You are Princess Catrina of Halfmoon, better known as Catra. The countryside was beautiful, you thought to yourself. The only thing beautiful about this day, you thought angrily. The horses grunted softly against the weight of the carriage as you and your mother Queen C’yra of Halfmoon rode silently along the pebbled roads. The laughter of passing carriages would break your thoughts ever so often. You could smell fresh merchant loaves of bread, meats, and other oddities that the underground Kingdom of Halfmoon had denied her for so long. You noticed the pointed glare of your mother, both of your matching heterochromia eyes challenging each other to speak. Queen C’yra caved first. “You give the appearance of a statue.” Her clipped tone made your tail lash violently. With an unimpressed look, you replied, “Statues are works of art. Art is beautiful.” you narrowed your eyes, ever the one to challenge your mother. “Art can be beautiful to gaze upon.” Your mother scoffed, “You are ridiculous to the eye, Child.” *Child.* Your ears pinned back as a fit of new, desperate anger rose in your chest, “Is there a point?” “You have not moved an inch in six hours.” Her mother said exhausted. You eyed the ridiculous gown you were currently pinned into, “I am wearing Plumerian silk, encrusted with Salinas sapphires, working with an overlay of 200-year-old lace,” You complained to your mother. Magicats usually wore tunics of simple design adorned with gold, but today you must be presentable. Your mother sighed, “Catrina…” “Had you taken notice you would have also noted that the corset is adorned from Brightmoon and made with very thin and sharp crystals to keep it in place. Which so happens to stab against my chest at every breath, so yes Mother. I look like a statue. ridiculous to the eye, but that is because I cannot move.” Queen C’yra moves to cup your hands, “You are upset.” she coos You snatch your hands away roughly, “Tis a viable option I have considered.” “Catrina.” your mother warns but you double in exacerbation You slink further down. “I'm not upset, nor am I emotional. I am angry, and I cannot breathe. And both are thanks to you, Mother.” “Catrina, you were chosen.” Your mother adorns a grim smile on her face, it is to be a look of understanding, but it makes you seethe nonetheless. “This is a great honor.” “Oh, how difficult was it to be chosen? There are a plethora of eligible suitors for the Lord. All well-educated and well-mannered might I remind you. So, it is not an honor.” You pointedly narrow your gaze, “You could've told them to choose someone else. Someone stupid enough to want it.” You can feel the tears threatening to spill out but you steady herself. Your mother sighs, “They did not want someone stupid. They wanted you.” “Mother, think! Why me? She could have anyone! Anyone! They came to the caves hunting for me and brokered a peace treaty with Queen Angella. Why not Glimmer? Why won’t she marry her own daughter for the sake of peace? Is the Lord of the Horde such a beast?” “Lord Adora will be a great ally to have for Halfmoon. The war ending opens up trade routes and other necessities for our people. As for why the Lord picked you? That is easy my dear, you are special.” Your eyes bulge wide in horror, “Special?! I am nothing but a mere exotic pet for her Lordship. You cannot think me this ignorant.” “You are a strong Princess, Catrina, you are bright-” “There is reason and it cannot be a good reason. I know it cannot be a good reason because you have not looked me in the eye since you told me. You have been scarce and unavailable to me except for this long, ludicrous carriage ride!” You watch as your mother chuckles darkly, there is a fever and desperation to her laughter, “This is a good thing.” She points a sharp claw into your chest, “You shall be happy.” “Turn the carriage around. I am not doing this.” You swat the hand away “I signed the betrothal contract. You are.” “No.” ”Yes.” “Mother turn the carriage around, or I will bounce. I will bounce, and I will impale myself on this ridiculous corset and bleed to death. “Catrina!” Your mother screams this time. She never raises her voice and the obscenity of it all makes you quiver. “I know I should have taken a firmer hand with you. Your father and I indulged you too much. We indulged your every whim and frivolity, so I take full responsibility for the fact that you are now exceedingly headstrong and mistakenly think you can make decisions. You cannot. I am in charge.” “Mother, I am the future Queen, future C’yra III, I should not have to bend my knee to anyone. You and Father married for love and I wish to do the same.” You grasp her mother’s hand desperately this time. You are pleading, something you seldom do, “I have heard tales of Lord Adora from soldiers and knights. She is a beast who holds no love in her heart. Do not make me marry such a person.” Reserved, calm is a mask that now is placed over your mother’s face, a single tear reveals buried emotions, “You will not be Queen C’yra III, your sister, Luna will hold our bloodline true and strong.” You can almost feel the sobs wanting to wreck through both your bodies at the statement. “You will be Queen Catrina and take the Lord, soon to be Queen’s hand. Queen Angella will pronounce both new titles at the coronation. This is happening.” “I don't see why you-” Your mother snaps this time, “Because they are the Horde Empire and Brightmoon! The Horde holds more power than Etheria’s oldest crown! Do you understand that? Queen Angella has no choice. We had no choice. I had no choice! We will all be ruined if the union does not take place, Catrina. You were chosen.” Your mother looks out of the carriage, unable to meet her eldest child's eyes. “I cannot question because I cannot make an enemy of the most powerful nation on Etheria. It is done. So, do your duty to our country, and be happy.” Queen C’yra reaches to hold you once again but you are on the verge of crumbling. You both are. You mother is losing her crown achievement, her most precious gem, and you are losing everything you've worked for and everything you love. You cannot crumble, “Sit back. You are endangering my gown. I need to look perfect when I arrive, do I not?” ... You have never been on the surface, you have always lived a very sheltered life in the underbelly of Etheria. Halfmoon’s culture is unlike anything you have seen since she arrived at Brightmoon. Your people dress in clothing with minimal layers that have multiple openings for their bodies to perform at peak levels. The Bright Mooners wear thick material with laces and frills, their jewelry is often heavy crystals. You wonder how they ever move freely or if they indeed do. Their people do not live collectively either. You often walked among the common folk of Halfmoon but here, through the carriage, you see only poverty in Brightmoon’s 3rd ring; farmers primarily. you all move through the second ring and you notice that these people seem to be of working class with skill sets. The last ring is close to the palace and it is full of wealthy citizens who seem to be scholars, among other things. You frown to yourself, it does not seem that the rings bleed into each other much. The group makes their way into the palace with little hassle. Your mother is effortless with her grace and you try to hold yourself to those same standards as you two ascend to the throne room. Queen Angella extends a warm smile to you both as you enter, “Welcome Queen C’yra, Princess C’y- Catrina.” The slip-up makes you grow tense, you feel anger bubbling in your chest and you're about to snap when your vision is blurred by a dark-figured woman in all red. “Teeth.” She demands You begin to snarl, but Queen Angella is quick to the point, “This is Shadow Weaver, Lord Adora’s adoptive parent. She has come to, um- cast her eyes on you, Princess.” “Teeth.” Shadow Weaver demands again and this time you oblige. You oblige for your country. “Mm-hmm. Sharp.” You feel the hands trace along your fangs, “Hands.” Shadow Weaver watches as you extend your claws in and out, “Also sharp.” “You have good hips. You will make lots of babies. That is good. That is your job. As many babies as possible for my Adora.” This causes you to raise a brow, “Babies? How-” Shadow Weaver raises her hand, “You will learn.” Your interests are peaked now, “Yes, Your Highness.” Queen Angella stands, “Princess Glimmer will you show Princess Catrina to her chambers? She must be quite tired and the rest of the princess alliance will be here soon. It is perhaps wise to let her rest a bit before. I will keep Queen C’yra company in the meantime.” Glimmer walks towards you and smiles openly, her overly obnoxious purple gown and hair make you want to gag. “Sure Mom!” and with a large puff of purple sparkles you suddenly find yourself outside, in the palace halls. Glimmer looks at you briefly. “I am sorry.” “For?” You hate the sympathy in Glimmer’s voice. Glimmer walks quietly beside you, cape lashing ever so slightly, “I am betrothed, though I doubt it would have made her choose me had I not been. When she came to Brightmoon she was in another form. I cannot describe it to you in earnest. When she came into the throne room and demanded a treaty we were at a loss for words.” Glimmer keeps her eyes forward as you two walk, “She wanted to marry and unite herself to the Kingdoms. My mother showed her many eligible princesses, but when she saw you… She almost immediately demanded for your hand.” Demanded for her hand immediately? You store that thought for later “Another form?” Glimmer nodded, “Yes, one of magic. It is how she’s been able to practically win the war. She is terrifyingly strong.” You ask, “What else do you know?” “She has been Monarch since October with the death of her mentor, Lord Hordak.” You wish to know more, to know anything about the mysterious woman you are to wed, “Is she handsome? Or beautiful?” “Both. Both in different ways and different forms. She is- is quite attractive.” “Is she kind? Is she funny? Is she warm? Well-read? Artistic? Athletic?” Glimmer furrows her brow in thought, “I do not know for certain. She is, in many people’s opinion, a monster, a ruthless dictator, but I do not wish to speak so openly about your soon-to-be wife.” “Soon to be wife.” You echo. Glimmer comes to an abrupt halt, “This is your room, Catrina.” You smile softly at her, “Catra is fine, Princess Glimmer” Glimmer all but snorts, “Well Catra, Glimmer is also just fine. I’ll be down the hall at your leisure if you require any assistance. The other princesses will be arriving soon." You both exchanged goodbyes as you entered your room. The giant bed was plush and covered in decorative pillows. Giant curtains and a random assortment of waterfalls lay scattered in the open-concept room. It was much different than what you were used to. Your room at home had many perches and napping spots. There were lounging nooks in your old room with a modest lounging pit in the middle of the room. You strutted towards your balcony. You eye the long drop and note the bits of the castle that are connected. In your normal attire, you would easily scale these walls but now your feet are bound in shoes, and your garment too heavy to hoist along with you. You ring the servant's bell and wait for a handmaiden to help you undress. They come quickly at yor request and within moments you are dressed down to her slips. Your leggings and top are sheer and expose far too much in terms of decency but they do not rub or aggravate your fur. You lavish the weightlessness as you dismiss the servants. The cold castle tiles leave a pleasant bite against the pads of your feet. You run your nails against the balcony stone as you leap over it and onto a neighboring ledge. Easy work now that you limbs are free. You sprawl over the stone walls looking for an advantage point of some kind. You have been on the ground and confined for far too long. You reach a higher-up balcony and rest for a moment. You were fairly high now and one would think that the rooms this high would be unoccupied. One would be very wrong. You hear the door creak open and in moments you are met with shocked blue eyes. The blonde woman is wearing a white, compression top and loose-fit pants. She was clearly in attire equipped for lounging. Her shock soon turns to a look of amusement, “Hello, My Lady. Are you in need of assistance of some kind?” You eye the smug smile that graces the woman’s lips. “Uh, I am quite fine, thank you. You can go back inside and wait with all the other gawkers.” You say dismissively but you don’t dare to leave yet. You stretch carefully, ready to pounce and invade whenever necessary. The blonde stays at her distance, keenly aware of the razors that adorn your hands, “I will. But first, I'm curious. What are you doing?” “Nothing.” The woman chuckles, “You're doing something.” “I am not.” You remain determined “You are!” They bicker back in forth for a moment and you wonder if this is not the most charming chess game you have ever played. Entertained thoroughly you reply, “If you must know, I'm trying to determine the best way to climb on top of the palace.” This time the blonde smiles earnestly, “Climb? Whatever for?” “I think she may be a beast of some kind. Or a savage?” “Who are we discussing?” You eye the woman, “None of your business.” She sighs, “The Lord.” The blonde smirks again, “You do not like beasts or savages? What she looks like matters?” You muss your hair, “I do not care what she looks like. I do care how she acts. I do not say beast in terms of looks.” “Ahhh, so you plan to hide atop of the palace then, from your beast is it?” She tsks mockingly, “People will notice you are missing. Will they not?” “I shall worry about that later. Now, if you please keep quiet about this shared moment then I will take my leave.” The blonde moves slightly closer this time, “I have absolutely no intention of helping you or remaining quiet” You scoff, “I'm a lady in distress. Hiding from a monster. You refuse to help a lady in distress?” You ask, poking as you too near closer to the blonde. You appreciate the sculpted form of the lady in front. A soldier perhaps. Maybe she could defeat the monster that will soon be lying in your bed chamber. “I refuse when that lady in distress is trying to climb above to the heavens so that she does not have to marry me.” You try to kill the gasp that leaves your mouth but you are unable. It is heard and it says a million little things in its’ short existence. The blonde woman smiles, her identity now known. “Hello, Catrina. I'm Adora.”