Five years have passed since Emeth Light Spinner cast the Spell of Obtainment and was presumed dead. But little does the world know that she survived, and lives on as the dark sorceress Shadow Weaver. As the second-in-command of the Horde, she has b...
Most of the great philosophers of Mystacor have since warned about acting on future visions. I believe that we all see the future in dreams, sometimes – hence the existence of déjà vu.
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Shadow Weaver hummed softly as she sat in the nursery, watching the little ones play with toys. As soon as she'd joined the Horde, she had beseeched Hordak for several harmless childrens' toys – blocks, crinkles, and the like – citing that they needed to work together from an early age. Hordak had liked this idea; secretly, Shadow Weaver enjoyed watching the children play with the things she had brought for them.
Adora, now four years old, laughed with the other kids. "C'mon, Catra, give it to me!"
The girl chased Catra around the room; Carmen's kit held a ball of yarn that Shadow Weaver had been able to – with mighty effort – charm to ravel itself back up when it sensed that the children were done with it.
Adora tackled the five-year-old; the other children soon joined in the fun, dogpiling Catra to get the yarn. Shadow Weaver fought to recall the names she gave them when they'd been put into the nursery. Lonnie. Kyle. Rogelio, the Leezan orphan. Anástasis, a small Eastern boy who looked almost too similar to Micah. More, but she had allowed Carmen to name the felinetta children, so she couldn't recall them.
A dreadful hiss sounded from under the dogpile; Adora was flung backward. Catra emerged from the pile without the yarn, and Shadow Weaver's child lay on the ground, lips parted as she began to cry.
Shadow Weaver leaped up from her recliner. "Stop," she said in a deep, commanding voice. The children ignored her, some of them rushing to help Adora up while others went to Catra or Lonnie.
"I said, STOP!" Shadow Weaver shouted. The children froze, eyes wide with fear. "Adora, come."
Adora sniffled, wiping away tears with her meaty toddler hand, then promptly cried again. "My tummy..."
"Did someone kick you?" Shadow Weaver inquired as she bent down, dabbing at the girl's face with her dress sleeve.
Adora nodded. "Catra..." she sniffled.
Shadow Weaver's attention snapped to Catra, who was huddled in the corner with the yarn. Carmen's child had a problem with hitting the other little ones, and Shadow Weaver would not tolerate such disgraceful behavior. Horde soldiers had to be well-behaved, not unruly and rebellious.
"Catra, come."
The felinetta stepped delicately over to Shadow Weaver, avoiding eye contact. According to her tutors, Catra made slower progress than Adora and the others and refused to apply herself in class. Shadow Weaver feared that one day she would have to personally educate the felinetta herself.
A long silence. Then Shadow Weaver spoke. "Your mother has discussed with me at length about your hitting problems."
Catra rocked back and forth on her heels, her eyes – one blue, one yellow – still staring at the floor. She didn't understand what Shadow Weaver was saying, likely. Stupid child.
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