Author Note:

I feel like I keep apologizing for these chapters being painful and I do promise we have cuteness and cuddling and pining coming eventually but we've got the long slog of doom canon gave us before we get there.

Glimmer clearly had a bad time on Prime's ship that left her traumatized and I have read a lot of takes that envision that as physical or sexual abuse and I just don't see either as Prime's style. So this is my take on the kinds of ways he was torturing her on the ship, that are not either of those.

But, to that end, a big TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter because it is super dark and messed up. I am not exactly sure what to TW this with so let's call it psychological or institutional abuse. (The spoiler version... so stop reading now if you don't what to know exactly what it is... is that Prime denies her use of the bathroom to punish her for an escape attempt.)

Finally.

The wall at the front of Glimmer's cell went transparent and she tensed automatically, even though she'd been hoping for it to happen for hours. A clone stood in her doorway, as still as if he'd been standing there the whole time. For all she knew, he had been. Prime said he was always watching. Maybe they took turns gawking at her like some caged amusement. The thought wasn't exactly comforting.

Shoulders straight, head held high. Like a queen. Like she'd crossed her legs in front of her casually and not out of complete desperation.

"Your majesty. Lord Prime has instructed me to escort you so that you may see to your necessities."

About time. That's what she wanted to say as she rose slowly, desperately begging her bladder to hold on for a few more minutes. But she didn't dare. And the clone knew it. She could tell from the way his mouth crooked up into a sneer, his eyes sliding to the broken chair in the corner. She wondered if this was the same one from earlier or if they all knew about before. Somehow the second option was worse.

"Lead the way." She tried to put power behind it, like it was a command, something she'd summoned him to do. An illusion gone as soon as the clone clamped his hand down on her shoulder. She couldn't help but think of the times that had been a gesture of support, from her mom, her friends. But like everything with Prime, it was something good, perverted, the illusion of civility to cover up cruelty. That might be the worst part of this, the way everyone played along with the sick game that she was some honored guest when they all knew the truth.

Ugh, it was so much worse standing up. They walked with maddening slowness, as if her guard was determined to prolong her discomfort as much as possible. She shivered, not sure if it was from cold or fear. She realized dimly that she should try to memorize the way, make a plan of escape, but that felt like some cruel game she was playing with herself. Even if she could get out, where would she even go?

After what felt like an age, they reached the tiny washroom and she lunged forward into the claustrophobic space. She was desperate enough that she almost didn't feel that familiar wave of fear and nausea she usually got in here. The first time, she thought they'd brought her here to kill her. Seal her into this space not much wider than a coffin, suck out her life with the weird tubes dangling from the wall. Even now that she knew what they were for, they still looked like torture devices.

She grabbed for the longest tube, shoving the bowl-like ending down front of her romper. It was awkward, but the only small mercy of this bizarre system was that she didn't have to pull her clothes down like she would with a normal toilet. She could have cried with relief as that horrible pressure on her bladder eased.

When she'd finished, she removed the vacuum tube and reached for the cleaner, the thin one with the triangular ending like a robotic snake. It spritzed something onto her hands that looked like powder but felt like liquid. It was so cold it burned against her skin, but she rubbed it into her hands. The button on the side made the thing roar to life, the sound startling her even though she'd used it before. The opening sucked the rest of the disinfectant off, leaving her hands dry and hopefully clean but feeling raw.

She should probably use it on the rest of her body too since she'd been wearing the same thing for who knew how many days now, but she would honestly rather smell like normal body odor than whatever weird sterile soap this was. Even the smell of it on her hands was so strong it felt like it was burning her nostrils.

She hesitated, wondering if she should try to go to the bathroom again. Not that she felt the need to now, but after how long he'd made her wait today, she didn't want to be in that horrible position ever again. She would NOT wet herself in front of these monsters.

She finally turned around awkwardly, whacking her elbow against the wall. This cramped room was barely wider than she was. In the doorway, she saw the clone watching her, his face in that same twisted smirk. She didn't exactly expect privacy around here, Prime probably had cameras on her the entire time, but it still chilled her they didn't even turn around. And that grin.

She stepped closer and realized with horror that the clone's pupils were white. Prime.

"Is that better, your majesty?" Prime's voice oozed with condensation.

I hate you. I HATE you. Her hands closed into fists at her side, her palms tingling as she tried to call for magic that wasn't there. She couldn't remember ever feeling such concentrated loathing for someone in her entire life. She wanted to hit him, to blast him with her magic, grab a cleaning hose and strangle him until the light went out of all four horrible green eyes. But the torture of the last few hours was too fresh in her mind.

Instead, all she managed was a soft, "Yes. Thank you."

Prime let out a single small laugh and his grin widened, as if her shame delighted him. "I trust we won't have any further unpleasantness during your stay."

She shook her head, hating herself. Hoping to everything he couldn't tell how badly she was shaking. She'd never felt helpless like this. Not once in her entire life.

And she had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

They'd replaced the chair in her cell while she was out, the same type as last time, as if daring her to try again. She ignored it, heading for the bed. She lay down on her stomach, curling her left arm out in front of her so Prime couldn't see what she was doing, even if he was watching from above. With her right hand, she smoothed the sheet in front of her. With her fingertip, she wrote on the stiff blanket.

I'm back! Whew! MUCH BETTER. They finally let me go to the bathroom and I did NOT pee myself which feels like a pretty major triumph right now. I know, TMI, but it was becoming like… a situation. I swear, this place, right? You try to brain ONE clone with a chair leg, and this asshole tortures you by—

She hesitated, her finger on the edge of the bedsheet. She didn't want this to turn into a pity party like the last one. Or rant and get herself all worked up again. She blinked her eyes until the pricking stopped and shook out her shoulders.

Whew, OK. Keeping it light.

Anyway, let's see. What have I been up to? Ugh, just… so much nothing. I don't even know how many days it's been. Time is meaningless here. There's no day or night, and the meal schedule is a COMPLETE mystery to me. And I'm sooooo bored. I keep thinking of that pile of paperwork I left on my desk back home and wishing I had it. I know! I'm actually longing for those stupid export forms, go ahead and laugh at me!

She smiled, feeling for a moment like she really was talking to someone. Maybe pretending to write in her journal with her finger on the bedsheets was a sign that she'd completely snapped, but it helped her feel a little less alone.

It's almost funny. You know how I kept complaining the last few months about how allll I wanted to do was sleep but there was so much queen stuff to do and then there was the war and we were always busy busy busy? Well now, when I have literally nothing to do but sleep… and of course I can't.

When she did sleep, it was fitfully, haunted by the standard rotation of nightmares. Bright Moon, empty, sometimes on fire, everyone having abandoned her. Lots of variations on that theme.

There were also several of the Prime Kills Her Horribly genre, snapping her neck or slitting her throat or doing whatever the hell he'd done to Hordak which her brain had decided felt like knives stabbing into her thoughts, ripping her memories out of her. Her brain was very good at coming up with weird alien tortures and showcasing them for her every time she closed her eyes.

Occasionally it was the Heart of Etheria. That terrible feeling of violation, her magic ripping out of her. Except, in her dreams, it didn't stop. It just kept pulling her apart until she came apart in shreds.

Then, of course, there were the ones with her mom. Where Angella floated in space, watching outside the window of Prime's ship and shaking her head with utter disappointment at the pathetic thing her daughter had become. Sometimes her dream self ran to the window and banged against the glass, trying to tell her mother something she never got to say before the guards dragged her away and she woke up screaming, her face wet with tears.

Glimmer shivered and went back to writing.

It's always so friggin' COLD here. You'd hate it. I mean, for other reasons too obviously, but… Oh! Remember on the first day how I said the clones have absolutely no personality? I take it back. Some of them randomly have a personality, but in every case that personality is ASSHOLE!

She underlined the last word, drawing an angry face next to it. She was using the shorthand she'd been using in her journal since she was a kid, a combination of pictures, letters and incomplete words that would be incomprehensible to anyone but herself. Which was fine because nobody read her journal but her anyway. It was a place for saying things she would never say aloud.

Hey, so, if you don't hear from me later, don't worry. I was thinking of writing to Adora again. I've been kind of making the rounds. Apologies, mostly. Trying to explain. I even wrote one to Catra, though it kind of devolved into me writing FUCK YOU as big as I could and underlining it a billion times. I can't believe I thought she might change, that maybe she'd help me up here. What an absolute NIGHTMARE BITCH! She walks by here sometimes, basically just to gloat, and I can't even stand the sight of her stupid face!

She'd always wrote her journal entries as letters. Mostly to her mom when she was mad. Sometimes to herself, though now she was absolutely the LAST person she wanted to talk to.

I know you're going to ask and YES. I tried to write to my mom, OK? But, I don't know, I've never been any good at talking to my mom. Not like I can talk to you, anyway. And, like, maybe this is weird because I said some HORRIBLE things to my mom, but I already know she forgives me. Moms are like that. You know? They always love you, even if you're… they just do. But Adora, everybody else… Oh, Bow, I really fucked up.

She doodled a swirl in the imaginary margin while she blinked back tears, the sheets in front of her blurring for a moment before she got herself back under control. When she started writing again, the words were as small as she could make them, until she was barely moving her finger across the sheets.

Hey, don't tell anyone but… I'm scared. I'm so scared. For me, for you… all of you. I've never been this fucking terrified in my entire life. I've never felt so helpless and pathetic and alone and… This isn't me, you know? I punch my problems and I rush in head first and instead it's like this fucked up backwards bedtime story where it's the princess waiting in the tower for rescue and I hate it. And I just know you and Adora going to try to come get me and I don't even want you to because Prime will just… he won't hesitate to… I can't lose you too. I can't. Anyway, I hope I'm not annoying you by writing this much, but you're basically the only one back home I'm positive doesn't hate me right now. Really appreciate that, by the way! Like, so much. Not to be dramatic, but it's literally the only thing holding me together up here.

She took a deep breath. It really did help, knowing that no matter how much she fucked up, even if it was a massive, intergalactic fuck up like this, Bow would forgive her. Everybody else might never want to see her again, but her best friend could never stay mad at her. And, holy shit, was she grateful for that right now!

I should go. They should bring dinner soon. Or whatever the hell meal we're up to. But just… thank you. For everything. I know I never said it enough or, like, ever but… you're the best, Bow. The. BEST. Like not only my best friend but… the best, OK? And I promise, if I get out of this, I will never EVER take you for granted again. I'll write later, OK? Be safe. I love you.

I love you. She traced over the last line with her finger twice, just two letters and a symbol, before swiping her hand across the sheet, closing the journal. Then she pressed her face down into the mattress, bunching the sheet up in her fist, and fighting the urge to fall apart.

She buried her face in the scratchy sheets. She'd give herself three more minutes to wallow. Then she'd go scream at something just to feel like herself again. Maybe Catra would walk by and she could tell her to go fuck herself in person. That'd probably cheer her up.

They couldn't keep her here forever. She just wished that thought was a hopeful one.