Adora

Brushing off the dust that until very recently had been a warehouse wall until she'd... improvised a new exit, Adora shook out her hand, flexing it. It didn't hurt, not really, and even if it had been injured changing into She-Ra tended to heal stuff like that, but still, that had been one of the more unpleasant ways to spend a morning.

Caught up in her thoughts, she didn't realise how deep she'd walked into the woods until she heard an all too familiar voice crooning her name.

Adora

Her head snapped up. No, that was impossible. Shadow Weaver was...she'd watched her...but there she was. A tall, slender figure, robed and masked, wreathed in shadows that clung to her as she glided forwards

Adora

Adora tried to back away. Tried to change into She-Ra, or to at least tap into that well of bone-deep anger that had fuelled her last actual conversation with Shadow Weaver, but like trying to catch hold of mist, and all she could do was stare as Shadow Weaver drew near. Frozen like prey before a predator as a hand, cold, wet, clammy reached out to brush her cheek.

Something about the wrongness of that touch, the difference in the discomfort broke through the paralysis, and she shoved with all her might at the grasping, clinging hands pulling at her. Not!Shadow Weaver's wrists crumbling away under the pressure of her fingers as she melted in on herself.

Panting, hands streaked with clay, Adora scrambled backwards, eyes fixed on the puddle of muck in front of her, waiting for it to attack again.

[Open, sure.]