Shadow Weaver's trauma. "How could you do that to her?" Her glare could have melted frost.

"She throws barbs at my every incantation and expects me to just take it? I proved myself. By the Moons, I am Head Sorceress of Mystacor!" Castaspella's voice wobbled, a hint of vulnerability peeking through her bravado.

"That doesn't give you the right to manipulate her!" Angella snapped. “Not with this.” 

Castaspella frowned, genuine confusion twisting her features. "Why are you defending her?"

Angella sighed, realizing that Castaspella, in her self-absorbed way, was simply unaware of the full weight of her actions. "You have no idea what you've done," she said quietly. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. Anger wouldn't help now.

"There's no point in dwelling on it," Angella finally said, her voice firm but laced with a hint of sadness. "But know this, Castaspella, you've hurt someone who didn't deserve it." 

With a final glare, Angella violently bit into the last strawberry on her plate. Castaspella, ever perceptive, slid a plate of fluffy waffles across the table, her apologetic eyes begging for answers.

Angella sighed, stacking two golden squares onto her plate. "Just ask."

The question, held hostage by Castaspella's pursed lips, finally tumbled out. "How was it?" her voice squeaked. 

Angella shot her a withering look. "Are you asking... No, absolutely not. This conversation ends here."

"Please, tell me one thing. Was it weird?" Castaspella threw her hands up, desperation bubbling into her voice. "Did she have tentacles?" She brought both index fingers to her mouth and curled them. "What about fangs?" Gasping dramatically she covered her face like in a game of peek-a-boo. "What does she look like under the mask? 

Angella chuckled a soft sound that softened the harsh lines around her mouth. "All I'm going to tell you is that last night was unlike any I'd ever experienced before. It was kind of sweet." 

"Sweet?" Castaspella's eyebrows shot up, skepticism etched on her face. "Are you sure you woke up next to Shadow Weaver?" 

"Whatever happened between us is just that. Between us." Angella’s voice, though firm, held a warmth that betrayed her resolute tone.

"Of course not. Why would a perfect Angelic Being speak to a lowly sorceress about her wedding night when she can speak to the new Queen of Brightmoon.” Castaspella said, sitting back in her chair with a huff. 

Angella countered, a playful glint in her eyes, "The other day when I talked to Juliet, I don't recall her mentioning self-deprecating humor was a trait she found attractive." 

A flush crept up Castaspella's neck. "I- I have no idea what you're implying. Why would I care what the General thinks?" She averted her gaze, then eyed Angella with a hint of curiosity. "Did she ask about me?"

"Not recently." Angella's smile softened. "You couldn't keep your eyes off of each other at the wedding. It's okay to let your guard down now and then Castaspella. Everyone deserves happiness." 

Castaspella's gaze shifted, landing on a distant cloud wisp. "Is this truly how you feel, Angella? Are you...content with Shadow Weaver?"

Angella pondered the question, her eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the palace floor. "Perhaps. I believe it could be, at least."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken memories. Finally, Castaspella's voice broke the reverie, softer now, laced with a tinge of melancholy. "What about Micah?"