A/N: I had hoped to have more time to edit this but OH LOOK SEASON 4 IS THIS TUESDAY! so here goes nothing we die like princesses who were never actually dead.

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It's early morning and the fresh sunlight is misting the woods in pale, bright greens around Razz's house. The air is warm already, and puffy white clouds meander across a blue sky.

Also, there's a young woman at her door. It's not Mara.

(When was the last time it was Mara?)

"We're taking this land in the name of the Horde," growls the black-and-red-clad young woman with bristling fur and pointy teeth. She stands, hand on one hip and whip curled at the other, completely alone.

Razz blinks. "My hut? I mean sure, if you want it. I should probably move anyway. The Horde is coming ever closer, you know, even though the woods re-grew."

The young woman – Not-Mara – 's face contorts oddly. "I know. I commissioned the robots that can do that. And no, dumbass, I don't mean your stupid hut. We're taking this forest, once and for all. So move it." She jabs her thumb over her shoulder at – oh, she's not alone, she has several tall, shiny, pointy...robot-things, with her.

"Do robots count as people?" Razz mutters. She'll have to ask Loo-Kee, when he shows up again.

Not-Mara blinks. "I – what?"

Razz chuckles. "Oh, nothing, dearie. Just philosophizing. Would you like some tea?" She shuffles around and pulls open the curtain to her hut. "You look parched, and berry picking in this heat is thirsty work."

"I – what?" is the response from behind her, again. Hmm. Perhaps the poor girl is traumatized. She has been with those Horde bots all day. "Tea, dearie, tea," Razz repeats, walking through the shaded underground of her hut an standing on her tip-toes to pull a whicker basket from a kitchen shelf. "I was just about to make some. Would you like ginger root or cinnamon bark?"

"I don't want your stupid tea!" barks Not-Mara, marching into Razz's hut with more noise than is necessary. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm with the Horde. And we're forcibly evicting you from this property."

Razz looks back at her as the water starts to heat, and sees the black almost-jumpsuit, the uncovered feet full of dirt, the wild mane of hair sticking out in all directions. "You don't look like a Horde solider."

Not-Mara stiffens. "And what is a Horde solider supposed to look like?"

Razz shrugs. "Like a person wearing a Horde uniform, in my experience. Except for that girl...what was her name? She was in uniform but she wasn't a Horde soldier. Now let me think..."

"Adora?" Not-Mara yelps. Then she throws her head back and laughs a laugh that looks like it hurts. "Of course. Does she absolutely have to be in all of the places that I have to be?"

Razz plucks some lavender from a jar – a calming tea seems best. "I don't know, dearie. Why are you here?"

Not-Mara tears at her own hair, hissing. "I'm taking over this land! Because I'm a Horde Officer, and the Horde is conquering Etheria. What part of this is difficult for you to understand?"

"Oh, I don't understand most things these days, dearie," Razz laughs as the water comes to a boil. She drops some of the lavender buds into two short, earthen mugs, then ladles some of the hot water into them. She turns around in time to see a pinch of concern on Not-Mara's face before she covers it with a scowl.

Razz hands her the mug. "Careful, dearie, it's hot."

Not-Mara levels her with a deadpan stare. "You can't honestly expect me to drink this."

"Oh, but you must, dearie, or you'll be dehydrated! Berry picking isn't easy in this heat, you know, you'll need this to help keep you cool."

"I – berry picking!"

"Yes, dearie, boysenberries are in season! Mara used to help me, but she's not here right now and you look strong and healthy."

"I don't care about boysenberries," Not-Mara hisses, hackles raised. "Tell me about the other girl who was here, the one in the Horde uniform who wasn't a Horde soldier."

"Oh yes, she was very odd," Razz recalls, sipping at her own tea. Ginger root always energises her and talking with this woman is taking a lot of energy. "She remembered the stars at the Crystal Palace." Razz frowns. "Either that or I dreamed it."

"Tell me everything," Not-Mara demands.

Razz tuts at her. "Drink you tea, first." And she takes a sip of her own tea as Not-Mara's jaw tightens and her fur bristles again. She throws her mug across the room where it shatters against the wall. "Don't tell me what to do," she snaps. "I'm the one who's telling you what to do right now, because I'm the one with the killer robots."

She glares at Razz, mismatched eyes burning with intensity and tears, and Razz sees – she sees –

"Yes, I know, Mara," Razz sighs, going over to pick up the mug. "You always have to be right because you have the sword, and a destiny, yes I know." She bends down to collect the mug, knees popping as she stoops and then stretches back up. "I'm getting tired of this argument, you know."

Mara stills. "A sword and a destiny?"

"Yes, isn't that what you're always going on about?" Razz tuts, placing the mug fragments out on the table. Their positioning reminds her of something...like an old language she used to know...

"Hmm," says Mara, titling her hips and leaning against the table, smile suddenly made of sugar. "Sorry, nope, don't remember. I can't have been that self-righteous, can I?"

"Not self-righteous, dear, just stubborn," Razz huffs, fiddling with the mug shards. Like this, they remind her of the word for 'love' – or perhaps 'lunch'.

Mara spreads her hands. "I'm just trying to save the world," she says, and her cadence is – off, somehow.

Razz snorts. "Yes, dear, I know. But is that really what you did? I've never been sure, if you want to know the truth."

Mara comes to stand next to her. "I do want to know the truth," she says, and now her voice if off in a different way.

"Well," Razz says, walking around her. "Then the least you can do it help me with the berries." She plops a basket onto Mara's arm. "Come along dear."

She's a good ten feet away from the house before she hears Mara follow her, but Mara catches up.

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Mara isn't as good a berry picker as she used to be. She hasn't touched a single one. And she keeps asking questions she should know the answer to, though Razz is not really in a position to judge.

"What's the matter, dear?" Razz asks, plucking a ripe, purple berry off the bush. The sun is hotter than she expected it to be, and it washes out the green of the bushes, a little. There isn't enough in this patch to fill two baskets, and Razz doesn't want to be here when the sun reaches its zenith. "Why are you asking me so many questions?"

Mara chuckles darkly. "What's the matter," she repeats.

"Yes, you hardly seem yourself. Is it Light Hope? Did she upset you again?"

"You know about Light Hope?" Mara asks.

Razz blinks up at her from behind her glasses. "Yes, of course, Mara. You talk about her all the time."

Mara bats her eyelashes. "Remind me what I said again?"

"Oh, who can say," Razz sighs. "I don't seem to remember most things these days. The only thing I remember about Light Hope is that she told you not to open that portal but you did it anyway."

"Mara opened a portal?"

"You said you had to," Razz continues. "That it was the only way to stop the people of Etheria from getting hurt. Well, look at it now!" she gestures out over the valley at the base of the cliff. It's all upturned dirt and new barracks and scorch marks. "People are getting hurt anyway. Etheria, Eternia, doesn't matter. Wicked people destroy what they cannot control, it doesn't matter where they're from."

Mara freezes. "Wicked people?" she grits through bared fangs.

Razz frowns. "Yes, Mara, wicked people are here too, not just in your planet's science labs and governments. You would know that if you had listened to me. And now they're tearing down forests and razing villages and putting up fortresses instead, trying to make everyone a soldier, and you're not even here to help, you're off who knows where –"

"I'm not Mara!" explodes the woman, spinning on Razz and getting right in her face. "I'm not anyone! Why are you – how can you look at me and see She-Ra? I did this!" she stabs a finger at the burnt-out valley. "I ordered the robots to come in here and raze it to the ground, and the Horde got further into this woods under my command than it ever had before. I did it! Me!" she thumps her chest with the flat of her palm, then curls her hand so that her claws rip into her shirt. "And I'm not. Sorry!" she gasps, heaving in breaths as tears start to stream down her face. "So what do you think of that, huh? I'm one of your wicked people, one of your monsters, and your She-Ra left, and mine – mine –" her claws tighten on her chest, and a rivulet of blood slips though her fur, and then another and another –

Razz takes the woman's other hand, and she stills abruptly. "Dearie," Razz says, her own hand shaking as she sees not Mara, but someone else, someone younger but just as frightened. "What's wrong?"

Not-Mara stares at her, unblinking, yellow and blue melding together in Razz's vision. Then Not-Mara slumps to the ground, clenches those eyes clench shut as her shoulders begin shaking. "I hate it!" she screams, removing her hand from her chest and punching the earth with it. Tears flood her face. "I hate it I hate it I hate it!"

Razz hums. "And what is 'it', dearie?"

"I don't know!" Not-Mara roars, right into the center of the earth. She's breathing hard. "I'm just so angry," she confesses, convulsing like she's been punched – "and I don't know what to do with it. Is that what you want to hear? I don't know what to do!" And she swipes at a stone on the ground, flinging it away. Gets some pretty good distance, too.

"In my experience, dearie," Razz says quietly, as Not-Mara pants at the horizon. "You can't just get rid of anger. It's not like an unfinished meal – you can't just clean it up and put everything back where it should go."

Not-Mara claws at the air, now. "So I should just – just – what, eat it? Throw it out?" She cackles, head swung back and barking at the sky. Another laugh that looks like it hurts. "Do you even know what we're talking about anymore, you crazy old bat, or do you actually think I'm talking about food right now?"

"Well, what do you want to do with it?" Razz asks. "Whatever it is?"

Not-Mara clenches her fists. "I want everyone else to feel it. I want them to know what it is they did to me."

Razz goes over to Not-Mara's discarded basket and picks it up. "Then tell them that, dearie! Say: 'this food you made me is terrible, and I won't eat it.'"

Not-Mara stares at her. "What if there's nothing else to eat?"

Razz chuckles. "For a smart, resourceful girl like you? Nonsense! To start with, I'm making berry pie this evening." She turns and offers Not-Mara the basket.

After a handful of seconds, Not-Mara stands up and takes it.

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It's some time before Not-Mara speaks again.

"Hey, Whack-job," she mumbles, moving a couple berries along the edge of her basket with one of her claws. "These wicked people...are they – born that way?"

Razz dumps some of her own berries into Not-Mara's basket and goes back to plucking them from the bush. "Whatever do you mean, dearie?"

"I mean...am I a bad person just because I am? Is it really true that I'm just – just this, forever?"

Razz blinks at her. "Who told you that?"

"My –" Not-Mara stops picking at berries and wraps an arm around herself. "Superior officer," she finishes.

"Bah," Razz flaps a hand. "Authority figures. Never know as much as they think they do."

"That's just the thing!" Not-Mara exclaims, voice tightening. "She knows everything about me – my greatest weaknesses, exactly how to exploit them. I'm a bad person because she made me that way. But what I don't get –" and now her voice is rising, gaining momentum, "is why she thinks she can just be a good person, now! After everything she's done, after everything she did to me, she, what, gets a free pass? Because she's useful? Because she's Adora's favourite? Why am I such a wicked person but Shadow Weaver is handed forgiveness on a silver platter?"

Razz squints at her. "For someone so bossy I don't see why you need someone else's' permission to be a good person."

Not-Mara balks. "What?"

"You want to be a good person, be a good person!" Razz says, nudging her shoulder to get her moving again. They shuffle along to a new patch of berries. "Who cares what this Shadow Weaver is doing."

"Everyone!" Not-Mara screeches, raising a hand to the sky. "She's with the Princesses now, so they care because she's useful, and the Horde cares because we don't know what she's doing for them –"

"So?" Razz asks. "That doesn't mean she's a good person. Being popular is not the same as being good; they're two separate things."

Not-Mara scoffs. "So that's why the Princesses let her in? Because she's not a good person?"

"Maybe they don't know any better, either," says Razz, pulling on a berries branch and plucking the berries off of it, one by one. "People can be hard to figure out."

"Shadow Weaver is impossible to figure out. She twists things, twists people up until there's nothing left but whatever truth she wants them to know." She squishes a berry between two careful fingers. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if she's convinced even herself of whatever she wants to believe." Not-Mara looks away again, kicks at another rock on the ground. Gets less distance this time. "Is that why?" she asks, voice so much smaller than her attitude. "She doesn't know she's wrong, so – it's like, oops, I guess you didn't know better," she chuckles, flat and wet, "welcome to the team?"

"No, dearie," Razz says, dumping more berries into Not-Mara's basket. "Don't be silly. How can she ever be a good person if she doesn't admit when she's doing wrong?"

Not-Mara swallows several times. "But why does she get a pass? Why does life give her a pass and keep dropping me into sinkholes?"

"Why are you comparing yourself to her?" Razz counters, blinking up at her through her frizzy bangs.

"Because she keeps telling me I'm just like her, except worse at everything!" Not-Mara snarls, and a tears slips out of her eye and runs down her face. Razz reaches out to catch it, brushing her fingers softly against Not-Mara's fur, and Not-Mara jumps, but doesn't pull away. "Well, dearie," Razz says, "That's what she thinks. What do you think?" Not-Mara's eyes are wide like Razz just proclaimed the sky to be falling. Although, come to think of it – Razz looks up at the sky. Still there.

Finally, Not-Mara speaks. "No one's...ever asked me that," she admits.

Razz laughs. "Well then, how are you supposed to know? You must ask yourself, dearie, or you'll never get anywhere. And speaking of, we'd better get back." She gestures at the sun, which is reaching its zenith. "It'll be too hot for you soon, since you didn't drink your tea."

Not-Mara glares at her. "Stop calling me dearie, then," she says, crossing her arms. "My name's Catra."

"Catra," Razz repeats, and Not-Mara's ears flick and her eyes narrow. "What a pretty name."

Not-Mara blushes the colour of the setting moon.

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Not-Mara – Catra – is also bad at kneading dough. Though Razz isn't sure how much kneading is involved in making pie crust, come to think of it. The two of them sit at the table, wood beneath their hands and sunlight on their arms as Razz stirs the berries in a pot with some fruit juice and spices.

"Tell me about – Mara," Catra says, squishing bits of crust together and leaving claw marks everywhere.

Razz smiles the smile that hurts. "Ah, Mara. The love of my life. She used to say we were soulmates." Catra snorts and Razz chuckles. "Yes, exactly. You should have heard the First Ones stories about soulmates – so dramatic! With wars and champions and the founding of nations. Living as heroes, always together, never apart. Dying in each other's arms. Or living centuries, wandering like ghosts because they were kept apart from each other. Always sounded like a lot of bother, to me."

Catra's fur is all sticking on end and she's staring at the dough, mashing it between her hands. "And if you were supposed to spend your whole lives together, where is she now, huh?"

Razz sighs the sigh that hurts. "Oh, back wherever she went to, when she told me she had to go. I suppose that's why I'm still alive – my soulmate hasn't died yet, so neither can I." She looks out the window. "It's really terribly inconvenient."

"Wait, so those stories were true?" Catra pauses. Then: "How old are you? How long have you been left alone out here?"

Razz hums. "They may not have left me alone. Maybe I pushed them all away. I can't remember now."

Catra blinks at her a few times, tail swishing back and forth. "Where did she go? Mara."

"Oh, some place far away. Something to do with magic, and Eternia, and her responsibilities. The portal. I tried to tell her it wouldn't work, but she can be so stubborn, my Mara."

Catra sits back in her chair and stares out the window for a long time. "Would you have followed Mara? If you knew that if you didn't you would never see her again?"

"No," Razz is firm. "A place beyond this world, beyond this time? Who wants to go there? I told her we should run away together, but she always had to be a hero. It's what I loved most about her, you know."

"But that's why she left you," Catra growls.

"Yes, Catra. Things don't always work out, you know."

Catra is silent again. Razz thinks she sees a few tears trickle down her cheeks, but Catra looks like she's trying to hide it, so Razz says nothing and looks back at her recipe. But eventually the berries can't be stirred any more without turning to mush and she reaches out for the pie plate.

Catra surrenders it, plopping a ball of stiff dough into its center. She sniffs. "Do you think they would have let me in? The Princesses? If I'd gone there?"

"Well I don't know, Catra," Razz says, flattening the dough and pushing it to the edges of the plate. "Did you ask them?"

Catra guffaws; more laughter that looks like it hurts. "Is it always that simple with you? Just tell people? Just ask?"

Razz pours the berry filling into the pie plate. "Well why should it be complicated?"

Catra sighs. Then slowly, slowly, her ears droop, and so do her shoulders, and finally her head. "I guess it shouldn't. Maybe I should have stayed in the Crimson Waste after all."

"Oh, no, Catra, you don't want to go there. I heard that Huntara left and a new gang leader came in and took over everything. Even your robots would have trouble there."

Catra's mouth falls open for a second, and then she leans back and laughs. Laughs the kind of laugh that doesn't look like it hurts, all teeth and squinting eyes and shaking shoulders and shuddering breaths in to keep going. Razz doesn't know what's funny, but she lets her do it – it looks like she's still new at it, and could do with the practice.

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Catra sleeps a long, long time. Long enough that Razz almost eats the whole pie by herself. The pie is both harder and softer than Razz thinks it's supposed to be, but when Catra wakes up, she still wolfs down a slice like she's never tasted anything better. She drinks her tea this time, too.

When she's done, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, props it up on a lifted knee, and meets Razz's eyes over the table.

"Ok, here's the deal," Catra says, her lips stained purple. "You really do have to move. Horde Prime's got some messed up plans for these Woods and there's nothing I can do about it. If you stay here, you'll just be killed. But I'll walk you to Bright Moon. They'll take care of you there."

Razz thinks about this. "You're displaying a lot of faith in the people you say you don't have any faith in," she observes.

Catra smirks, tilting her head. "I'm not a helpless little old lady who knows how to make pies," she says. "They'll take you in, that's how they are. They always have to do the right thing." She rolls her eyes.

"And what will you do?" Razz asks.

Catra slumps, some of her confidence leaking out of her sharp corners. "Honestly...I don't know." She taps her claws on the table. "But I do know that unless I figure out why Horde Prime's obsessed with this planet and the runestones, there won't be any confusing morality crisis to have. He's not ready to blow this place up yet, but he will be." She meets Razz's eyes. "So let me walk you to Bright Moon. To... thank you...for..." she gestures vaguely. "No one's ever just – assumed they didn't know me before."

"How would I know you?" Razz asks. "I met you yesterday."

Catra's lips quirk up, a bit, and she stands from the table. "Come on. It's a bit of a walk to Bright Moon."

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A/N : I will go down with the Catradora ship but if anyone ever needed to "work on themselves" before looking for a relationship, it's our girl Catra.

IMPORTANT NOTE: If you're ever feeling like Catra, please look up your local distress hotline and talk to someone about it. You are worthy of being heard and loved!

Title from Sara Bareilles' "Saint Honesty."