A/N: Heads up, this chapter is very dark and unsettling, full of potentially triggering material. If you've made it this far into the story you are probably expecting that anyway, though, and honestly it's a really important chapter in terms of exploring the headspace of child abuse survivors. It also ties a lot into the previous chapters (especially ch. 3), so if you have the time they may be worth a reread to get the full context.

CONTENT WARNING for a fuckton of gaslighting and some graphic depictions of violence, including an assault on a teenaged minor. That's in flashback form, so if you want to avoid it you can skip the long italicized section. You'll miss some details that tie into other chapters but not so much that the story will not make sense. I'll leave a full spoilery warning in the end notes for anyone who needs more information to decide if they can read it.

Lord Hordak's throne room is not the terrifying place it once was. Strolling in with her head held high is very different from being dragged in with her tail between her legs. Catra's heart is beating calmly in her chest, not pounding in her throat. She actually feels relaxed as she ascends the stairs to the throne and bows at the hip. "Lord Hordak."

"Force Captain Catra," he greets her in a neutral tone. "Do you have an update for me on your plans for the next attack on Bright Moon?"

Catra can't help breaking into a grin. "Good news, sir. Entrapta has determined that the woods will need up to six months to fully regenerate, and they shouldn't be a viable defense for at least four." Stepping closer, she adds, "But if it's okay with you, I'd like to attack again sooner, before they can rebuild their defenses and repair the castle. I'd rather not start from scratch."

Brow furrowing, Hordak rubs his chin. "They'll be on high alert for some time, expecting another attack. According to our scouts, the other princesses haven't left yet, and a sorceress from Mystacor has joined them as well."

"So we should prepare to attack as soon as the reinforcements thin out," reasons Catra. "The longer we wait, the longer we give them to prepare a defense."

"I agree it's better to attack before they can fully rebuild, but we don't want to rush and risk a second defeat," says Hordak. "We attacked too quickly last time, without enough in the way of backup plans." Catra frowns, and he raises an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"No, my lord." When his expression doesn't change, she shuffles under his gaze and admits, "Shadow Weaver said the same thing, about the battle."

Hordak gives her a knowing nod. "She's the other reason I've called you here. We need to decide what to do with her. She can be a very hostile, vengeful individual when she feels she's been wronged."

"You don't say," deadpans Catra. Hordak merely blinks, showing no signs of amusement, and she shifts her weight again. "So... you want to kill her?"

"It's an open question," Hordak tells her, sitting back in his throne. "I could just as easily leave her in isolation until she goes mad. But the fact is, I see no point in keeping her alive. Could she ever be of any more use to us? If we bring her to Bright Moon, ask her to counter whatever the other sorceress is doing, we can't be certain she won't turn against us the second we free her."

Catra nods her agreement. "I think we can be certain she will."

"Yes, indeed. We'll never be able to trust her again. With that in mind, it seems prolonging her life is a waste of rations."

"You could always let her starve to death," snorts Catra. Hordak's eyes narrow as he peers closely at her, and she backtracks, "It was a joke."

"Was it?" he asks. "I know you have reason to enjoy Shadow Weaver's suffering. I know you paid her a visit the other day."

Catra bristles. "Does that bother you? I never thought you were one to interfere with your second-in-command's disciplinary tactics." She flinches at the bitterness in her own tone. That's enough attitude to earn her a trip to the prison, if Shadow Weaver was in one of her moods. Thankfully, Hordak only chuckles.

Standing from his throne, he tells her, "That resentment will take you places, Catra." He rests a hand on her shoulder, gives it the lightest shake of affection. Catra wills herself not to pull away. "I knew I was right to promote you. People like Adora and Shadow Weaver, they don't understand people like us. They were given everything on a silver platter, they don't know what it's like to be overlooked." Catra's surprise must be evident, because he smirks and asks, "What, did you think I was always Lord Hordak?"

She shrugs, unable to hold his gaze in such close proximity. "I never really thought about it, sir."

"A tale for another day, perhaps." He steps back, taking a moment to look her over. "It's a shame Shadow Weaver never saw your potential, Catra. You have what it takes to be a great leader. Ruthless, committed to order."

Catra's barely joking at all when she asks, "Was Shadow Weaver not ruthless enough for you?"

"Ruthlessness is not the same as cruelty. She was wasteful. I value pragmatism." Eyes taking on a reflective quality, he continues, "You're young, still coming into your own as a leader, so let me give you some advice. Anger and resentment can be very motivating. They can drive us to be better, rise above our humble beginnings, prove our doubters wrong. They can also be blinding. Emotion is a double-edged sword." His head tilts slightly. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Anger can be very effective when it's controlled. If you let it control you, you'll lose your way. You must be disciplined." As he returns to his throne, Catra frowns for the moment his back is turned. Does everyone think she's ruled by her emotions? Is she ruled by her emotions? She doesn't like to think so. "Now," Hordak's voice pulls her eyes back up, "do you have an opinion on what to do with the sorceress?"

Catra blinks, purging any emotion from her face and voice. "I agree with your assessment. No need to be wasteful."

A hint of a smile turns one corner of Hordak's mouth. "Very well, Force Captain Catra. You will go collect her immediately, bring her here to me."

"Yes, my lord."

***o***

Unlike the throne room, the prison is not a place in which Catra is capable of relaxing. Not even when she's marching in with two guards at her beck and call, fully in charge of the situation. The rush of power can't mask the bad memories, can't give this place the illusion of being anything other than what it is. A place where she was helpless. A place where she suffered. The air is stale and cold as ever. It reeks of loneliness and misery.

The fact that she has to talk to Shadow Weaver again does nothing to soothe the hum of nervous energy simmering under her skin. Especially now with nothing to lose, that bitch is sure to go down swinging, cause as much damage as she can on her way out of this world. Now's not a good time to be in her sights. Not that there ever was.

Punching codes into the pad outside Shadow Weaver's cell, Catra disables the sight shield. Her insides squirm, a pang of guilt resounding in her chest when it fades and reveals Shadow Weaver lying on her stomach. Her back stings at the very sight and she scowls at the sensation, cursing this compulsion she feels to sympathize with Shadow Weaver whenever she sees her in discomfort. She hoped defeating Shadow Weaver would release her hold on her, but apparently not. And why the fuck does she feel guilty, anyway? Shadow Weaver deserved it, there's no question about that.

Deactivating the force field long enough to pass through, Catra enters without speaking. She just crosses her arms and sets her jaw as Shadow Weaver turns her head. A predatory smile crosses Shadow Weaver's face at the sight of her favorite target, and Catra barely resists the urge to flee. Her inner four year-old screams at her to shrink into the corner and shield her head with her arms, to say she's sorry without even knowing what she's sorry for. But Catra isn't a snivelling little weakling anymore. She doesn't apologize, and she certainly doesn't cower.

Sitting up with hardly a wince, Shadow Weaver eyes the guards waiting outside. "Brought friends this time?"

"They're your escort," Catra informs her. "Hordak's sentenced you to death for treason."

"Treason?" Shadow Weaver clutches her chest, looking downright offended. "Forgive me for trying to spare him a terrible mistake. What possessed that man to entrust our most valuable asset to a couple of harebrained princesses and a reckless, incompetent beast is beyond me."

Catra's eyes narrow dangerously. "If I ever gave you this much lip, I wouldn't have had any skin left to speak of. Back off, Shadow Weaver. I am not in the mood."

"You're not here to talk?" she asks with an irritating level of faux sweetness.

"No, I'm here to take you to your execution. Weren't you listening?" Catra flashes the pair of handcuffs in her grip. "Hands," she orders. When her prisoner only cocks her head, she fingers the stun gun on her belt. "Now, Weaver."

Shadow Weaver grins but relents. "I suppose you're feeling very proud of yourself," she remarks as Catra closes in. "That's why you're here, right? To rub in your victory one last time?"

"I'm here because Hordak sent me," Catra says flatly, going to work on the first cuff. "Trust me, I'd be just as happy to never see your ugly face again."

"Now now," Shadow Weaver chides her, "that's no way to speak to the woman who raised you."

Catra cinches the metal tighter than necessary, pinching Shadow Weaver's sickly gray skin and making it go white. "I'll speak to you however the fuck I want. In case you haven't noticed, you're not in charge here, old lady."

As Catra pulls both hands behind her back, Shadow Weaver asks, "Do you think this will make you feel better? Killing a person doesn't undo their life's work."

Securing the second cuff, Catra snorts. "So first I'm the weakest cadet you've ever raised, and now I'm your life's work?"

"Part of it, indeed," says Shadow Weaver. "It's not a contradiction. I put a lot of effort into raising you, and I'm proud of that, even if the results were extremely dissatisfactory."

"Effort?" balks Catra. Stepping back, she squints incredulously into Shadow Weaver's bloodshot eyes. "How much effort does it take to beat a child when they don't do exactly what you want, rather than taking the time to explain what you do want? To find out if maybe they just don't understand and aren't trying to be bad?"

"You never had to try to be bad, Catra. It's in your nature. But you blatantly disobeyed rules that I know for a fact you knew. You talked back to your commanding officer with regularity. You can't pretend you tried to be good." Catra glares at her but can't come up with a quick retort. Shadow Weaver is right about at least some of that. The woman in question smiles at the small victory and continues, "You needed to learn how to behave as a child, if you were to avoid much worse consequences for the same infractions as an adult. I always told you, it was for your own good."

Catra's arms cross over her chest defensively as she glowers at the floor. "Yeah, I remember."

"And you always will. I raised you, Catra, and killing me won't change that. Revenge does nothing to alter the past."

"This isn't about revenge," scoffs Catra. "If it was, I'd keep you alive so I could starve and torture you."

Her eyebrows arch. "Torture? Is that what you think I did to you?" Catra's eyes flick away and Shadow Weaver chuckles, shaking her head. "So dramatic."

"What would you call it?" Catra demands through a clenched jaw.

"Discipline, of course. Guidance." Catra opens her mouth to respond, but Shadow Weaver cuts her off. "You can't deny you learned something from my methods. You learned to keep your mouth shut, on occasion. You learned to keep your filthy paws off of Adora."

Catra's eyes narrow with a hiss. "Maybe you should have disciplined that traitor to keep her filthy lips off of me. I never asked for it."

Shadow Weaver's sick smile makes her gut flip. "And I made sure you never did."

Fisting the sheets of the cot in her cell, Catra twisted the fabric until it threatened to rip. She swallowed the whimper trying to climb out of her throat, clenching her teeth until the burning sensation faded. The sting that followed was bearable, and tempered by the lingering tingle of Adora's lips on hers. Even then, remembering made her smile. Adora liked her. Shadow Weaver could do whatever she wanted to her, nothing could change that.

Nails dug into the flaming skin of her shoulders, making her flinch and hiss, grounding her in the moment she wished to escape. "You're not good enough for her," Shadow Weaver declared. "You'll only drag her down, like you've been doing your whole sorry life. You'll disappoint her. That's all you're good for."

Catra had been here countless times before. On her knees at Shadow Weaver's feet, defenseless against her blows and her searing words. She was so used to the torrent of insults she could almost let them roll off her back by now. Almost. But these words cut deeper than usual, because Adora was Adora. And because deep down, Catra feared that Shadow Weaver was right. Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself in preparation for the next onslaught of pain, whatever form it came in.

What she wasn't prepared for was the belt that suddenly cinched around her neck. Quick as Catra might be, she was caught off guard. Her hands flew to the improvised noose, the claws she'd been fighting to keep retracted now shooting out. She struggled to work them under the tightening leather, to snap it before it choked her out, but it was already too tight. If she tried to rip it now, she'd probably end up slashing her own throat.

"What did I tell you would happen if you jeopardized her future?" With that, Shadow Weaver grabbed a fistful of Catra's hair and shoved her face into the mattress. Panic shot through Catra and she struggled wildly, tail thrashing about as she fought for air. Shadow Weaver was trying to kill her. That's what she'd said all those years ago, that she'd dispose of her. Those words ringing in her ears, Catra dug her claws into Shadow Weaver's wrists in sheer desperation, but it had no effect. Her grip didn't loosen, and Catra didn't even get the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain. The pressure building in her chest grew unbearable and she felt her consciousness fading, the fight going out of her flailing limbs. As she slipped away, her last thought was that she wished she'd kissed Adora back.

Suddenly Shadow Weaver yanked her head back up, loosening the belt just enough for her to breathe. Catra gasped in sweet oxygen, tears of relief seeping out of her eyes. Before Shadow Weaver could add crying to the list of things to punish her for, she quickly swiped them away, bringing her hand to her mouth as she feigned a haggard cough. It got cut off as the belt abruptly tightened again. Bending down, Shadow Weaver hissed an ultimatum into her ear. "Consider this your final warning. If anything like this happens again, I'll transfer you to another squadron, and I'll make sure you never see Adora again. Do you understand?" Catra's eyes bulged. She thought Shadow Weaver was about to threaten her with death, but no, she'd threatened her with something much worse. Catra nodded hard and fast.

Still with a grip on Catra's hair, Shadow Weaver cranked her neck to the side and brought one of her own gouged, bloody wrists into Catra's field of view. "You'll pay for this, too. I thought I'd trained you to keep your destructive impulses in check, but I should have known better. You're a stupid creature who never learns her lesson."

Those words made Catra's face fall, draining all the adrenaline lingering in her blood from the fight. She'd thought it was finally over, thought she could go back to her bunk now and curl up with her face buried in the blue blanket that smelled of her and Adora, quietly release her tears. She was so exhausted and her skin was so raw that she almost said she was sorry and she didn't mean to. But she was too proud for that. Besides, she wasn't sorry, and Shadow Weaver deserved it anyway. Catra could smell her own blood in the air that Shadow Weaver had drawn with her nails, but she was nothing if not a hypocrite. Feeling the sorceress float back a few feet behind her, her gut tightened in anticipation.

"Your pants, Catra."

Catra sighed.

Throat swelling painfully, Catra squeezes her eyes shut in concentration, trying and failing to block out the memory. Even once she gets the images to fade, she can still hear everything. Feel everything. She can barely keep her voice from cracking as she says, "That wasn't fair."

"Life isn't fair," Shadow Weaver states flatly. "Fact is, it was far more effective to let Adora believe her advances were unwanted than it would have been to punish her for her deviant desires. It would have only deepened them, made her want you more. Teenagers will be teenagers."

Eyes widening as she absorbs this, Catra shakes her head in disbelief. "In case no one's ever told you, you're a terrible person."

"At least I'm a person," Shadow Weaver taunts her.

"Right," chuckles Catra. "I'm the animal because I have a tail, but getting off on torturing children and fucking with people's lives doesn't make you an animal?"

"You think I enjoyed the things I had to do to keep you in line?" Shadow Weaver asks with a hand on her heart, sounding almost hurt. "I would have preferred you were well-behaved. Disciplining you took a lot of time and energy I would have rather spent elsewhere."

Catra snorts. "You're full of shit. You love making people suffer. Even Hordak said you're cruel."

"Lord Hordak does not have to deal with a flock of misbehaving children and teenagers all the time. He lets his second-in-command oversee day-to-day operations, including discipline." Her eyes bore deep into Catra's with a chilling promise. "Soon you'll understand why I had to do the things I did to you. The things I did for you."

Fighting off a slight dizzy feeling, Catra shakes her head sharply. "I will never be like you."

Tongue clicking, Shadow Weaver shakes her head in amusement. "Oh, Catra. So young, so foolish. So naive." Meeting Catra's eyes again, she assures her, "If you somehow manage to last in this position, you will soon realize what it takes to make children learn." She cocks her head, something like pity in her expression. "You're not ready for this. You're still a child yourself."

Catra chuckles to cover her discomfort. "Well, you were supposed to be my mentor. Any last words of advice?"

Shadow Weaver leans in, and Catra's breath catches before she even says a word. She knows this woman's body language intimately. On her deathbed, Shadow Weaver is going in for the kill one last time. Smiling sweetly, she tells her, "Be a good kitty for your new master, Catra. Maybe this one won't leave you."

That blow knocks the wind out of Catra's chest, keeping her from breathing even as it swells with anger. A hot buzzing sensation fills her head, overwhelming her senses. The next thing she knows, she's staring in shock at four deep gashes across her prisoner's face. With blood dripping down her cheeks and over her lips, Shadow Weaver's triumphant laugh comes off rather insane. "Animal. Always have been, always will be."

Though it's difficult to do when she's angry, Catra retracts her claws with an unconscious growl. The noise procures an incredibly smug look from Shadow Weaver, one that makes Catra curse her own nature. She can't stand one more second with this woman, but she won't let her have the last word. "See you in the throne room."

Catra stops just long enough to instruct the guards to escort Shadow Weaver on their own before bolting from the scene in as dignified a manner as she can manage. Knowing she has a head start, she takes a detour through some quieter areas of the Fright Zone. The attempt to clear her head and find some peace is less than effective. Even when she manages to push Shadow Weaver's hateful remarks from her head for a moment, that leaves her to think about Adora. Really think about what happened between them, and what happened after.

Catra didn't get to go back to the barracks for days. Days of beatings, in case she didn't get the message the first time. Adora was off-limits. Once she did go back, part of her wished she hadn't. It was a whole other kind of torture, even more unbearable. She wanted nothing more than to brush lips with Adora again, to hold her hand, to curl up in her arms and lose herself in her warmth and comforting scent. The need to feel close to Adora was overwhelming, and having to hold back when she knew Adora felt it too only made it worse. Sure, she could still get away with some affection, but she could never really enjoy it again, not knowing how carefully she had to tread. If she really gave into it, she could lose control. And if she lost control, let things escalate, she would lose Adora.

But she wanted things to escalate. She wanted it, wanted Adora, so fucking bad. Catra had snuck around the Fright Zone at night enough to know what the older cadets did. She almost wished she didn't know what the buzzing in her chest and heat in her stomach meant. It would have been easier. She wouldn't have had this yearning to entangle limbs with Adora under their blanket, feel her skin hot against her own, hear her ragged breathing in her ear. More than anything, Catra wanted to know what Adora really felt like under her uniform. How her soft skin stretched taut over hard muscle would feel. How it would taste, tinged with her sweat. Catra craved this knowledge beyond measure. But she couldn't let Adora know what she wanted, how she felt. She couldn't.

As always, Adora was easy to keep in the dark, about everything. She didn't even know Catra had been punished, let alone what for. Shadow Weaver had fed the squadron some lie about Catra getting extra training to explain her extended absence. It was a convenient excuse for the shape she came back in. Exhausted, limping and listless, covered in bruises. How quiet and distant she was hurt Adora, Catra knew that. But she also knew that telling Adora what had really happened would be worse. Adora wouldn't be able to handle the guilt, and no doubt her protective instincts would kick in and make her say or do something that would get Catra in even more trouble. It was better to let Adora believe she wanted space. It was better…

Catra stops in her tracks, Shadow Weaver's words echoing in her ears. "It was far more effective to let Adora believe her advances were unwanted than it would have been to punish her for her deviant desires." Head spinning, Catra grabs the nearest wall as the implications fully dawn on her. Shadow Weaver knew. Shadow Weaver knew how Catra would react, and how Adora would react to that. She played them. She let Catra suffer self-imposed isolation and Adora suffer what felt like rejection just to keep them apart. And for what?

Catra swallows the painful lump growing in her throat. Is wanting her really that deviant? If it is, who could ever want her? Love her? For all she knows, she's the last of her kind. The only place she ever felt she belonged was with Adora. That was the only place she could forget the world sees her as a freak, the only place she ever felt anything resembling love. Obviously it wasn't love, though. Adora made that clear when she left her behind without a second thought.

The sting in her eyes brings Catra back to her senses. She blinks back her tears with a growl, swipes the fallen ones from her cheeks. Crying about love is unbefitting of anyone in the Horde, let alone such a high-ranking officer. Powering ahead before she can get lost in her own thoughts again, she smacks herself in the face. Orders herself to get it together.

When Catra arrives at the throne room, a jumble of emotions are bouncing around in her chest, fighting for dominance. Anger seems to be winning out, as is often the case with her. Anger at Shadow Weaver for what she pulled on them and for the horrible things she said to her. Anger at Adora for being so gullible and for leaving her alone with that monster. And most of all, anger at herself for doing exactly what Shadow Weaver wanted, playing right into her hands.

"Catra!" Eyes narrowing as they flick up, Catra finds Scorpia waving from further into the room, wearing far too happy an expression for such an occasion. Despite her irritation, Catra makes her way over, noting how sparse their company is. Only the Force Captains are present. That makes sense. There's no need to cause a potential ruckus by making this a public display, but those in power need to know what will happen to them if they dare rebel. Bouncing on her toes, Scorpia rushes Catra when she gets close and tries to pull her into a hug. Catra easily dodges her bulky but slow arms, but Scorpia's enthusiasm doesn't fade. "I was worried about you!"

Tail flicking behind her, Catra scowls up at Scorpia's kind face. The other Force Captains are looking on in amusement, and Catra will not go back to being the laughingstock of the Horde. Putting on her lowest and most authoritative voice, she booms, "Calm yourself, Force Captain Scorpia."

For a second Scorpia looks surprised and maybe even a little scared, but that expression quickly dissolves into sheepishness. "I'm sorry, boss. You've just been acting weird the last couple days." Though Catra would rather Scorpia not bring this up in front of a bunch of her subordinates, she can't deny it's true. The guilt over her revelation regarding Scorpia and Entrapta made her withdraw even further from them, refrain from spending time in Entrapta's lab even though she found herself oddly craving their company. And now she feels guilty for that, for making them feel neglected. Apparently she just can't get enough of that emotion today.

Catra's attention is pulled back to Scorpia when she leans in and attempts to whisper, "What are we doing here?" Unfortunately, subtlety is not something Scorpia can even remotely pull off, and her voice comes out as a loud hiss.

Rolling her eyes, Catra addresses everyone, since they definitely all heard anyway. "Shadow Weaver's been sentenced to death."

"Oh. Oh." Scorpia's already pale skin goes paler as the others break into muffled murmurs behind her. Her voice is genuinely quiet as she asks, "We have to watch?"

The display of vulnerability breaks something inside of Catra, but she doesn't let it show. She keeps her voice flat as she remarks, "I assume that's why you're here."

Scorpia nods, brow furrowed as her eyes drop to the floor. Despite her attempts to remain impassive, Catra finds herself putting a comforting hand on Scorpia's arm, just above the top of her pincer. The small gesture makes Scorpia look up and give her an uncharacteristically shy smile, but thankfully she doesn't take it as her cue to try to hold Catra's hand or anything gross like that.

Within minutes, Lord Hordak emerges from the shadows, silencing the room with his very presence. Everyone bows and stands at attention as he makes his way toward the cluster of officers. Stopping in front of Catra, he gives her a respectful nod. "Force Captain. Was the prisoner any trouble?"

Catra shrugs. "No more than usual, my lord."

Hordak nods as though this is acceptable, perhaps expected. Turning back to the shadows, he calls, "Bring her out!"

The guards flanking Shadow Weaver march her into the light, a bag obscuring her face. Catra's not sure why they would bother with that, it's not like she doesn't know where they were going. Maybe it's just for effect. That theory gains more credence when the guards force the prisoner to her knees and one of them rips off the bag with a dramatic flourish. Sounds of shock fill the air, bringing a smug smile to Catra's face. Apparently none of the Force Captains have seen Shadow Weaver's deformed face before. It's only when Catra feels several sets of eyes flashing her way that she realizes they're reacting at least in part to the gashes slicing across Shadow Weaver's cheek.

Shrinking in embarrassment, Catra averts her eyes from the others, where they unfortunately meet the irritated gaze of Lord Hordak. "What?" she chirps, straightening up and crossing her arms. "I was provoked."

"I'm sure you were," he says dryly. "What did I say about discipline, Force Captain?" Catra's head and eyes fall in shame, but thankfully he leaves it at that. As two more guards bring out a bench and an axe, Hordak steps forward and launches into a speech about how Shadow Weaver betrayed not only him, but the very values of the Horde. Catra doesn't hear much of it. All she can focus on is Shadow Weaver's bloodied face. Her eyes are hard and chin raised, but Catra's keen eyesight picks up on the tiniest quiver in her lip. Shadow Weaver is… scared.

Well, why wouldn't she be scared? Even the bravest souls fear death, when they have time to see it coming. Even the cruelest souls blindly crave mercy at the end. Once again, Catra finds herself juggling conflicting emotions. Conflicting thoughts. Part of her wants that woman dead right now, before she can do anything else to hurt her. Part of her would rather watch her suffer after everything she put her through. But another part of her, an unfortunately strong and immutable one, can't help feeling sympathy for a scared helpless creature, even if that creature deserves this and much worse.

Catra is no animal. She is, perhaps, too human for her own good.

Finishing up his diatribe, Hordak turns to Shadow Weaver. "Any last words?"

Shadow Weaver speaks to Hordak, but she's looking right at Catra as she warns him, "You've made a grave mistake, my lord. Soon you will see that." An ironic chuckle parts Catra's lips. That's so very Shadow Weaver. Doubting and disparaging Catra with her final breaths. It's fitting. Catra would expect nothing less. It still hurts.

Catra doesn't look away. She stubbornly holds Shadow Weaver's gaze even as two of the guards position her shoulders on the bench and one brandishes the axe. Shadow Weaver doesn't blink, doesn't waste one precious instant of eyesight. They are locked in one final battle of wills, neither yielding an inch. In her peripheral vision, Catra sees the axe go up, and her heart jumps as a sense of dread floods her body. Hoping it doesn't show on her face, she fights the urge to swallow at the sudden ache in her throat. She gives her mentor, her abuser, her parental figure a final nod of goodbye as the axe falls.

The crack of the axe splintering wood makes her finally turn her face. But she doesn't need to see any more. She hears the collective gasp of the Force Captains. She hears the head hit the floor and roll their way. She hears a strangled whimper trying to escape her own throat.

Shadow Weaver was right, once again. One last thing for her to be proud of, from beyond the grave. Catra doesn't feel better. Catra feels sick.

A/N: MM WHATCHA SAYYYY

EDIT: Changed Catra's title back to Force Captain to align with season 2

**Content warning for graphic beheading, graphic strangulation/suffocation, and (very strongly) implied beating with a belt.