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for the record: adora uses the username grayskull on the network, and can be reached at that id. assume all replies come from the same unless stated otherwise. she makes no effort to hide her identity in the slightest, so feel free to handwave knowing it's her.
for the record: adora uses the username grayskull on the network, and can be reached at that id. assume all replies come from the same unless stated otherwise. she makes no effort to hide her identity in the slightest, so feel free to handwave knowing it's her.
no subject
No, of course she can, she just won't. She hasn't let the sword out of her sight since what happened at Princess Prom, remembering how useless she'd been without it, right when her friends needed her the most. It's the first thing she looks for in the morning, the last thing she checks on before she goes to sleep, the only proof (besides the scars on her own body) that she's not crazy. That the past year happened just like she remembers it did.
Their house is simultaneously the best and worst place for the sword to be, if she did leave it behind. The best, because she knows where it is; the worst, because Catra knows where it is, and Catra is the problem. Potential problem. (She shouldn't think of her that way, but she can't help it. If Catra's memories ever come back, if whatever's been done to her undoes itself, and Adora doesn't have She-Ra...)
She pulls her arm free, and steps out of reach; ignoring the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. ]
I'm sorry. You'll just have to trust me. [ And maybe there's some bitterness in her words, because Catra isn't trusting her now, but neither is Adora, and it's all— a mess. A mess she doesn't know how to fix. She takes another step, and another, telling herself that she's not running away. ] I should be back before dark, but don't stay up waiting.
no subject
Oh. That cracking isn't the ice that Adora's on after all. Turns out, it's just the sound a heart makes when you can't trust your best friend any more.But what did she expect, really?
...Not this, somehow. She'd thought - she'd hoped - that Adora would do it, that she'd be able to let go of the sword for a few hours and entrust it into Catra's care. It was the last opportunity for a show of faith that they could've given each-other, and Adora's refused it. Refused her.
The hurt sticks on Catra's face as Adora pulls away. For the second time, she's leaving: and it doesn't matter if she comes back, because even if she does - Catra's not going to promise that she'll be here. She's not going to stand and watch Adora choose the sword, choose She-Ra, over her. And she's not going to sit alone in an empty room, or curl up on an empty bed, or stare at the wall and try to sleep while she waits for Adora to come home.
With teeth grit against the stinging welling in her eyes, Catra turns on her heel; slamming the door to their room behind her.
At least this way, it feels like she's the one who's made the choice to leave. It makes the rattling slide of the window when she shoves it open feel cathartic, and the cool air welcome when she shimmies out of it, making her way shortly onto the roof.
She's not watching where Adora goes. She's not. She's deliberately turning her back to the front of the cottage, crouched in preparation to spring off somewhere. A spiteful action in case Adora looks back when she leaves, just to show how much Catra doesn't care where she goes.
And meanwhile, with that pain burning in her chest, Catra pitches her own comment onto Light's post. See how Adora likes it, when she's the one being left in the dark.]