The other scene that's already worked out:
Shadow Weaver seemed stumped, her hands fidgeting in indecision.
"Say that again." Her voice was one of a tone Adora had not heard often. Confusion. Bewilderment. Bemusement.
"We lost the Battle of Thaymor because Catra found some piece of Princess technology and turned into some *thing* that was eight feet tall and wearing a white dress. It's Catra, she HATES dresses. And she was wearing one."
Shadow Weaver's hand reached out to hold her cheek.
"And she was able to become.......what you described?"
Shadow Weaver was silent, bemused. She seemed to stare off into space, distracted and Adora wanted so very badly to be anywhere else in the world than here, in this place. With this being that had once been a woman's hand against her.
"Then I was wrong," she heard Shadow Weaver speaking, a strange tone to her voice. "I misunderstood everything about She-Ra."
That name again. The name of the thing that had stolen her Catra from her.
Shadow Weaver leaned down closely to Adora, their faces nearly touching.
"You were better than I ever thought possible, Adora. You turned a beast into a woman, you made a pet into something your equal."
There was a strange tone she'd never heard toward Catra from Shadow Weaver's mouth. A later and older and bitter and wiser Adora would regret nothing more than the way she responded. The younger Adora so deeply reliant on her idea of heroes and of heroism heard what she wanted to hear.
"Bring her home, Adora. She has done it, and you have done it well. You protected her. She has made me proud of her. Brightmoon would be a terrible place for Catra, or for She-Ra. Find her, bring her home. And she shall have from me what she has always wanted..."
There was a badge in Shadow Weaver's other hand.
Few things in her life would Adora regret as much as when she took the badge and the smile that formed on her face, the belief in a terrible hope wrought on a foundation of lies, and the warmth from wanting to believe in something that never was.
