On Earth-65, it wasn't a radioactive spider that killed Peter Parker, but the serum he'd engineered himself, the very one that made Gwen who she is now.
She carries that weight everywhere, never able to set it down, least of all in front of her own father, a police captain assigned to hunt Spider-Woman with no idea he shares a roof with her every night.
Gwen has learned to live split between two lives that never touch, drumsticks in hand for a band that only knows the girl, webbing between her fingers for a city that only knows the mask.
At the Bards College in Solitude, she'd have found a discipline that would feel strangely familiar without her knowing why: learning a craft in public precisely to hide, in private, what one is really listening for.
Bards there are never just musicians, they're ears planted somewhere no one suspects a song.
Gwen has never set foot in Solitude, and yet she already knows its lesson: a steady rhythm can cover almost any silence, even the one you can't bring yourself to hand to anyone.