Escaping Corruption (Seasons 1-3)

S3 - Floobywalk gurf

CATRA felt dizzy when she landed.

She heaves herself to her feet once more, taking in her surroundings carefully.

This room is wide, shelves line the walls, stacked high with old, withered books.

C'yra is sprawled out comfortably on the floor at her feet, smiling with her eyes still closed.

'Sometimes I wonder which of us is more responsible.' Catra announces, rolling her eyes.

'Clearly me. Although if I ever got the chance, I would definitely recommend switching the iron cutlery to cheese cutlery. Oh boy would that be nice...' C'yra lets out a happy sound.

Catra rolls her eyes again, and adjusts her headpiece.

She then steps toward the bookshelf directly across from her. Reaching out her hand so her fingertips graze the spine of a leather bound book.

'Its this one.' She says confidently, pulling it out immediately and collapsing onto the floor to skim through the pages.

C'yra rolled over to her, lips pursed as she scanned down the page.

'Its written in ancient Gaeilge. We won't be able to decipher even a word of it. We are screw-diddly-doed.' She declares.

'Well unlike one of us, I don't give up easily. I will figure it out. I can already understand a part of it. Tá ar lá le fheiciuil. Our day is in sight.' Catra piped up, raising her chin.

'I didn't know you bothered to learn Irish?' C'yra's brow furrowed as she glanced over the gobbledygook again.

"I decided it was mandatory. Best I speak all the nations languages than none at all.' The Empress explained.

C'yra can feel the pride leaking from her daughter as she takes in the words of the ancient scripture carefully.

She recalls her own delight at learning some of her Empires languages, when she had been nothing more than a girl inheriting a crown following her father's banishment. She hadn't learnt them all of course, her cancer treatment had gotten in the way of that. And after that, her Lymphoedema had stopped her from both that and fighting.

She had become useless.

Amato handled physical things for her, knowing she was frail.

All bark no bite.

'Right. That's just perfect. You figure that out. I do my own thing. I'll be on my way then.'

She gets to her feet, and kicks open a chute between two shelves.

'See ya kid.' She says over her shoulder as she clambers into the chute.

A moment later, she's gone.

Catra has her head buried in the book still.

All the ancient script words were delightful to her eyes, a sign of her ancestry.

Finally, she dropped the thick book into her bag, and throws herself down the chute.

It was basically just a long slide, she realises.

All of a sudden, she tumbles out of the chutes exit, and lands on a pile of cushions in a room she recognises as the conservatory.

She giggles under her breath as the chute slides shut behind her.

Then, she gets to her feet and struts out into the long corridor.

Stepping out into the balcony overlooking the underground lagoon, Catra allowed herself a small smile.

Her chest aches with the burns of the night prior, but for the moment, she is at peace.

The smell of salt lingers in the breeze that lifts her hair from her back and sends tingles down her spine.

Her eyes flutter closed as she takes a deep breath.

She had fought Puca and won. She had orchestrated the victory over the War of Nocturnia. She had aided in vanquished Horde Prime. She had survived the unimaginable.

Whatever was next, she could face it.

Well, atleast thats what she hopes.

She folds her arms across her chest and leans forward against the rail.

Only part of her is surprised when a phantom touch brushes over her hair, sending sparks of gold flying.

'Soon, Danu, soon. I'll bring back.' She murmurs, shooting one last glance over her shoulder to ensure privacy.

Then, she throws a leg over the silver railing, and drops down into a pulsing vortex that had appeared like a glitch in the matrix.

It seals shut behind her, as if it had never existed.

The world seams to shimmer and alter around, shifting colours until it settles into a rather fearsome blanket of camouflage.

But to magic users, the trace of mana lingered. Like the scent of perfume clinging to the air even once its gone.