Note: This chapter contains a reference to suicidal ideation. If you're not able to handle that, skip this epilogue.

Dear Mother,

Eleven years have passed, but I can finally feel emotion again. I must recount this story to you, for I neglected to write you all this time in my foolishness. I believe I'm a witness to a miracle.

I lived under the Spell for so long. Some days I could feel care for Adora; some days, I could not. Still others, madness occurred despite the doctors' attempts to stabilize me. Nevertheless, I trained Adora and Catra to be strong, and I have succeeded in this manner.

They claim I broke them, but I have done so to ensure they won't suffer as I have. I was a naïve young woman, trusting and hoping someone would eventually love me. What silly dreams – I have realized that one must be harder to survive.

Adora has somehow achieved an attitude of true strength while still being herself. She fled from me one day when I least expected it, and...Mother, I know you would laugh, but she is the She-Ra. Adora is the mythical savior I once scorned. Afterward, she joined my enemies, to which I responded by sending Catra to retrieve her. The foolish child failed, of course. So I went after Adora myself. She still refused to return.

My little girl. My Adora, all I have left of Micah, abandoned me too. Is this not proof of my earlier words – that everyone would?

Eventually, Catra deposed me. She locked me in prison without any power, but without it, my mind cleared. I was able to think again. And I remembered Micah.

All the grief of eleven years weighed upon me. I wanted to die. I wanted to be rid of the Spell – without it, he wouldn't have perished. He, my best friend, my child. But it was Catra who got me here. It was Catra who ruined my life.

So I left her. I gathered enough power and teleported all the way to Bright Moon. Such a rash action would have killed me if not for one fact: Adora healed me. Somehow, her magic manifested not only into Medicancy but a force that could bind wounds. A passion that could cure illness with love strong enough that she unraveled Hopelessness itself.

The Spell is reversed. I am free. And so I sit in my prison chamber, writing to you. I told Adora that she was not from this world. But, moreover, I warned the Alliance that the end is at hand. Hordak is close to finishing the portal and will use it at any moment.

I have done my duty. Adora has gone to seek answers about who she is, and I support this journey. Because not even I, her mother, understand who she truly is. I feign that I do, but it's a lie I'm used to telling.

The years have been cold. Though free and safe with the Alliance, I will stop the Horde on my own terms. I will kill Hordak with my bare hands if I must. You may ask why I pursue such a dark path, Mother. The answer is simple.

The only one who could have made me a better person – Micah, the boy from Tropicilas – is dead. And that fact will mar me till the day I join him.

– Shadow Weaver