#she ra madam razz

[that-ari-blogger]

Go Now, Be At Peace (Hero)

One of my favourite things to see filmmakers play around with is time. As in, the information isn’t given to the audience linearly, and instead it is at the author’s beck and call.

This would seem easy, but the trick is making it work. Naturally, if you write a story and turn around in the final instalment and say “wait, I actually had a sister and a secret best friend this entire time”, it will feel like you have cheated. But if you can stick the landing, messing around with time is the juiciest writing technique out there. At least to me.

Case and point, the gimmicky emotional rollercoaster that is Hero.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

First up, yes, this episode is gimmicky as all heck, and that is exactly what I love about it.

I think we see a lot of criticism about how certain tropes are bad, but that really isn’t the case at all. If a story gets you invested enough, you can see it coming a mile off and it will still hit you like a truck.

There are even tropes that rely on you knowing what they are, with doomed heroes coming to mind most readily, but we’ll get there in a moment.

If we define a trope simply as a repeated literary element external to a story, then if that is by definition bad, symbolism doesn’t work in the same way.

Half of symbolism is external. This is Tumblr, that’s what colour theory is, you all know this. The red carpet represents happy thoughts and warmth and healing.

In this episode, for example, there is a ton of discussion about the Heart Of Etheria project, which is described thusly:

“It was supposed to be an energy source, capable of so much good. But that's not what they made.”

“How will destroying worlds bring peace?”

The Heart of Etheria project is a nuclear weapon. That’s what the symbolism is communicating here. The First Ones may not have been the antagonists in their war, but their ends did not justify the means, at least not in… hold on a sec. We’re getting ahead of ourselves here.

The symbolism here draws on the same ideas as Star Wars to create a feeling of unknowable terror. The first ones didn’t care about Etheria, they wanted to use it as a pawn in their own war.

The series dwells pretty heavily on the thematic idea of abuse being a cycle, and the Heart Of Etheria is a pretty potent symbol for that. In order to escape their own abuse, the first ones created something that would hurt others. In order to regain personhood, they took power from a planet.

They claimed the agency of someone else, leaving a vacuum in its place.

On the other hand, the series does have some heavy internal symbolism, that being through the dichotomy of magic and technology.

“I need the sword to control She-Ra's magic.”

“Ha! She-Ra was here long before your people arrived. You cannot control magic! Magic simply is.”

Technology, specifically that of the First Ones, but also from the Horde, is synonymous with control. Which puts magic in the role of freedom, specifically that of agency. Magic just is.

“Is”. The third-person singular present tense of “to be”.

Magic is the very concept of being. It is the freedom to do stuff. What stuff? Any stuff you want. Free from restraints and shackles, free from the will of others.

There are exceptions to this rule, and they are characters. Shadow Weaver, who uses magic to control, and Entrapta, the master technician who is unrestrainable. This gets watered down to their apprentices, with Glimmer and Bow respectively, and in the middle of this is Adora.

But the fact that these are exceptions to the rule kinda proves that there is a rule here.

And those exceptions are explained pretty handily, at least with Shadow Weaver and Glimmer. They are using dark magic, not in the way it wants to be used. They are forcing the magic to do what they want, and taking its agency from it, as well as using it to murk characters onscreen.

Bow, meanwhile, uses tech to coordinate, specifically in the sense of battlefield control. And Entrapta seeks only to understand, and knowledge is power. But she never tries to control anyone. Freedom is a big thing for Entrapta, and I honestly don’t have a reading of how she plays into this. I’ll let you know if this changes.

This is an in-text symbol that has meaning. Like an external one, it can be done well or poorly depending on the story, much like time nonlinearity.

Which brings me to my issue with writing this analysis:

For my coverage of the fourth season of She-Ra, I have been avoiding talking about Adora and Catra, because I will devote most of the final season to them. The problem here, is that Hero is set up around the parallels between Adora and her predecessor. The time nonlinearity serves to exacerbate those similarities, to the point where avoiding mentioning Adora even slightly is a detriment to the episode.

So, be aware that she is there, as I try to ignore her for the purposes of this post.

Anyway, the main character of this episode is Razz, and my question from about a season ago still stands here. Why is Razz in this story? How do I read the theming of an old lady who has lived thousands of years, and has met everyone under the sun? How do I read a character who is displaced in time? Why is that significant?

I have a thesis, and you’ll have to bear with me on this.

In my reading, Razz is Etheria. Maybe not literally, but on a story level, I think Razz and Etheria are one and the same. Razz saves and is saved by the previous She-Ra in a similar fashion to how Etheria teaches and is protected by her, and she befriends Adora in the same way. She gets temporally shunted because she sees the She-Ras as the same. To her, they are different and the same, and the order of events isn’t important.

Part of why I love this episode and its time travel shenaniganry is that it leverages that for emotion. There is a building dread in this episode, specifically through that pie.

Razz will never get to enjoy that pie with her friend, you know this from the start. So, when Mara walks through the door the first time, your heart sinks.

This episode is also about Mara, and I will get to the final scene in a minute, but first, introductions.

Mara starts the episode laughing. She closes it crying. This episode shows the breaking down of this character, and I cannot think of a better example.

This episode sets up Mara as incredibly intelligent. She pieces together the Heart of Etheria plan, but she also works out that Adora will need guidance, and that she can offer that via someone who would know. She knows that Razz will guide Adora to where she needs to be, and leaves messages.

She also acts as an audience surrogate for Razz to exposit themes to.

“It’s all right. No one here will hurt you.”

The theme here is pretty obvious. Things lash out when they are scared, and all you need to do to achieve peace is to be gentle. Mara, a person who is here to end a war, is trying to achieve that peace. But we have seen the cost of that.

I'm running out of space, so if you've seen How To Train Your Dragon, you know what this is. This is about trust with the other and coming together despite differences. This is about comradery with the planet itself. Mara needs to not rush at things, and instead wait, and be gentle. They will come to her.

I did a word search on the transcript of this episode for the word “peace”, and I found that it comes up thrice. When Mara and Light Hope argue, and here, when Mara calms down the animal.

“Go, be at peace.”

As a side note, the fighting styles of Mara and Adora are very different. Adora relies on strength and athleticism to win her battles. She can go toe to toe with Huntara and is the slower combatant when she fights Catra. But Mara flips around the battlefield like a gymnast or a dancer. The two come from different places, trained by opposite sides, it’s no wonder they fight differently.

When Light Hope presents her own worldview, or rather, that of her superiors, her wording is important.

“The Heart of Etheria has been activated. Your mission will be fulfilled. There will be peace throughout the galaxy. You will be a hero.”

Hero’s a funny word, ain’t it? It means someone you can look up to, and in war times, it is presented as loyalty and dedication to the cause. The ANZACs were heroes, for example.

Here, it is used as a trophy for Mara. She will be declared a hero, an empty title, just for doing what she is told.

But She-Ra doesn’t agree with this definition. In She-Ra, a hero saves people. In She-Ra, Mara is a hero because she disobeyed her orders to follow her better judgement and notably, she never gets called that in this episode.

Instead, she gets a monologue. She uses her last moments to give the next generation hope for the future and try to let them know of her mistakes. She sees the cycle of abuse, and she couldn’t break it, but she could leave tools for the next rotation to try and use.

Then Razz, the embodiment of the planet she saved, calls her brave, and leaves her a pie.

Mara is gone, Adora isn't looking at her predecessor, she's looking at an empty chair. She's looking at the absence of a person, the loss of a friend. She is looking at the legacy of someone she looks up to.

This episode doesn’t give you closure, because it’s not trying to. It is trying to make you feel empty. We meet Mara for just a moment, and then she is gone, and we know that, and yet we still get attached.

If that hologram hadn’t cut off exactly when it did, we would have seen Mara die. A millisecond later, and we would have watched it happen.

We watch an entire journey in this episode, everything we needed to know, and then it ends, with silence, as the credits role. The embodiment of the planet itself offers Mara a pie as a grave gift. She’s returning the favour. Go now be at peace.

"She said she would come back. She promised. We were going to make a pie. I've been waiting for so long."

I need to talk about the thing with promises, and specifically breaking them. In previous episodes, Adora promised Catra she would look out for her, and failed, and Mara made Razz a promise she knew she would never keep. Why?

The obvious reason is that unkept promises are a key source of dramatic irony, especially when you know the end point before it is said. In comedy, this is someone asking if a dress makes them look fat, and everyone in the room saying no. In a tragedy, it’s this.

The ticking in this shot of the countdown timer is such an incredible use of sound design. First up, time symbolism, of course. But it's also stressful You hear a timer getting quicker and you panic. When it is released, there is no explosion, just a dying friend.

Because, yes, this is a tragedy, remember? That’s why its cyclical, that’s why this episode exists.

"I try to remember but it gets all muddled up. Adora, Mara, it always ends the same. The present, the future..."

"Razz?"

"The past."

Everything in this series has happened before within its own continuity. The weapon, the loss of friends, the transformations, everything. This is a series about the cycle of abuse that always, always, leads to tragedy. It sets its current events up like one, and then shows you in vivid detail, just how that will end.

I said she ends the episode crying. But she does it with a smile. She looks her death in the eye and offers up hope and trust. Mara, the girl who laughed, the girl who cried, the girl who smiled.

The final scene looks like the two are talking in real time. The series cuts between Mara and Adora as they speak, taking care to be inconsistent with who is holographic. The parallels are baked into the setting, and they are being fought against.

I feel like whenever I talk about the story being cyclical, that I under stress how everything in it is about breaking those cycles. Magic and tech, agency and control. The cycle boxes you in, preventing your actions, controlling you. Breaking free is taking back that agency for yourself. The first ones tried to do this by trying to get someone to take their place, we will see if and how Adora and company will attempt the same or try something new.

Final Thoughts.

Genuinely, this post was the hardest to write of anything I have done. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because rewatching this episode left me in an emotional wreck. I genuinely felt like the scene from Interstellar when the main character laughs and cries all at the same time.

For the record, I haven’t seen Interstellar, I just know the meme.

This post was emotionally exhausting, so I'm going to lie down now. Next week is Fractures, stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[hibiscuit-rose]

the bottom catra image is probably my fave that ive made shes just soooo

that group shot was evil tho but fun

[mdantics]

SHE-RA AND THE PRINCESSES OF POWER SEASON 1 (BUT BAD)

make sure to also check out the youtube upload!

[safirefire]

[Image ID: A meme from the show The Office with a character holding out two pictures saying, "Coporate needs you to find the difference between this picture and this picture". In the next panel they say, "They're the same picture". The two pictures have been edited to show Madame Razz from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power and Lilia Calderu from Agatha All Along. End ID.]

[tacticalpunk]

Sketch of Madame Razz

[rheesvandar]

She-Ra Characters’ favorite non-alcoholic beverages.

Adora: Protein shakes. Gotta keep those gains!

Catra: Milk. Because she’s basically a cat.

Glimmer: Fanta (strawberry in particular). It’s sparkly and fruity just like her!

Bow: Pepsi. His taste in soda is uncomplicated but he has too much of a sweet tooth for Coke.

Perfuma: Gatorade. It’s got what plants crave.

Mermista: Water. She’s the princess of it anyway.

Sea Hawk: Sarsaparilla. He strikes me as someone who would drink sarsaparilla.

Scorpia: Ginger ale. She likes the “bite” it has.

Double Trouble: Cranberry juice. Looks sophisticated in a stemmed glass

Entrapta: Mini cans of Coke

Hordak: Mountain Dew Baja Blast. Reminds him of the nutrient pouches.

Madame Razz: Sangria Senorial (non-alcoholic). It’s like her berries!

Frosta: Blue Raspberry Icee. Icy and in her favorite color!

Shadow Weaver: Children’s tears. And Catra’s.

Thoughts? Differing headcanons? Complaints?

[swearyshera]

Well would you look at that, here's another She-Ra Uncut video about everyone's favourite character! Starring the ever wonderful @tippytoezombie and @truckeecheeze among others (including, scarily, me)

[theravenclawladybug]

This is a game changer

[retirement-home-rumble]

Retirement Home Rumble: Round 1

Side B

Why they would crush the other geezers under the cut:

WARNING: There may be spoilers

Razz Propaganda:

Genkai Propaganda:

[pennamesmith]

The Crone

“I am Mara. And I am gone.” 

When the ship hits the desert sands, it screams like a dying leviathan. Shockwaves ripple to the edge of the Waste and it scars the ground with a trench a mile long. The natives have no trouble locating the wreckage; they merely have to follow the smoke. 

They do not expect to find survivors. Somehow, impossibly, there is one: a crumpled, broken girl; babbling, bleeding, delirious. The only person, so far as they can tell, who was on the ship at all. They pull her from the smoldering remains as carefully as they can, and give her what meager medicine they have. Her breath is ragged, but steady. Her fever blazes, and then just as quickly breaks. She will live. 

How is this possible? They know better than to ask. This is not a night for questioning miracles. 

It has been only hours since the stars disappeared. 

—

She awakens in a universe of pain. Gasping, she tries to bolt upright and accomplishes nothing of the kind. 

“Good morning.” A pinched reptilian face stares down at her. It adjusts a thick pair of spectacles and shines a light in her eyes. “Do you know where you are? Can you remember your name?” 

“Mm. Muh.” 

The medic squints. “You’re one of those aliens, aren’t you? Did you do this? Not many of your kind left now. You might be the last one.” 

“Muh ruh.” 

“Take your time. Don’t force yourself to talk if you can’t yet.” Scaly hands lay a wet cloth across her brow. She barely registers the words as she drifts into inky darkness. 

“The whole planet heard your people’s evacuation order, you know. ‘All units return to Eternia!’ That’s all well and good for folks who have starships to run away with. I’m guessing yours couldn’t make it out before the window closed. Seems all that tech still can’t buy you luck. I’m afraid you’re stuck here with the rest of us.” 

She shivers. It is cold in this place. 

“We’re all alone together, now.” 

—

“Razz,” she mutters, sitting up in bed. 

There is a window here, small and uneven, a holey linen scrap the only thing separating inside from out. Beyond this room the lone and level sands stretch far away to a distant uneven horizon. The sky is a flat black. There are no stars. 

She stumbles to her feet and shakes the sandy creature keeping vigil in the corner. “Razz,” she repeats, to uncomprehending compound eyes. 

“Do the Whispering Woods still bloom?”  

The others come quickly. They offer to show her the ship — what parts of it haven’t been scavenged already, at least — but she refuses, emphatically. With halting words and gestures, she manages to communicate where she does want to go. The desert-dwellers fear it, that deep sea of trees with its many eyes and voices. Though they willingly point the way, not one will take her there. 

So, she stays. For now. 

She heals slowly, and mostly silently. “I can’t remember,” she says in answer to most of their questions. She frowns into her lap, frustrated tears pearling at the corners of her eyes. “I’m trying. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

She stares at nothing. 

“I have to go back.” 

—

When she is strong enough to walk, she takes her leave of these kind strangers. They give her food and a stick to lean on, and she accepts their gifts  graciously. She will never see them again. 

Though the desert is unforgiving, it is not without end. The moons that make the daytime are bright, but not hot. After two days’ walk, she finds herself at the edge of the Whispering Woods. 

The trees are quiet now. The out-of-control magic that burned here when she gave up the sword has cooled into deep shadows. It thrums with potential energy, like a swollen thunderhead. 

She doesn't actually want to come back here any more than she wants to see her old ship. But she knows what she would find there, and here there are mysteries that still need answers. 

The woods are generous. Almost immediately the path leads her exactly where she wants to be: to a low hovel hidden in a hillside, with a dirty curtain for a door. Cautiously, she pulls the cloth aside. 

“Razz?” 

Nobody answers. Inside, it is cluttered but cold. Everything is still. Nobody has touched this chair, that bowl, those books for a long time. An inch of dust coats every surface, as if abandoned. 

She crosses the threshold. 

“Hi, it’s me again! Did you find where I was hiding?” 

She whirls around at the unfamiliar, high-pitched voice. Standing in the doorway behind her is a tiny figure with blue hair and rainbow overalls, grinning and waving. 

“Hey there! What’s with the silent treatment? It’s me, Loo-Kee!” 

She throws up. 

—

After a rest, the shadows don’t seem to dance so much, and the air doesn’t feel quite as heavy. It’s much easier to catch her breath. She sighs, relieved. The dizzy, sick feeling is gone. 

Loo-Kee, however, is not. 

“I’m sorry,” the little creature says, sounding genuinely contrite. “I didn’t realize how early it was for you.” 

They sit cross-legged on a narrow shelf, looking down at her. Their eyes are cartoonish, round and curious. She rubs the bridge of her nose and scowls back, frustration growing by the second. 

“Who are you?” she growls. “Where is Razz?” 

A curious head-tilt. “Oh, wow. It’s really early for you. Anyway, I already told you: I’m Loo-Kee! And Razz is right there.” 

Loo-Kee points a chubby finger. Startled, she turns around, but there is nobody else. She looks back. Loo-Kee smiles beatifically. 

“Please.” Her voice is on the verge of breaking. “If you’re the woods — if this is some kind of magical test, or game — I don’t have time for it. I need to see Razz. Where did she go?” 

“You do have time,” Loo-Kee replies calmly. They jump down from the shelf. “Listen, I think I took a wrong turn through next month to get here. I’ll let you get settled for now, okay? See you next time!” 

“Next time what?” she tries to bark, but Loo-Kee has already vanished behind a skinny coat rack. The hut grows quiet again. She is alone. 

She isn’t entirely sure why she came here. 

She clears a small spot on the raggedy bed. It’s late, and there’s nowhere else to go. Suddenly feeling the ache of her journey, she hunkers down and wraps a threadbare quilt around her tired shoulders. It’s cold comfort. 

Swaddled in darkness, sick with exhaustion, she cries quiet, violent tears. 

—

She stays in the little cottage. There is nowhere else to go. The one time she tries, the woods lead her immediately back with supernatural efficiency. 

She exists in a tight circle. Safe, but unable to leave. Protective custody, her people would have called it. She pauses on that thought, grasping at its frayed edges, trying to remember more. Inevitably, it slips away from her. 

The memories come in faint flashes at the strangest provocations. Holding them is like catching butterflies, or remembering a dream. Everything seems so far away. 

A week goes by. Two. She finds a tawny broom and starts to sweep out the dust in the cottage’s corners. The handle seems to tug at her hands, gently, like a planchette or a dowsing rod, seeking out old cobwebs and forgotten spaces. She finds herself talking to it as a rider might their horse.    

“Well done, Broom. Thank you, Broom. No Broom, I’m not frightened at all, and neither should you be.” 

One morning, she upends an old case of drawers and finds a familiar unusual face tumbling out. 

“Ya ha ha! You found me!” Loo-Kee crows with delight. They leap to their feet, and then somehow higher, hovering in front of her nose and grinning hugely. 

“You’ve got good peepers, lady! And you didn’t even need glasses or nuthin!” They lean on air and swish a fluffy striped tail. “That’s impressive. Most people from your dimension can’t see into ours. Not on their own, anyway.” 

That sparks a memory. Her eyes glaze over. “I pulled the planet into an empty dimension,” she murmurs, distant and dream-like. “The Heart of Etheria…” 

“You did that?” Loo-Kee’s eyes widen as they drift back to the ground, landing with a little bump. “Oh wow. That explains a lot. I was wondering how you got all refracted.” 

She blinks. “What?”

“Like a river splitting. Or a mirror cracking.” Loo-Kee stands and paces a pensive circle, waving their hands vaguely. “You’ve become more than one thing, but at the same time you’re still the same thing, but at the same time you’re in a lot of different places at once.” 

They look up. “Um, silly question, but what does time normally look like where you come from? It might start to work different for you now.” 

Her eye twitches and she resists a powerful urge to sweep the impish creature out the door with one fell swing. “What are you talking about?” 

“I’m not sure yet.” Loo-Kee pauses, brow furrowed, foot tapping, arms crossed. “This has never happened before.” They brighten. “Anyway, I’ll let you stay here if you want! I found this place all by myself, so it’s basically mine.” 

“What?” Her frustration boils over, and her voice rises to a shout. “I’ve been living here! This isn’t your house, it belongs to Madame Razz!” 

Loo-Kee scratches their head. “Madame Razz? Who’s that?” They tilt an eyebrow. “Is it you?” 

“No! I’m — ”

She halts, the words catching in her throat. This absence in her memory is one of the worst. She does have a name. She is sure of it. But whenever she searches for it in her mind, she can find nothing but a burnt, ragged hole. She shuts her eyes hard, trying to think, willing the letters to appear. 

“I'm not certain. I’m. I am… Ra. Something-Ra?” 

“Razz?” 

“No!” She beats at her temples. “It started with another sound. I’m sure of it. It’s right there… Ma?” 

“Madame?” 

“No!” 

She shrieks, kicks a stack of rusted cook pots, and drops heavily into a wicker chair, shaking with impotent rage. Her unbraided hair falls in a long curtain around her bent head, veiling her face. She chokes back a sob.  

Loo-Kee softens, face falling, and offers a hesitant reassuring hand. “Um. Hey, I’m sorry for upsetting you. I was just joking around about the house thing.” 

Silence. 

Loo-Kee jerks a thumb toward the door. “I’m gonna give you some space now, okay? But I mean it about wanting to help. I’ll come back later, after I’ve talked to some friends.” They back gingerly out of the cottage. “It was nice to meet you, Ma — uh, ma’am.” 

She stays in the chair for a long time after they’ve gone. She doesn’t think about anything, only stares at her feet and the dirty floor until the daylight fades and the moons rise in an empty night sky. She falls asleep there, shoulders drooping, tipping slowly over into an exhausted heap. 

When she wakes, she finds herself in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her Broom leaning lightly against the facing wall. 

Outside of Madame Razz’s house, the trees dance lightly in the morning wind. 

—

The first time she slips, she hardly notices it at all. She is busy tending the oven when the air crackles and the trees outside jump into new positions, branches growing longer in an instant. Just as quickly she slips back, and the flicker in the fire may as well have been a trick of the light. 

The next time, she is in the garden, and falls backward when the vegetable patch explodes and the rose bush triples in size. This one lasts for an hour of panicked cleaning — the inside of the house is suddenly covered in dust again — before everything shifts and she finds herself under a moonlit night sky, the garden nothing more than a freshly-dug parcel of soil. 

The incidents only grow more frequent as time goes on. The woods will let her wander a little farther these days, and she watches rivers curl over dry ground like snakes and mountains shrink back into tiny pebbles. Each time she will eventually drift back to the present; but that word is starting to lose its meaning as she lives more and more of her life out of order. 

Sometimes she can harvest acorns from an oak tree planted only seconds before. Sometimes she has to make a pie three times before all the ingredients stay put together. If time is the hemline of a dress, her thread loops in and out like wild, spiderwebbing lace. Unpredictable as it is, there is a flow to it all. When she closes her eyes, it feels like being pulled along a powerful, shifting current, in an ocean that goes on forever. 

She develops a rhythm, and as time goes by, a tiny, growing part of her begins to enjoy life in the little forest house. It’s a peaceful life. 

“Hello,” Loo-Kee says, popping out from behind her favorite mug in the cupboard. 

“Aaah!” she screams, slamming the cupboard door in their face. 

Loo-Kee utters a muffled curse amidst crashing crockery. A moment later they reappear in the front doorway. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” 

Rubbing their round red nose, the little sprite scampers inside and climbs up to sit on the table. “Ouch. Okay. I guess I sort of deserved that. But hey, listen, I think I figured some things out! Oh, and Spritina says thank you for the berry cake.” 

“Who?” 

“You’ll meet her later. The Twiggets have been shy because you’re not originally from here, but they won’t hide from you forever. You’re still connected to the planet just as much as we are. See, that’s what I figured out! It’s all because of She-Ra.” 

At the sound of that name she halts, knuckles tightening around the handle of her Broom. 

“For the Honor of Grayskull,” she whispers, the words automatic and unbidden. 

“I’m not talking about your password settings,” Loo-Kee says dismissively. “I mean the real deal. The very nexus of magic at the heart of this planet. The living force that surrounds and binds us together. She-Ra!” 

“She-Ra,” she repeats, and a blue glow flickers in her eyes. “But the sword is gone,” she sighs. The light fades. Her posture sags. 

“She-Ra isn’t a sword,” Loo-Kee replies, in the tone of a patient teacher. “Here, lemme show you something.” 

They turn and dash into the woods without waiting for a reply. She dithers, agonizes, and finally follows, gripping Broom like a security object. The trees part for her as she follows her guide. When she glances to either side, she can sense hidden eyes watching from behind the branches. 

They arrive at a tiny, clear pond, nestled in the roots of a circle of trees. The water sparkles, half in light and half in shadow. She approaches it slowly and stares in: the water is supernaturally still, no more than a few feet deep and perfectly transparent. She can see the mossy rocks that cover the bottom. 

“Is it a special pond?” she asks. “Some sort of magic well?”

“No.” Loo-Kee plunks down at the water’s edge. “I mean, there is magic in it, but there’s magic in every pond around here. This was just the closest one.” 

She sits beside Loo-Kee and stares down. Beneath the surface of the water, fish and snails and crawling crabs move through the cracks between each stone. It is easy to imagine the scene as a tiny landscape, with frilled dragons and alien hermits populating a miniscule mountain range. The longer she looks, the more details reveal themselves. 

“It’s a whole world,” she says. 

“Yeah.” Loo-Kee nods. “And that world is made of whole other worlds. And there are more whole worlds all around it, and every one of them is full of whole other worlds.” Their voice is earnest. “And all the little differences between them, like what shapes things are, or what dimension they’re in, is really just hiding the fact that everything is part of the same thing.”

“It’s all connected.” 

Loo-Kee takes her hand and guides it to the water’s surface. Her touch leaves ripples echoing across. 

“In this place, you are what connects it.” 

The light sparks in her eyes. And she transforms. 

—

“Hello dears! I’ve been expecting you.” 

She looks down at the nervous cluster of tree spirits. Twiggets, Loo-Kee calls them. They peer up at her from behind green leaf masks, their squat bodies no higher than her knee. 

“This way, this way,” she coos, ushering them all inside. “There is room for everyone in Madame Razz’s house.” 

She fixes their leader with a twinkling eye. “Spritina, dear, it’s so good to see you. Have a seat right there.” 

“How did you know my…?” 

“Oh, never mind that!” She laughs. “You are here on a very important mission, yes?” 

Spritina draws herself up, the image of a child performing bravery. “We need help. One of the old groves is dying. Something the aliens left behind poisoned the ground.” 

“Hmm. Well, we can’t have that.” 

She browses the myriad items and ingredients that crowd her shelves. Hundreds of different dried herbs, tinctures, extracts, rare flowers, strange and unusual artifacts. Where her memories fail her, the very air itself seems to guide her hand. She plucks some of this, a pinch of that, filling her basket to the brim. Medicine for the poison of the past.

“We’re ready!” she announces. “Sprig, Sprockett, lend a hand and carry Broom for me, will you? It’s a dangerous path, and I don’t want him to get lost.” 

“A magic broom! See? She is a real witch,” one of the little spirits says to the other, as they heft Broom between themselves like busy loggers. 

“Doesn’t seem very magic to me,” the other observes. 

“Um. Are you sure you need to come with us?” Spritina asks nervously, trotting to keep up with the much taller woman. “It’s kinda deep in the woods, and humans can get lost…” 

“I’m sure a human could,” she hums. “If the woods wish me gone they will turn me away. But I don’t think they will, today. And besides, I need berries for the cake I’m baking.” 

She strides confidently into the forest, her basket swinging merrily in the crook of her arm. The Twiggets follow, making a strange procession through the trees. The woods bend and twist before them, revealing hidden places like a wounded animal cautiously showing its belly. She places her hands on the bark, the stone, the earth, and speaks quiet soothing nothings to it all. The Twiggets watch her, murmuring to each other in excited whispers. 

Deep in the Whispering Woods there is a blasted plain. This is what remains when stolen magic burns holes in the world. But this land was green and healthy once, even after the great Crystal Castle arose in the center of the clearing. The settlers’ mighty stronghold had existed in harmony with the planet, briefly. 

Now it is a dark tower standing on blighted ground. 

She unfolds a cloth and carefully sets out her ingredients, explaining what each one is to the spirits crowding around her. “You can find most of these things in the woods. But some you can only find in the places the First Ones left abandoned.” 

Small glass vials hold a strange, metallic liquid. “This is like a medicine that uses a tiny part of the sickness to heal. We can’t undo what happened here, but we will make the land whole again.” 

She sets to work mixing and brewing. They watch and learn quickly. Soon they begin to help. Before long, they are doing most of the work to restore the grove themselves, while the witch of the woods wanders off to gather berries. 

She paints a meandering line around the edge of the clearing. Perhaps it is only a coincidence that her path takes her closer and closer to the Crystal Castle’s ruins. Perhaps this is where she always wanted to go. She draws nearer. 

She has forgotten about the berries, now. 

The Castle’s door is dark and silent. Even the air seems to grow still around it. She approaches slowly, places her hand softly against the wall. There is an almost imperceptible warmth there; slumbering, dormant, like soil under snow. 

“Are you there, Hope?” she asks. Not fully understanding the question, but speaking as if compelled. Something cold and heavy takes hold of her heart, pulls it deep down, down deep. 

Nothing changes in the cold Castle contours, but faint feelings seem to drift from the darkness: longing, regret, loneliness. She hugs herself, missing something she can't clearly remember. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, not certain why. 

The silence deepens. 

“I loved you,” she attempts. 

Nothing. 

“I just wanted to be good.” 

Perhaps the feeling in the air gains a note of shame. Perhaps she only imagines it. The Crystal Castle remains still. The doorway stays dark. After a long time, she becomes aware of someone pulling urgently on her hand. A young Twigget is shouting at her. 

“…adame Razz! Madame Razz!” the tiny spirit cries. 

“Hmm? What did you say? What about Madame Razz?” 

“Come look!” The Twigget pulls on her idle hand again before bounding away. She follows slowly, gradually returning to the present. The others are all clustered around something at the edge of the clearing. 

“It’s working!” Spritina announces with breathless excitement, pointing at the ground. 

Where they have applied the new medicines, the sickly, dying plants are already returning to life. Tiny glowing motes of magic move through leaves and vines, softly pulsing with life. A few inches further in, a new green stem is poking up through the barren dirt, growing before their widening eyes. Around it, more spots in the ground are stirring. 

“The planet is unbalanced,” she declares, taking Broom in her hands, feeling the gentle pull of the future. “And the magic is still here. We can heal this place. But we must be careful.” 

“There is still Hope.” 

—

“Do you like my dress? I got it for Princess Prom!”

It is winter now, although it doesn’t snow in the Whispering Woods. The garden is resting for the season, and she is busy filling jars with pickles and preserves. 

She narrows her eyes. “What is Princess Prom?” 

“Oh, it’s the biggest thing in a century or two.” Loo-Kee twirls, admiring the puffy trim of their outfit. “All the princesses on the planet get together and have a big party!” 

She sits, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. Her hair, wild, reaches past her waist by now. “Always full of surprises, Loo-Kee. Are you a secret princess, then?” 

“‘Course not! I’m a Kon-Seal. I can go wherever I want, and whenever too! Oh, but I do also have an invitation.” 

She leans forward. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask. How exactly does that work?” 

“How does what work?” Loo-Kee is practicing an up-tempo dance step. “Invitations?” 

“No, I mean…” She waves her hands vaguely. “All of this. The time stuff. I know you said it would seem different to me, but whenever I think I have a handle on things you come around and make it all confusing again.” 

Loo-Kee stops mid-pirouette. “Isn’t that how learning works?” 

“Not when your teacher is being a child!” She sighs, immediately deflating from the outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s just frustrating, having no control. Sometimes I’m in the future. Sometimes I’m in the past. Sometimes I can see a trillion different realities, folding onto each other like thin sheets of metal, forming a single blade…”

“Yeah, yeah, the Time Knife, we’ve all seen it.” Loo-Kee waves a hand. “Let’s get back on track. To be honest, I can’t explain it all completely to you because I don’t really know. I know how it works for me, but you’re something else.”

“How does it work for you, then?” 

Loo-Kee considers this seriously, pondering hard and sitting in midair. “Hmm. I guess it’s kind of like… the same way you can walk around on the ground, I can walk around in time?” 

They rotate slowly, floating up and down. “And just like being on the ground, I can’t see everywhere and I can get lost if I go too far from familiar places and paths.” 

She chuckles dryly. “I suppose in this metaphor I’m wandering about the woods blindfolded.” 

Loo-Kee shrugs. “I woulda said it nicer, but yeah, basically. Maybe while tied to some kinda wild animal.” 

They share a laugh, a real and hearty one this time. Then her face turns serious again. She fixes Loo-Kee with an appraising stare. If the Kon-Seal has any fear or distrust of her, they hide it well. She makes a choice. 

“In this metaphorical forest of ours… would it be possible for you to lead me somewhere? Or somewhen?”

Loo-Kee touches down lightly on the floor. “I think so.” Their face lights up, as if just hitting on a bright idea. “Hey, I know!” 

They extend an arm. “Wanna be my plus-one to prom?” 

—

She scowls, tugging at the dress. “You just happened to have this?” she asks, incredulous. It covers her feet, flowing in different hues of fuchsia and maroon. The collar is ruffled and green. 

“And it’s exactly your size, too!” Loo-Kee winks. “What a coinkydink!” 

“It must be fate, then,” she murmurs. Her eyes are growing cloudy and distant. 

She isn’t entirely sure what her goal is, yet, but she is starting to form a plan. Her confidence ebbs and flows like ocean waves. It feels as though the answers are hiding just beyond the corners of her sight, melting away whenever she turns. It’s difficult to focus. 

She holds out her hands, already struggling to remember what she wanted. “Will this really help?”

“This will let you see yourself,” Loo-Kee replies, and grasps her palms. 

Everything shifts. 

Some of it is familiar. She recognizes how the time winds feel, rushing through her hair. She sees the forest warp and change around her. What’s different is that the winds don’t buffet her, and instead of slipping she is flying, following along as Loo-Kee tows her by the hand. One step and the forest grows by centuries. Another, and the ground becomes a blur beneath their feet, until they come to a stop in a pristine snowfield. 

A castle looms on the slopes above. People — more people than she can ever remember seeing at once — stream around them, dressed in elegant attire, flowing like a living river. 

They follow the crowd. 

Nobody seems to notice them. Inside, Loo-Kee strikes up conversations, samples the snacks, dances and dawdles. She does her best to follow along, but the noise and the crowd are overwhelming. She retreats to a wall, scanning each face, knowing she is looking for something but not knowing what. 

Deep in thought, she almost fails to notice that she has drawn a stranger’s attention.

Almost. She turns. One of the princesses, a small woman in goggles, is staring at her intently. 

“Excuse me! I'm sorry to bother you and your partner there, only I couldn’t help but notice the abnormally high numbers of tachyon particles around you. Do you think I could take a few samples for my records?” 

She stumbles away from the strange woman, backing into a server and upsetting their tray of canapés. “What do you want?” she asks, sharply and a little too loudly. People are starting to look. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Loo-Kee appears and springs between them with placating hands. “Actually, Princess Entrapta here is the one who invited me.” 

“She did?” 

The purple-haired princess tilts her head. “I did?” 

“You did!” Proudly, Loo-Kee holds out an embossed card. It reads: 

You are cordially invited to a reception for time travelers. The 85th Decennial All Princess Ball (Theme: Winter Wonderland), The Kingdom of Snows, 52° 12’ 21” N, 0° 7’ 4.7” E.

Entrapta clasps her hands in joy. “Oh! I did! It worked!” She shakes Loo-Kee’s hand effusively. “Thank you for coming! I can’t wait to send out the invitations tomorrow!” 

Crouching down to Loo-Kee’s level, she produces a pen and notepad. “Actually, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I’m writing a brief history of time, you see, and…” 

Entrapta never finishes her sentence. 

A blonde woman in a red dress hurries down the stairs past them, chasing a tuxedoed cat. Her muscles are tensed, her face is set in a determined frown; otherwise she is no different from any of the other princesses. But when the lost witch looks her way, she sees an unmistakable aura, and the recognition shocks her. 

“She-Ra,” she whispers. Her blood turns to ice. 

“How could there be another She-Ra?” 

She isn’t sure whether to rush forward or turn away. Is this what she was looking for? Is this what she was running from? Frozen in uncertainty, she slips. The sensation is like falling backwards off a cliff. Flailing, she reaches for Loo-Kee, grabs their arm with clawing ferocity, only glimpses the shock and panic in their eyes as the universe goes dark and they fall together. 

To any observer, it seems as though they are simply there one moment, and gone the next. For her and Loo-Kee, it is as though they have plunged into a deep, crushing abyss. She holds on as tightly as she can, but slowly Loo-Kee’s fingers slip from her own, and then she is alone. The silence closes around her. 

And she is drowning. 

Until she sees the Light. 

—

“You must let go,” someone whispers in her ear. 

The world drifts back into focus. She is deep inside the Crystal Castle, but the walls are ancient and dark. Far older than the sanctum she knows. The dim light that pulses across the floor simmers like a caged beast. A girl, asleep, floats suspended in the air. 

“Adora,” she murmurs, the name springing suddenly to her lips. She reaches out. “I remember now. Madame Razz knows about you…” 

“Do not interfere,” an electric voice snaps. 

And there she is. Hovering overhead in the darkness like a deep sea creature; her blue luminescence cold and unwavering. She gazes up into the abyss. 

Light Hope looks down, and meets her eye. 

“Temporal anomaly detected.” 

“Hope.” Her voice cracks. 

“Your biosignature is recognized. Your biosignature is not recognized. Error.”

“Hope, it’s me.” She reaches out, pleading. “I’m here. I know it’s you. I just don’t know who I am.” 

“Quantum paradox logged.” 

“Please.” 

Light Hope hesitates. The projection changes, refractions growing smaller as she folds to human size. She holds out a hand that has no weight and feels like starlight. Her mouth opens, as if unsure of what to say. 

“My records indicate that you are deceased.” 

“Do I look deceased?” 

“It… it has been over one thousand years. Even if you survived the crash, you…” 

“So, you do remember.” She stares the hologram down and takes another step. If the light had any substance, they would be pressed together now, like dancers. 

“I. You. Your administrator privileges have been revoked. You are not authorized to be here.” 

“If I’m dead, does it matter?” 

“Error. Command not — ”

“Tell me who I am.”

The words are spoken with such power and authority that the very air seems to change. Something long asleep shudders and growls. Light Hope’s face is one of astonishment as she begins to answer. 

“You are Ma— ” 

—

She slips. Everything changes. Suddenly the walls are awash in red alarm lights, sirens sounding down the hall. Adora is gone. Light Hope stands at the far end of the room, back turned, shouting at a viewscreen. 

In the screen, she sees herself. 

“What are you doing, Mara?” Light Hope demands. “You have de-de-destroyed my interplanetary systems.” 

Hidden in the shadows, she touches her own face, feels the wrinkles that have grown into her skin. Seeing her younger reflection, so full of fire and rage, stirs memories like the dread of a nightmare. She clasps her hands across her mouth, watching in silent horror as her own past unfolds again. 

Light Hope burns like a forge. “You are beha-be-behaving erratically. Where is the sword, Mara?” 

She stays hidden. Stays watching. The vague notions of her plan flits through her mind: if she could learn control, could she change things? 

It was a foolish idea. Now she feels lost, wishing to her surprise for Loo-Kee’s guidance. She is frozen like an animal in the vicious forest. 

She watches herself. “The sword is gone,” her reflection says. “There’s not going to be a She-Ra anymore.” 

“I won’t ever let you use her again.” 

—

Another slip. She is when she was, Light Hope gazing down, Adora between them. 

“—Ra—”

—

She slips again. The same room in the Crystal Castle, lights dimmed but alive. Light Hope is small, like a candle flame. She is huddled in the center of the room. 

For a long moment, it is silent. 

“Unauthorized presence detected,” Light Hope says, back turned, voice quiet. 

“Do you know who I am?” she replies. 

“Systems in emergency power mode. Advanced functions unavailable.”  

She approaches; kneels. “Can you tell me about Mara?” 

The dim eyes flick up. “Records indicate Mara is deceased. Acquiring new target.” 

For the first time, she notices the tiny pool of light. Light Hope peers down into it like a wishing pond, a tiny camera obscura. She stares closer. 

In the window there is a baby girl with yellow hair. 

—

She slips back to see Light Hope once again staring down at her, a name set freshly loose from her lips. They stare at each other. 

Adora is suspended between them, eyes closed in fitful sleep. 

“Is it really you, Hope?” 

“I am the same basic operating system.” 

The fog in her mind is growing thicker again. Her eyes go back to Adora. Light Hope draws closer, protectively, possessively. 

“The Heart of Etheria Project will continue. Your attempts to interfere have only caused a delay. This anomaly has not altered my calculations.” 

“I think you’ll find Adora harder to control than you imagine.” She smiles ruefully. 

Light Hope scowls. “On the contrary. She is lost. Vulnerable. Alone. Her only friends have abandoned her. She is in the optimal state to receive suggestion.” 

“She isn’t alone. She will have help.” 

The hologram’s eyes burn like a star. “Who will help her?” 

“Madame Razz will help her.” 

—

And then the world shifts again, and as suddenly as a dream, she is in a place filled with warmth and familiarity. 

The Crystal Castle is brand new. It shines like a toy fresh from the box. The lights sparkle. On the viewscreen, she can see the Whispering Woods, healthy and green. 

Light Hope stands in the middle of the room. Her brow arches in surprise. 

“You’re back,” she says, compassion and bafflement mixing in her tone. “But you just…” She pauses, frowning. “Error in visual recognition. Your face is…” 

The woman’s eyes flick to the screen. On it, her reflection ventures out across the grass, sword in hand, ready for adventure. She is young and bright-eyed — younger than the rebel who crashed to the planet below. A new arrival to Etheria. 

She looks back to Light Hope’s uncomprehending gaze and recognizes a love she had imagined lost to time forever. This is her Hope. 

In that moment, Loo-Kee finally finds her hand. 

—

When the world stops twisting and resolves itself, they are back in the Whispering Woods, in the same clearing they left from. Loo-Kee stands unsteadily. Their prom dress is gone, and an eyepatch stretches across their haggard face. A comically huge cutlass hangs at their hip. They look older, somehow. 

“There you are! I’ve been all over the time-space continuum looking for you!” Loo-Kee exclaims. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find one little person in all of… wait, is this that ‘irony’ thing I keep hearing about?” 

She sits on her knees, motionless, limbs drained of life. Her eyes are hooded. She hardly notices the surrounding forest. 

Loo-Kee chatters on. “On the bright side, we learned a lot from this! You were drifting in time when I found you, but not space, so I guess that means we need to be in contact for you to…” 

She whirls on the tiny creature, her eyes savage. “I was there,” she growls. “I saw her! I saw my Hope! You took me away from her! What have you done?” 

“I’m sorry,” Loo-Kee pleads. “Everything went wrong. I shouldn’t have taken us so far. It’s my fault! If I hadn’t found you when I did…” 

“Get out!” she shrieks, her voice a mad howl. She claws furiously at her own face. “You’ve ruined everything! Go away! Hide yourself! I don’t care where you go, just leave me alone!” 

The echoes of her scream fade. Her breaths are ragged, heavy. A silence deeper than any cave falls on the forest. 

Loo-Kee stares as if struck. Wordlessly, they shed the trappings of their costume and turn to slip away between the trees. She watches them go, still seething, anger burning the end of every nerve. Good, she thinks, when she is alone among the woods. 

At last, she can start to take things seriously. 

—

So it goes. 

For a long time after that, she really is alone. She still has Broom, of course, and she can sense the Twiggets watching from behind the leaves and branches, peeking out at her from the edges of the land she helped them heal. Sometimes they seek her out, as before, to trade in secrets and favors, but they never linger long. Always she remains the hermit in her hovel. 

She grows ever more familiar with the Whispering Woods. Their connection grows together, like vines around a lattice. She can see more than ever before. 

But Loo-Kee remains invisible, and she does not see them anywhere. 

Even when she looks. 

She discovers old books hidden in Madame Razz’s house. They are thick and dusty, their pages the colors of dark tea and old wood. Sprawling spiderweb script lists out spells and rites and rituals, secret histories and ancient revelations about the planet below her feet. The words are in an unfamiliar language, but somehow she understands it intrinsically: this is the planet, speaking to her through their connection. 

That is something else she has realized. She is more than adrift in time — she is bound to the heart of this planet like a tree to the earth. Once she sought to borrow this power; now it has changed her entire being. Once she was from another world. Now she is part of this one. 

She practices the spells and learns the histories, bending low over the ancient pages by flickering candlelight. Her voice changes as she barks the chants over and over, slipping into the Twiggets’ forest accent. When her vision begins to blur, she opens a little drawer and finds a pair of thick round spectacles, as if they were waiting for her. 

On some days, she returns to the clearing where the ruins of the Crystal Castle lie. She sits on the ground, Broom across her lap, staring at the shattered visage of She-Ra. Names cycle through her mind: Mara. Razz. Light Hope. Adora. She knows they go together, but the precise connection still eludes her. 

Her efforts to heal the scars of this land have not been in vain. Life is flourishing around the Castle, moss and vines crawling across the cold, quiet walls. As she sits among the tall grass, white moths flutter around her shoulders and settle in her hair. 

She takes careful, measured breaths, and time flows around her. She sits, still as a stone in the stream, and watches carefully. The moons whirl in the sky. The trees shrink and grow. The years stretch forward and back. She may not control the tides of time, but she can learn their ebb and flow. 

In every era she lands, she looks for Hope. Calls her name. Hears nothing in return. It’s just as well, she tells herself. 

She’s forgotten what she wanted to say, anyway. 

—

Time goes on. Not in a straight line, perhaps, but relentlessly. She goes on living, listening to Etheria through the woods. 

She settles deeper into Madame Razz’s house. Her hair grows longer, wilder. Chestnut brown fades into iron gray, then ghostly white. Her knuckles grow huge and gnarled. 

The older she gets, the more she seems to become a part of this place. 

She becomes ancient. She leans on Broom, and keeps her eyes out for Loo-Kee, who continues to hide. The woods keep whispering, and on moonlit nights the spirits bring her all their gathered rumors and secrets. 

Some things grow clearer in her mind. Some things grow cloudier. Some things simply stay the same. 

Around the world, villages grow into kingdoms, memories become legends, and the people begin to forget there ever used to be stars. She’s content to let them. For a thousand years, she can forget about the greater universe outside. For a thousand years, she can rest. 

Then a new invader arrives. 

And the story begins all over again. 

—

“Razz?” Adora pokes her head through the door, stress and strain showing clearly on her face. “Oh, Razz! It’s you. I finally found you.” 

She pauses at Adora’s greeting, trying to remember, feeling out of place. Wasn’t she doing something important a moment ago? She gropes in the dark of her mind, but the currents of time have already swept her away. She looks around. 

“Mm, if you say so, Mara. Now, come on. It’s getting so late!” 

“I’m not Mara!” Adora whines in frustration. “Ugh. It doesn’t matter. Razz, you have to help me. Everything’s falling apart. The rebellion’s losing worse than ever, and Glimmer…” 

While Adora talks, she hums to herself and bustles about the kitchen, gathering supplies. Truth be told, she is not paying very close attention to whatever Adora is saying. She knows this is rude, and feels a twinge of guilt for her absent mind, but there’s no helping it. She finally remembers. Today is important. 

Today, they are making a pie. 

—

She stops, a sword point blocking her path. She squints up. A young woman holds the other end of the shining blade in trembling hands, anger and fear mixing plainly on her face. 

“Who are you?” the other woman demands. “How did you find this place?” 

She adjusts her glasses and smiles in recognition. “Ah, Mara, dearie, there you are. Madame Razz wondered where you went.” 

Mara stumbles on her own words. “How do you know my name?” 

There is a shift like circles closing. Many creatures do not notice it at all, but those who do feel something smooth and electric crackle across their skin. She breathes as if the very air is something delicate and precious. 

“Oh,” she says, understanding suddenly growing. “Is this the first time?” 

She sighs in tearful relief. 

“It has been so long since it was the first time.” 

—

“There was something Mara said in her message. She talked about some kind of weapon?” 

She freezes at the words. They spark a fearful memory, and the kind of dread that comes from something terrible and inevitable. 

Adora only hears the gasp of recognition. “You do know something! You need to tell me!” 

She can suddenly remember watching the simulations of what the activated Heart of Etheria would do. Like a long forgotten moment of childhood it all comes rushing back, things she hasn’t thought about for so many years. She sees the universe burning, again and again. Panicked, she lashes out.

“Ow! What was that for?” Adora rubs her head where Broom has struck her. 

“You need to stop being so forgetful, Mara,” she replies. 

She can’t lose focus. Not today. Not now. Somehow, she can sense it. All the centuries are as nothing compared to this moment. 

Everything depends on now. 

—

“You know how to use magic?” Mara is looking at her, stunned. So young, a part of her thinks. 

She doesn’t pay attention to it. Right now, she needs sugar. And whatever else she can find in the ship. After all, she needs to — 

“Intruder detected.” 

Light Hope is there as suddenly as a thunderclap. She feels a sledgehammer weight in her chest, but there are too many thoughts crowding her mind. Frightened, she lashes out with Broom again. 

“Mara. Who is this person?” 

The ghost’s words sting, though she isn’t completely certain why. She glares at Mara. “You see the ghost too?” she asks, feeling cold. Trying to harden her heart. Failing. Something centuries old is calling from the back of her memory, damaged as it may be. 

“Her presence here is unauthorized.” 

“Your ghost is mean,” she spits back. And then turns away, so they will not see her face. 

She reaches for the sugar. “Why did I put it so high…?” 

She is trying to focus on Mara. But she can feel Light Hope watching them both. 

“She may have been exposed to classified information about the Heart of Etheria project. We need to detain and interrogate her.” 

Mara laughs. “You really think she’s somehow found information about a project so classified even I don’t know all the details?” 

“Come on, Hope. She’s clearly harmless.”

—

Adora is looking at the ruins, peering at the slashes cut into ancient stone. Swift Wind huddles beside her.

“Mara did this? She really was crazy.” 

She ignores them. The present is too important. “Aha!” she cries, pushing past the other two. “You found it!” 

“This was left deliberately,” Adora says, picking up a crystal. “Did it belong to Mara?” 

“Oh, yes, dearie. She left it for you,” she replies, full of certainty. 

“No, Razz. Mara’s gone. She’s been gone for a thousand years.” 

A thousand years. She turns the thought over in her mind. 

“Hmm? No, that doesn’t sound right.” 

And she smiles, in spite of herself. 

—

“Ghost,” she says. They are still on the ship. 

Light Hope stops. She has not looked closely at the old woman before. She pauses now, her eyes sparkling with calculations. There is something approaching recognition in her face. 

Madame Razz reaches out. “You are a friend of Mara,” she says with conviction. “Don’t forget her.” 

Light Hope pauses. “Friend,” the ghost says, distantly. 

“Mara.” 

—

The forest. The ruins. Adora, Swift Wind, and the old woman. 

“Oh Mara,” she mutters, tears welling in her eyes. “You were never supposed to succeed. They made a plan for you, but Razz could not do anything to help.” 

Adora is getting desperate. “Please, Razz. You have to remember something.” 

She holds her head. She can almost touch the answers. It is like trying to remember a dream. 

“Remember, remember. I try to remember, but it gets all muddled up. Adora, Mara…”

“It always ends the same.” 

—

The forest. The sword. The old woman, Mara, and She-Ra. 

She can see the light pouring out of Mara. Sees the sword thrust into the ground, burning with light. The glare fills her glasses, blinds her. Everything is ending. This is the moment that changes the universe. This is where the ends join together. The light bursts. 

And then she is gone. 

—

Adora is crying. The truth can have that effect. “The weapon,” she mutters, numbly, as the holographic message ends. “The weapon is Etheria.” 

They are all huddled together in the ship, her and Adora and Bow. When she tilts her head just right, she can see both at once: the ship in flames, forced down by a desperate hero. And the ship dark and ancient, with new young fighters searching it for answers. As sure as wicked people will destroy what they cannot control, good people will defend what they love. 

Madame Razz sets the pie down on the pilot’s chair and smiles through her own tears. 

“For you, Mara dearie,” she says, more to herself than anyone else. 

—

So here she is now. Old. New. Eternal. Madame Razz is never really sure when or where she is or how many times she has done all of this already, or which version of it all she is seeing now. Things blend together, loop after loop. All she can hold onto is Broom, and her hope. Again and again, she goes back to the beginning. Nothing ever changes. 

Until finally, She-Ra reaches the end. 

The sword breaks. The world shifts. And for a time, everything becomes so much worse. 

Light Hope is gone. She quakes with sobs, inconsolable, until the grief finally settles into something cold and solid. Another weight on her stooped shoulders. 

But she is not alone. 

Loo-Kee returns at the end of all things. Razz’s surprise, at this point, is mostly a show. A part of her character so well practiced that the mask may as well be her own gnarled face. 

“You found me, Loo-Kee,” she says, with a smile.

“I was always here,” the small creature replies. “And I always will be.”  

They stay together as the invasion worsens. As all hope seems lost. As She-Ra falls. 

—

The ground shakes. The skies burn. It is the end of the world. 

Madame Razz rocks anxiously in her chair, grasping Broom in her lap, surrounded by the fearful faces of Loo-Kee and the Twiggets. “Oh, dearie-my!” she exclaims, when a tremor makes the floor jump. “Isn’t this exciting!” 

Her words are light, but her voice is haunted. 

“The forest is in pain,” Spritina wails. “The tree roots can all feel it. There’s something wrong with the core of the planet.” 

“I’ve gotta be real,” Loo-Kee grimaces, white-knuckled. “I’ve never been to when this is going. None of the Kon-Seals ever have. Where I come from, it’s like… a great big forest of thorns and mist. Nobody can get in. Or out.” 

Razz looks down to the small creature, fire in her eyes. “You were always special, Loo-Kee,” she says, reaching out a reassuring hand. 

How much does she owe this strange being? They never had to help her. Confounding, perhaps, but loyal unlike any other. She has no right to ask any more of them. But there is still something she needs. 

“Loo-Kee. Brave and daring. Will you lead Madame Razz somewhere, one last time?” 

“I’m not sure if I —”

“Oh, Loo-Kee. Kind Loo-Kee. Madame Razz is old, but she is not a fool. You don’t have to protect me any longer. I know what happens next.” 

Loo-Kee doesn’t answer. It is strange to see their face so serious, against the blue coiffed curls and rainbow outfit. But just like Madame Razz, this is only one facet of something far grander. 

They reach out a hand. And then suddenly, only the Twiggets remain in the cottage. 

—

The secret of Loo-Kee is this: they do not actually go anywhere, or any when. They are already there. They always have been. A fact of the universe as constant — such as that may be — as time itself. 

The place where She-Ra confronts Horde Prime may not be a place they exist, but it is a place they can see. They can reach down and pluck Madame Razz from one quantum spot and place her down in another. And they can watch, and hope, knowing what is and will be but not how their friend will experience it. 

A mind that is to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts we cherish. 

Razz falls through existence. In this dream space, the ends of the circle meet and are one again. And then she is standing on solid ground, a cliff overlooking the wild fields of Etheria. 

And Adora is with her. 

And she is She-Ra again. 

She has the words at last. Things have been so confusing for so long. But all she really needed was some time to think. 

“I’m going to save Etheria, no matter what it takes,” Adora declares. Her eyes are set. “Your sacrifice won’t be in vain. I promise.”

“But at what cost?” asks She-Ra. Mara. Razz. And she finally says what she has always been trying to:

“You’re worth more than what you can give to other people. You deserve love too.” 

And then the monster is there, and they are parted once again. The waves of time and space send her spinning. But she can ride them now as well as any witch on her broom, and her eyes are clear. She has one more stop to make before all of this is over. 

—

Who is Horde Prime, eternal enemy of the First Ones? Where did he come from? Not even Mara knows, but she was there, battling his armies as She-Ra, one inexhaustible power against another. There can be no winners in a conflict like that. The war itself is the enemy. No true hero could call themselves a Master of the Universe, when all the universe wished for itself was to live in peace. 

And this is the secret that finally ends the war. That triggers the failsafe. That brings back the magic. 

Love is the most powerful force in the universe, and nothing can stand against it. 

As the magic returns, Razz-Mara-She-Ra can feel it; can open their eyes and see everything everywhere. 

Horde Prime, who still does not realize how small he is compared to all of this, is crying out. And She-Ra rebukes him: “No. it’s time for you to go.” 

As Horde Prime’s existence is erased by the light, the woman who has been through all of it reaches out one last time. Mara. Madame Razz. The soul of Etheria itself. 

I know your face, the dying ghost of Horde Prime seems to beg, though words are long past its capabilities. Why do I know your face? 

And she answers honestly: “I can’t remember.” 

—

The magic returns. The universe is restored. Love wins in the end.

And Madame Razz goes on, because time always does. She sweeps and hums and thinks about everything, and how it always changes. She smiles. 

“Ah. You’d be proud, Mara dearie.” 

[that-ari-blogger]

Win, Lose, Take, Fail (Remember)

Discussion of stories and historical research are very similar practices. A ton of history is source based, and is, in a very real way, media analysis. A historian will look at a text written centuries ago and deduce not only linguistics, but also the themes prevalent in the day-to-day life.

I will eternally be impressed by some of the ideas that people find written between the lines of even the most well known about pieces, and its humbling to know that the stories that we tell in the modern day might be time capsules in their own right.

If you’d indulge me for a moment, I would like to briefly address those future historians who may be reading this: Coral reefs are magical, you guys really missed out on that, sorry.

Anyway, this is a post about She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, so what am I going on about?

Well, there are a few sources in both media analysis and historical reconstruction that are more valuable than an almost objective source. I say almost, because every narrator is biased, and that impacts even what they decide to include. No source is perfect.

So what about a think piece that lays out its biases for your convenience? How about a look directly into the mind of your characters to see what they perceive about the world and what they wish it could be? How interesting would that be?

This intro is getting a bit long.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Stray Gods: The Role Playing Musical)

My analysis of this episode can be summed up in one sentence. Catra’s worldview and desires are fundamentally opposed to her reality, and so when she forces the real world to fit it, things fall apart.

This is nice and all, but it fails to take into account the nuance of her perspective, and the fallacies inherent in this desire. But its also important to understand that this is where Catra’s redemption arc fails, or… where this redemption arc fails.

In my eyes, Catra has two main redemption arcs, one that stops in this episode, and one that starts up at the start of the next season. If you want to be granular, she has about a hundred different attempts, but that’s needlessly specific and way to close to exactly what I do on this blog for comfort.

But I think its easier for the purposes of analysis to divide Catra’s journey in two and discuss why the first fails and what the second would have to do to succeed.

Starting with something that threw me for a while. Catra isn’t conscious of this different world, at least not until the end of the episode. Which is a brutal trauma response. Catra doesn’t want to succeed in the life that gets better, she doesn’t care for healing, she wants to forget. Catra will burn the world down to keep a blindfold on and leave her memories behind. Blissful ignorance.

Let’s talk about Stray Gods: The Role Playing Musical.

Stray Gods is a Greek mythology, murder mystery, musical, video game, and conveniently, I have a series about it on this blog. (Link)

A slight quirk of Stray Gods is that the online argument I have seen about it has mostly focused on picking the second best song in the set list, because the most powerful is so obvious its almost funny.

Read my analysis of The Ritual for more information, but briefly, Aphrodite is a trauma survivor who repeatedly subjects herself to a form of amnesia in order to forget the horror she has experienced. Ring any bells?

Instead of trying to get better, Aphrodite slaps a band aid on the wound and tries to ignore it. This might help her eventually, but it directly harms those closest to her.

“Mother, I’ve stood by your side, now I no longer see, the purpose of love, when it tears at the centre of me. My arrows are rusty, forget the bow, and I won’t be begging you not to go, but when you’re away, you leave us a broken home, and you leave me alone. Lost in a moment, lost in a song.”

That was Eros singing. Cupid, the one with the arrows of love. This is someone who’s life has been wrecked by his mother’s trauma. Not in the same way as Catra lashing out at Adora, but with similar effects.

Both characters have tried to apply a quick and easy solution to a more difficult to solve problem, and the side effects of that are what perpetuate this cycle of trauma.

Hey, look at that, it’s the theme of cycles again. It’s almost as if I have a point here.

I could go on for hours about this one song, and I have, three times on this blog for a start, but I know I’ve annoyed people in my life with this obsession. But, I want this post to be vaguely on time, so I have to move on.

Before I do, though, the trauma in the idols (gods but fancier) of this story has a little quirk in its realisation that matches with Catra, linguistics of trust.

None of the idols in this musical use the word “friend” at all. Well, that’s not true, Pan says it once in a mocking way, but nobody uses in earnest. This exhibits itself more noticeably in The Ritual, where Aphrodite specifically says the following:

“He struck a deal with our enemy’s enemy.”

These characters can only conceptualise the world in terms of give and take, and of relationships in terms of allies or enemies.

Catra, meanwhile, can’t conceptualise the world in anything other than win, lose, take, and fail. Her ability to trust has been eroded so much that she will destroy the world to obtain something that has been attributed value for her.

That’s why she willingly forgets things, and its why her revelation is heartbreaking. Catra thinks the only way she can trust again is if she loses the memory of betrayal, but that’s not exactly how it works.

The moment in which Shadow Weaver is nice to Catra is a demonstration of why I don’t think genre exists. This is a comedic moment, right? It’s got the build-up, you think it’s going one way, then it undercuts itself with the unexpected. So why is it so devoid of humour?

Because the reaction of everyone in this, including the audience, is one of fear, and serves to validate the fact that Shadow Weaver is abusive. Even if someone is being kind in the moment, if you automatically flinch in their presence, there is a history there that you can’t escape from.

Catra doesn’t know why she is scared of Shadow Weaver here, she can only remember the good times, but the PTSD from her mother figure’s actions runs deeper than surface memory. It’s a wound that still hurts, even if you look away from it or cover it up.

This is actually why things keep breaking in this reality. The whole thing is based off people ignoring specific details. It’s centred on complacency, but it doesn’t understand its characters.

Which is where the hamartia and all of those complicated terms come in. Essentially, Catra wants to keep Adora with her, but part of Adora is the strengths and flaws that lead to her leaving Catra.

Adora is fundamentally kind, but she’s also an incredibly quick thinker. This doesn’t always lead her to the most reasonable solutions, but it means she can almost immediately recognise that things are wrong. In this case, the fact that people keep saying everything is perfect, and nobody says that this much unless they are hiding something. So, Adora looks inwards, and notices holes in her memory, glimpsing beyond and getting those flashes.

The world reacts in a similar way, things exist contrary to their nature, and collapse in on themselves. This world is a paradox, the story has turned cannibalistic and is eating itself alive. It can’t be supported by the fallacies that hold it together.

Those fallacies in question, are Catra’s desires, and now I get to talk about how the first arc ended up here. Because we can all agree, if a character’s developmental trajectory ends up with them willingly destroying the world out of spite, things haven’t gone so well.

Catra has been trying to achieve her own autonomy from the trauma and abuse that coloured her upbringing and guided her actions in the Horde. But she hasn’t been confronting how this has actually affected her biases. The band aid solution comes back, but here it takes the form of those four words. Win, lose, take, fail.

“I won’t let you win. I’d rather see the whole world end than let that happen.”

Things can only be one of these four things, everything is exclusionary. Catra either loses or wins, she either takes or is taken from. She can’t fail or bad things will happen.

But let me let you in on a secret. I don’t know why I’m talking directly to a fictional character here, but oh well. Life is about the moment, rather than the value you put on it. You don’t have to take, you can share, or be given. You don’t have to fear failure, because there are people in your life who care about you no matter what.

Also, this is entirely my opinion speaking, but I think I’m right here. You’re in a war story, there are no winners or losers in war. There are just survivors, profiteers, and poets.

Back to the line above, in searching through the transcript, I found that the word “won’t” is used thrice in this episode. It’s a word of commitment and resolution. It’s not vague, or noncommittal, it’s a promise, and it's used in the above line, but also earlier on, once by Scorpia, and once by Adora.

“If you get us out of this, I promise I won’t hate you. I will just dislike you a reasonable amount.” “I won’t leave you behind again.”

Characters resolving to be better. Scorpia deciding to improve upon a relationship, and Adora making it abundantly clear that she has no intention of repeating her mistake.

But Catra is falling back, she won’t lose, she can’t fail, att least in her mind. And its that promise that destroys the world that she wants. Catra wants happiness, but its her own need for the four words above that break it. Catra is self-destructive, not necessarily in a direct way, but in a sense that she is sabotaging her own happiness.

So, what would a redemption arc for Catra have to look like?

Well, she would have to learn to shift up her values a lot. She would have to be in a place where she can accept friendship in a controlled environment. Maybe just a friend who is willing to offer a hand of kindness.

She might also need a way to let out her emotions in a healthy way. Maybe a declaration of love, but that would be a little too on the nose for this story’s patterns. So I’m picturing a creature with some kind of emotional connection to her. Maybe it changes colour or something.

Also, Shadow Weaver needs to exit the story permanently. I don’t think she needs to die, I don’t believe in retributive justice, but she needs to be banished in some capacity. Shadow Weaver needs to go.

Now, I know how much of what I have said will come true, and if you have seen this show to the end, you probably do as well. But if you haven’t, leave your thoughts in the replies. How do you see a redemption arc for Catra working?

Ok, before I go, I need to discuss Madam Razz, because there is so much going on in her scenes.

Starting with, why is she here?

I don’t actually know the answer to that, and its one of my problems with the episode. She’s there because Adora needed a mentour and because the episode needed some levity, but why is she there in story?

“It’s been such a long time since we last saw each other, hasn’t it? That or it hasn’t happened yet. I always get those two things mixed up.”

You wanna say that again? Time is funky in this world, I guess So maybe she’s being generic?

“Because this has all happened before! I remember it like it was yesterday. For Madame Razz, it was yesterday.”

Nope, Razz is just displaced from time. That’s fun, but there is more to this line.

Madam Razz is a phenomenally well written character, purely because of the masterclass of tone. At no point is Razz either serious or humorous, she is both always. Razz is approachable morality, a la Philosophy Tube, but I’m sorry @theabigailthorn, you ain’t got nothing on Razz.

In one interaction, Razz explains the thesis of the entire show. That abuse and trauma are cycles, and that the only way to stop them is by confronting the trauma itself. Start at the beginning.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power has some of the best single lines ever written for television, and Madam Razz gets them all.

There is one moment in the finale of the series that is a perfect example of what I mean. I’m avoiding spoilers for too far ahead, but if you know, you know.

Final Thoughts

This episode is such a well-made examination of Catra’s psychology and her lack of sanity. Catra doesn’t see the world the way it is, and what she wants is incompatible with how she wants it. She needs to work out what she needs and then go from there.

I actually think that this episode does something interesting by making Catra unredeemable. She fails, she had her chance, and she didn’t take it. Her attempt to connect with Adora involves physical abuse. Catra is irredeemable.

But this isn’t the last of the redemption arc, is it? Catra will try again and again, chance after chance, and gradually improve. The failures only serve to make the success hit harder. Catra’s life is a Dark Souls boss, essentially.

I often feel like the people who declare Catra's redemption as unsalvageable haven't got past this season, and don't take into account that she gets better, and I don't fault them for that. No show is for everyone, and what you do or don't find interesting in media says a lot less about you than how you express your like or dislike.

Anyway, next week, I will be examining The Portal and my thoughts on this season as a whole. So, stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[iminaworldofpureimagination]

I prefer the original design but both are good deisgns .. and characterzation for the newer one wasnt bad either..

[oldhagtournament]

Preliminary Round - Group A

Propaganda under the cut

Faragona

refined old hag. she always had style and grace but also i know her beef with the evil headmastress was crazy

Madam Razz

A hag and a witch

[b3anieperson]

Part 2

She Ra

And The Gays

[bl3ssdbethefruit]

She’s talking about Israhell btw

[rheesvandar]

She-Ra characters’ favorite movies!!! This one will probably be pretty controversial.

Adora: Alien. But she gets scared and has to cuddle with Catra (that’s her favorite part).

Catra: Predator. She can’t tell who she’s rooting for half the time though.

Glimmer: Captain Harlock: Space Pirate. She loves the aesthetic.

Bow: Star Wars. He’s very opinionated on the watch order.

Perfuma: Up in Smoke (never gonna let that joke go)

Mermista: Knives Out (but she’s waiting for the MerMysteries movie franchise)

Sea Hawk: The Princess Bride. He fancies himself Westley.

Scorpia: She’s a MCU fan and can’t pick her favorite of them.

Double Trouble: They hate watch Master of Disguise regularly.

Entrapta: Pacific Rim. Giant mechs! Fighting! Tech!

Hordak: Sleepless in Seattle. He loves romcoms!

Madame Razz: Primer. To her the plot is very straightforward, predictable, and linear

Shadow Weaver: Matilda. She has no idea why such wonderful and caring parents were so maligned!

Frosta: Godzilla movies. She has plans for an ice kaiju once she gets better at controlling her powers.

Micah: Star Trek: Wrath of Khan. He and Bow get into arguments about the better franchise and Glimmer has to tear them apart.

Kyle: Scott Pilgrim vs. the World - He fancies himself Scott. He isn’t.

Kadroh: Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. He loves how wrong it is about the universe!

Melog: The Aristocats. ‘Nuff said.

Netossa and Spinnerella: Lord of the Rings. They watch the Extended Editions together at least once a year.

Horde Prime: Horde Prime The Movie: A Horde Prime Production by Light Of Horde Prime Studios