Sometime within the last year, you had succumb to the same darkness. The same witch engulfed you with the same inky, dark essence, only she really topped you off this time. Darker. Stronger. More painful.

And so, for a second horrifying time, you slipped into a state of complete and utter bitter black. During that trip of pure muddled pain, every single one of your worst fears came to life. Whether it scared you for a dream as a kid or haunted you to this day, it ripped from it's darkest roots and slashed at you until you were all suffered out.

Dad was drowning himself with booze, letting it fill up to his brain. He rotted in it. You could smell it from your distance, pure and pukish.

Mom withered away like sand in a storm, curled up into herself, not even sparing you a last glance. You run over to where she once stood, scavenging the floor for recent nostalgia, or a happy memory, anything.

You stand up and turn to the sound of whistling wind.

Shiro looked at you with concern.

Keith was angered at you without a way to explain yourself.

And Lotor won.

Whatever he desired out of you was right in his hands, where he wanted it.

Only, this time, everything is worse, like rubbing salt into a flesh wound with crusty hands.

When you snapped back into the torturous false reality, just as previously, Shiro stood in front of you. All of Voltron was behind him as well; Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Allura, Coran, Keith. Their eyes were wide, bright, their smiles wide and accepting...

Until reality settles in. Grim eyes were given, some more angry than disgusted. Most were a blend of both.

"We thought you were with us." Voices hissed.

"What a waste of air, thrown away for a backstabber." One slithered.

"Just stay with Lotor, he wants you more than we do."

Keith looks the most violated. He remains silent. The group around him fades into the pitch black of the area, all except for him. You fall to your knees, scraping them against the rough surface of your abyss. He stands above you, looking down at your figure. God knows he wasn't feeling merciful.

You broke down, sobbing at his ankles, innocent and guilty in one disgusting mess.

"You had me convinced for a brief second, Y/n," He says, looking away from you for a brief moment. "You had me under the impression that we had something. Anything. That you even loved me at all."

What could you say?

"I-It's not my-...my fau-ault.." You hiccup, sobbing out every letter, barely choking out comprehensible English. It's pathetic, so awful and pathetic, and it sounds the part.

"I see now why I could never stand you. Why you were always such a pain in my neck." He spits, deep and vile. "I was never good enough. When I tried to give you your journal, all of the sudden it was my fault for reading it, for missing you. Every time I tried to put forth something, you did it better. When I try to protect you, you were able to do it yourself all along."

Your throat is as good as dry wood. The words coming out can only deteriorate the more you try; "Keith...I-I-"

"Why did you drag me along, Y/n?! Why did you let me believe that you ever cared about what I did, even if it was for you?!" A boot stomps between your shoulder blades, forcing you down by your open back. "Why did you make me think you cared about me?!" Keith cries.

His foot digs your face into the ground, then the weight lifts.

When you look up, you see the mirror from the first terror: silver, twisting edges, spotless glass reflection. Yet, the shatters are not found in the product, but in the subject. Tears pour from your face like hot, pouring rain, allowing you to do nothing but sob and blubber.

"That's what I thought." He grumbles, removing his foot and stomping away with it. Though, no matter how far away he seems to get, his words still echo;

"I'm not going to wait a second time."

You cry, looking up into the mirror once more. He is there.

Lotor holds your chin up, using his other hand to sit you up straight. "Are we pouting?"

You shake your head, a fearful no, wiping your tears briskly.

"I will always be here for you," He says, embracing you the way that you both know Keith would just hours ago. His fingers curl around a chain, magnets jointing it to the crown upon your head. He jolts it, suddenly, whiplash in your neck and fear in your eyes as he drags you close, forcing you to look at the mirror, gazing with horror at your shambles of tears and flesh. "And until death do us part."

...

Lotor watches the scene lay out in front of him, grimacing into his victim's vision until the last few seconds.

"It appears she finds large amounts value in the Red Paladin's opinion, doesn't it? Poor thing."

"She is not a thing, Haggar. She isn't one of your little experimentations either, so do not make the same disloyalties that occurred during her previous visit. This is the only warning I will give."

"You have my word, Prince Lotor." Haggar says, sealing out the screen. "Perhaps there are some things you should ask her later. Humans have very odd ways of going about their romance."

Lotor hums in acknowledgment, seeing if different angles into the glass chamber will help him see you better. You look distraught, without a single doubt, but you're about to be doubt-free. Labor-free. Care-free.

Very soon, all you will have left to occupy yourself with will be your kingdom- and, with that- your king.

Suddenly, within the transparent barrier, your sharp emotions soften. All tension in your body drains out, as if your stress container had sprung a leak. "What are you doing now?"

"Extracting childhood memories."

"Stop!" The Prince shouts, concerned.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Her stories of human childhood are.. quite nice." He says, and truthfully. "And I have no doubt that it would hurt her so if she knew she were to lose such a capsule of grand moments."

"Most of her 'grand moments' are paired with abuse and despair. I am only ridding her of what she would prefer not to see.

"Nonetheless, the incantation is going to use a lot of brain power if we expect her to change her entire thought process and think a completely different way for the rest of her years," Haggar explains, plucking through little sections of your mind, browsing through the hundreds of millions of thoughts. "I have to remove a rather large chunk of something."

Lotor thinks, eyes slivering. He's been wishing for something for a while now, and his opportunity finally rises;

"The boy. The red paladin with the dark eyes and raven hair," He says, gesturing a pointy nail to a younger version of Keith, wearing his oversized orange and white Garrison uniform. The sight of him makes Lotor sneer, tangy with a sour jealousy that he wishes to rid of. "All traces of him may go immediately."

"That is quite the move, Prince Lotor. You've been prepared to move it into action?"

"It seems I have. Remove all memories of him, save for the subconscious imagery. Just barely, where he steps on her back and shouts at her and such." He adds, fingers moving to his chin. "Let's turn the tables a bit. I'd prefer not to be the one with a terrible first impression."

"Y/n," Lotor asks, hand touching your hair, pulling at a strand with gentle strength he contains for you only. "Did you sleep alright?"

You want to shake your head, but you can't, and you can't nod either. Your brain is drumming thundering beats of danger, confusion and delight. All in that slithery, silky smooth order.

"Mmn," You groan, eyes barely able to flutter open. Soft indigo irises return your gaze, sitting on the bed in which you lay. How did you get into a bed? Where did you come from, to get to here? Where were you before you were asleep?

What happened?

"What time is it?" You croak, throat dry as desert wood. Lotor offers you a glass of something cold and offers it to overheating lips, and you drink too fast to discern any specific flavors. "Eighteen-hundred vargas. We have a little over a varga until dinner services."

You nod, neck joints cracking in relief. It wakes you up a little more, giving you your vision quickly. "You're already dressed." You observe. Lotor's suit is an expensive looking obsidian, paired with a deep violet button-up. A topaz brooch is pinned to his top.

"Do you think I look alright?"

"Very handsome." You note. "Must I go in this.." Your eyes travel down, observing the dirtied white and gold fabrics. "Dirty Altean apparel?"

He chuckles in his throat, shaking his head. A tight sigh leaves him as he stretches over the bed, grabbing a thick bundle of clothing and handing it off to you carefully. "I thought the guests would like it if we matched a bit."

"Guests?" You ask instantly. You've never been good at pleasing guests, nor meeting people who are entirely new to you. You haven't met someone new and gotten to know them sincerely since Earth, and very early on Earth at that, seeing as no one at the Garrison was close to you in any way.

Lotor nods. "This is your debut banquet to the empire. I really should have prepared you more, but you looked so peacefully asleep that waking you seemed almost like punishing myself." He says. "But I am without a doubt sure that if you simply act as yourself, you will win over every heart in the room."

You smile, warmly flattered. "Have I won over yours, Lotor?" You ask sincerely, raising a hand to lay a gentle touch on where you would assume his heart is- he isn't human, after all.

His sigh brings a smile to his face, equal in sentiment. "For longer than I can remember, you have."

For a first love, you really hit the target right where you wished to aim. A wonderful life of luxury away from a world that couldn't give you a single thing to be happy about, a new adventure to come every day, you're sure, and a great partner that treats you like the Queen you are to become.

"Get dressed, love. I'll go make sure everything is running smoothly."

And after a kiss to your forehead, he departs.

Eager to get out of the tattered mess of clothes you currently wear, you tug off the linens and look at what had been picked for you. A long, violet gown made of flowing fabric- the kind that would kiss the ground and fall down your waist like wine waterfalls. No sleeves or straps, but a necklace lay on top. A metal chain, prickled with little white diamonds and a big golden jewel in the chest.

Absolutely perfect.

"Y/n!" A voice shouts, excited. You turn to the door, seeing a face so familiar that it hurts when you can't remember it. "Team Zezor is here to get you ready for your diner partaaayyy!"

You laugh awkwardly, confused. "Zezor?" You

"You know, Zethrid and Ezor? Like, our names fused together?"

"She doesn't remember us, Ezor."

"Oh, right!" A girl who looks as if a snake has darted its head into hers says, eyes widening. "I'm Ezor, and this is my partner Zethrid. We're gone touch you up for your man, then we're all gonna head down and party!"

"Okay." You submit, moving your feet right along as the eager of the two ushers you to a vanity in the bathroom.

"Would you be alright with some volume? A little bit of nice curls, or maybe some oomf?" She asks, fingers weaving into your roots and pushing them up.

"Oomf?" You question.

"Don't question it. I learned not to." Zethrid replies blandly.

Ezor grins, changing her voice drastically, as if talking to a cute animal. "But you love me anyway~ Now, a brush!"

...

"What do you think?"

You look up into the mirror, your shimmering eyelids striking you first. Your eyelashes are longer, your hair has been given its greatest effort, and your lips gleam in the dim bulbs around the mirror. "You did a lovely job."

"How do you feel?" Ezor presses, cupping your cheeks to force you to stare at your reflection. You won't lie, simply because you don't have to.

"I feel... beautiful."

"You look the part." Zethrid compliments, by word, not by tone.

"I'm gonna pretend I'm not jealous of that, but only because it's true. Now let's get moving, we've got twenty dobashes, barely!"

You nod in understanding and follow as the two lead you down the halls, and you notice a repeating pattern of a specific script on direction prints. "Where are we going?"

"The docking bay."

"The dinner party isn't onboard?"

Zethrid turns her neck around to look at you. "No one on this ship was invited to the dinner event, but we're going to make a very special entrance." She grins, more malicious than kind. "You're going to be great."

You gulp, trying to get rid of the fist-sized lump in your throat. Suddenly, you start to feel a lot more anxious than you did a few minutes ago.

You just hope that you can't mess up anything as minuscule as a dinner party you weren't invited to.