Posted December 25, 2019

***

Steadiness. Strange steadiness. And then a storm of chaos, ripping up her spine and heart and lungs. It was worse than death. Worse than anything she had ever felt.

The last of him she ever saw was his sweet dark eyes, red-rimmed and furious, glaring straight at her soulless white slits.

Her new eyes.

The transport lurched, and a great groan escaped Shadow Weaver's lips as it skidded and crashed suddenly. Her head smacked against the seat and stars spun in her vision, along with the incredibly sharp, gnawing pain in her chest from the rib she'd cracked twenty-two years ago.

She had numbed the pain of the fracture with the Black Garnet all that time. Now she was all alone, out of control, and on an island where she would be torn to pieces within twenty-four hours.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Angry that her life was finally coming to an end? Glad that she would be joining Micah in the afterlife—if it existed at all? Upset that she had failed Catra all the way to the end, that even when she had promised the felinetta that she would find a way to stay and mentor her the rightway—even if it meant that the Spell of Obtainment finally killed her from resistance?

She settled on tired. She wasn't joyous or depressed or furious about anything. All anger had been punched out of her the day she genuinely promised Catra, through the stroking of her soft fur, that she would mentor her.

A tear trickled down her cheek from behind her mask, tracing the line of one of her many scars. Pressing her lips together, she curled up on the transport's seat, breathing shallowly. She didn't want to come here. She wanted to die, yes—but not like this. Not like he did.

How long would it be until she saw his bones here? How long until her last threads of sanity left her for good and she became an animal of a woman, foraging for scraps on this island until she was devoured by some greater beast?

Her whole body was wracked with chills—from the island or from the sickness that threatened to take her over, she was unsure—but she squared her shoulders. Her life had never been easy. But unlike Catra had done for so many years, she refused to sit idly by and pretend that she had no role in her circumstances. She would go down fighting.

She clenched her fists and stood, walking out of the shuttle, trying not to jostle her rib. Her vision was spotty, and there was a strange moaning sound that penetrated the freezing hunk of rock. The stench of rotting, corrosive metal wafted into her nose, and she clutched her cracked rib.

She walked toward the entrance to the thicket, a tangle of degraded First-Ones' tech and actual vegetation. She had told the cadets back in the Horde about the terrors of Beast Island, but she had never expected it to be this bad. This desolate.

A tiny bug scuttled up her skirt. What she wouldn't give to have magic again—the Spell had taken all her stamina, and it was impossible for her to perform any sorcerer's arts until more magic moondust fell—if it even collected here on Beast Island.

She sighed, picked it up by the tail, and stabbed it through with a long black claw. These might be the only things safe to eat. She didn't want to eat it, but she hadn't eaten her last meal, and she would run out of strength quickly otherwise. Shuddering, she lifted her mask up just an inch and bit down. She almost spit it back out, but forced it down, coughing further and jostling her injured rib.

I hate this island. I hate myself. I hate everything. But unlike before, pain and hatred didn't strengthen her. Those things did nothing without power. In the end, even the Spell had failed her.

As she continued onward, the creaking sound came again. She dropped to her knees, clutching her pointed ears and groaning as it pierced her head. Her stomach felt like it had just been punched repeatedly by a thick, heavy fist, and her vision blurred. Sleep, the Spell told her. Sleep. You need it.

"You want me to give in," she said. More tears. She forced herself to remember how angry she had been when Hordak found out she'd been lying. That she had no good information and she had just been staying for Catra.

Catra....

She wanted to rip off her long-sleeved dress and scrape herself raw. I mistreated her for her entire life because she was me. She was Light Spinner. She was the insecure little girl who was outcast and desperate for approval.

She raised her face to the skies, finding light that pierced through the shafts of vegetation and ancient tech. She tried to rise, but her legs refused to move. Lifting her skirts revealed thick black vines snaking up her leggings, anchoring her feet to the ground.

This must have been how Micah died. As soon as she thought about him, her confident façade crumbled. She crushed her eyes shut and sobbed quietly. She couldn't tell him how sorry she was for leaving him. She couldn't undo her mistakes. She was doomed always to be a slave to herself, away from her beloved.

The vines climbed around her waist. The creaking sound grew louder. Shadow Weaver tried to struggle, but she couldn't. Sleep. You tried to save Etheria, the Spell said soothingly. You failed. It's okay. You were always meant to.

"No...." she mumbled. The vines snaked across her face, and her mask fell, going for the ground.

She smiled bitterly. She wasn't even ashamed or angry anymore. Insecurity had always been a part of her; now it was exposed.

Sleep.

The vines wrapped around her chest more tightly, and her fracture ached, but she didn't care anymore. She longed to be free. But freedom would never come to her, and death was the next best thing.

She relaxed as the vines pulled over her, an eternal cradle for her dreams. Everlasting sleep was right for her. The tears would freeze on her face, and Shadow Weaver would go down in history as the failure of a mother. Micah was dead. Adora had left her. She had failed Catra.

Now, the only person left to fail for good was herself.

As she shut her eyes and the final tears fell, a warm hand brushed across her face, cupping her cheek. She was too tired to open her eyes, too numb and sick to fight anymore. The vines were jostled, and she was released onto the ground.

She curled up, groaning. Strong arms picked her up like a child. "You failed me." The voice belonged to someone who was now old and yet a young boy all at once. "I won't do the same to you." The last thing she remembered as she fell into a deep sleep was a beard brushing across her tearstained, scarred cheek.

***

Micah laid her down in the small cave-shelter that had been his home for the past eleven years. The pink-tinged fire blazing in the center was the result of his magic. Though the Guild had been firmly against the idea of using evocation magic in his youth—causing Light Spinner great stigma, since it had been the only strong type for her—Micah had taught it to himself. He'd had to. Without it, he would not have survived as long as he had.

After a long time—hours, maybe—he looked over at her. Her eyes were shut, and she wept as she lay in the deep slumber of the black vines. Micah had saved her from their folds, but she hadn't come out of the sleep.

She was just out for power all along. She didn't love me. She lied to me about being mute in the Fright Zone so I didn't hear her voice. She lied to me that she wanted the Spell of Obtainment to save Etheria.

Her wrinkled, scarred face screwed itself up, and she tossed, then groaned. Micah touched her side—a broken rib rested beneath his fingers. I didn't even give her a chance to explain herself. I jumped to conclusions before she could tell me the truth.

He spoke. "Shadow Weaver."

To his surprise, her eyes fluttered open. Broken, bloodshot eyes stared back at him—dull olive irises with a cross-shape engraved into the center of each. Micah's hand moved of its own accord to cup her cheek in a hand, and he traced her rough burn scars. His other hand reached up to ruffle her long black hair—something she'd had a penchant for doing when she was Light Spinner and he was just Micah. Not King Micah. Just Micah.

She spoke in a whisper. "M....Micah?" A shuddering laugh. "It didn't take long....and it seems I was wrong. The afterlife does exist."

He shook his head. "You're alive. Both of us are alive."

Her eyes widened, and she clutched her side with a groan. "You....you're alive?"

He could hardly believe it either. So many emotions crawled into Micah's chest. He tried to name them all as he gazed upon her. As her pointed ears folded back and her expression shifted to pure joy. The last time he'd been with her he'd had to force her mask off. Now, she didn't even seem to care.

Forgiveness. Longing. Deep love. Pure sorrow.

He gathered her up in his arms, letting her scarred, aging face rest against his bare shoulder. There was so much to tell her. So much to heal, to reconcile with, to talk about.

But he had her again. This time, perhaps for good.  Tears came to his eyes as she held him back, her body trembling. "I missed you so much," he whispered. "Light Spinner."