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Hey, Adora

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Adora had left her behind, but she was still there.

Adora was everywhere.

Catra could smell her when she tried to sleep at night, all tangled in the sheets. She washed them, but she could still smell Adora, the lingering ghost of her, like she would never really be truly gone. A taunting presence, reminding her of what they had had, of what they could have had, and what they had always been to each other. Maybe, before she had learned better, she had been Adora's best friend, but Adora had never been hers. No. Catra was on her own, like she was always was. And you know what? Catra was just fine with that.

Of course, Catra needed someone to teach her how to dance when they decided to crash the Prince Prom. It had been easy to find someone who had had a life before the Fright Zone, who had gone to parties and dances before becoming a soldier. Princess Scorpia was eager to teach something she knew how to do--maybe a little too eager. Catra put her hands, long claws sheathed even though Scorpia would hardly even notice a scratch, in Scorpia's. She hummed a tune and said, on repeat, one two three one two three.

Dancing sucked, but Catra needed to learn how to do it.

And, maybe it was nice to get out of her Horde uniform. Maybe it was nice to look nice. 

She wasn't sure if Adora would be coming, and had assumed she would be going as She-Ra. But she had come as herself--not a self that Catra had seen before. Her hair was the same, but her dress wasn't. Her suspicion was the same, and Catra toyed with it, leading her round and round until it was time to dance, and when Adora turned around Catra was ready with her hand held out. Her glove still smelled like Adora too. Her hands had been sweaty. She had been nervous. Catra liked that too.

It had been too easy besting the three of them. 

Catra hated that even after every time she won, and Adora failed, her friends were still with her. When would the glitter princess get it? When would the archer? Half the time, Adora couldn't even save herself. But they never seemed to care. They were by her side, even when Adora wasn't by theirs.

Maybe it was the name. Maybe she was always born to be adored, even when she didn't deserve it.

Catra sighed as she she hugged her knees to her chest, tail wrapped around her toes. She could still smell Adora under claws, when she had scratched her cheek, something she had not done before but thought about doing a hundred times. Had she left a scar? Would Adora bear that mark on her face forever?

Catra looked at Entrapta. She had met Adora. They had fought the killer bots together. But she was with Catra now--though Catra knew that wasn't true, not really. As long as she was able to keep supplying Entrapta with First Ones tech, she would be on her side. But that Catra could do that, easily. Maybe Entrapta was the only one who hadn't been trapped by Adora.

Entrapta stopped fiddling with her tech. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Aren't you angry at them?" Catra said, even though she knew she wasn't. Even though she knew shy she wasn't. She just--didn't understand it.

Entrapta looked confused for a moment. Her long hair mimed scratching her chin. "At who?"

"Your friends, for leaving you behind." Catra was disappointed when they had finally found out. The glitter princess and the archer had reacted as she had suspected them to--horrified and guilt ridden. So pathetic. But Entrapta had been okay. She hadn't even mentioned being left behind. It was like--duh. Of course she'd be where the science and the tech was. How could they not have realized that?

Entrapta laughed raucously. "Oh that. I know that they didn't leave me behind on purpose. I've always known that. There really was no reason for them to think I was alive. I just pretended to be sad about it because I thought that might be more convincing for you."

Catra frowned. 

"I think at one point I was going to pretend to go along with you so that I could spy and eventually bring back what I learned to the princesses. But then I saw the potential for what I could accomplish here! Everything I could learn! Science!"

She had that gleam in her eye. It must be easier to be in love with a concept instead of an actual person. Concepts couldn't betray you. They might not support a hypothesis but it wasn't personal.

It wasn't as if a concept could leave you behind, after all.


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Catra stared at the shackles around her wrists, at the thin green, glowing line binding her. Shadow Weaver had told Catra that she had reminded her of her. Perhaps it hadn't all been a lie. Just a little bit of the truth--enough, to make Catra want to believe her. Enough, to hurt.

Catra squeezed her eyes shut. She rocked back and forth, a rattling purr trying to calm herself so that she could think.

But there was nothing to think about. She had failed, and not even as badly as she had seen Adora as She-Ra fail. Not as badly as Shadow Weaver had failed. But failure wasn't an option for Hordak. His definition of failure was optional too. She had seen it with Shadow Weaver. It had been foolish of her to think she would be different, that she would be exceptional.

Her eyes jerked open as she remembered Shadow Weaver's final touch before she had betrayed her one final time. Perhaps, it would even be the last time.

So much for Adora leaving being the best thing that had ever happened to her. It had been, at first. As Shadow Weaver had humiliated her in favor of Adora, so had she seen Shadow Weaver humiliated by Hordak in favor of Catra. But that had been--temporary. Vanishing. Something she had to claw on, but how could she keep hold of an illusion?

Catra crawled to her feet and paced. The shackles chafed at her wrist. For the first time, she allowed herself to think a hypothetical she had resolutely pushed away.

Yes, Adora had abandoned her. Yes, Adora had left her behind.

But before she had done all that for real, with not take backs, Adora had asked Catra to join her.

What if she had? 

Catra paused, her hands clasped to her chest. 

Scorpia would not be under the illusion that they were friends. Scorpia would not--risk so much for her sake.

But instead of Scorpia, there would still be Adora. Adora who had failed, and was still in her friends' good graces, still in the good grace's of the princesses. 

She and Adora would be friends. 

Her ankle still troubled her from when She-Ra, crazed by the disk Scorpia dared break, had gripped her, slamming her into the snow. There had been no Adora then, no Adora to be weakened by the friendship they once had shared--could still be sharing--had Catra followed Adora.

As she always had. As she always did.

Not for the first time, a thought whispered to her: her choice to stay in the Fright Zone, to prove herself to Hordak--was just to spite Adora. And was there any difference in following someone because of who they were, or turning away from someone because of who they were? At the end of the day, wasn't that someone determining their choice?

She punched the wall. Adora was always used to being followed. Being the golden child--literally when she was She-Ra. Her dishwater blonde hair transforming into something golden and luxurious and long, somehow never getting in her way when she fought. 

Catra hated it. 

Catra also wanted to touch it. 

If it was a friend that she wanted, then all she needed to do was look towards Scorpia--Scorpia who had somehow bungled her way to her cell, trying to fumble with the keypad. 

But, ultimately at the end of the day, Scorpia wasn't Adora.

Scorpia had risked her standing to come break Adora out. Scorpia had come back for her when all was already lost for Catra. When she had failed--but Scorpia seemed immune to the failure of others, and of her own. Entrapta was like that too, and for some reason, Hordak didn't seem to care--at least, for right now. It was probably just another mind game, trying to play the two of them against each other.

Still, Catra wondered what that must be like. To just not care if you failed. 

It was unimaginable. 

Another scenario that she also tried not to think about was imagining if instead of asking Catra to follow her, Adora had simply--come back. Not for the Horde, not for the cause, but for Catra. Because, out of all the dangers their world contained, at least they would always have each other. They had known each other--or at least, Catra thought they had.

But that, too, had been a lie.

She would not wait for Adora, she could not--they were long past it, and she hated herself for thinking of it, for imagining it. She would not let Hordak set himself on a pedestal when he was just as responsible--if not more so--for her--for their--failure to defeat the rebellion once and for all. She would not go quietly as Shadow Weaver had. 

Maybe Entrapta would realize before it was too late. 

But probably not.


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Scorpia knew what they said about her. The upside to being perceived as dumb, thick, not the sharpest claw on the arm, etc, was that people tended to underestimate what you did and did not hear, what you did and did not see, what you did and did not understand.

Now Catra--Catra struggled with being seen too. Oh yeah, Scorpia had heard the stories: needy Catra, sloppy Catra, incompetent Catra, unwanted Catra.

She'd heard 'em all--and took it with about as much confidence as folks would say about her, and she was a princess (but most forgot about that).

Catra needed friends--but who didn't need friends? And sloppy?  She was like a cat! Nothing sloppy about her at all. Incompetent--that was the one that really made Scorpia's cheeks flush with what could be called indignant rage. You'd have to be completely up your--well, completely out of it to think Catra was incompetent. She was the only one who had come close to conquering Bright Moon! She'd had She-Ra in her clutches more frequently than most. Oh yeah, it was easy to point out that She-Ra normally escaped (with a lot of work and team effort and power of friendship and whatnot) but all those naysayers had one thing in common:

They had never come even close. Not once. So, in Scorpia's opinion? They could all shut up until they had She-Ra in their own darn hands. See how well they handled her then! Ha. 

And unwanted? 

Scorpia closed her eyes and bit her lips. 

Maybe Catra wasn't wanted by Adora. Maybe she wasn't wanted by Shadow Weaver. Maybe she wasn't wanted by Hordak. But they weren't the only people in the world. There were a lot of people who wanted Catra in their lives. Entrapta did--and it wasn't just so that Catra could keep bringing back First Ones tech or because she had increased the percentage of whatever efficiency. That's just what she had told Hordak so there'd be a reason.

Scientists. Ha. They always needed a reason.

So no. Scorpia didn't listen to everything that was said about Catra. Oh yeah, she knew some of it was sincere and some of it was rumor. For Catra going on and on about how silly and stupid Adora was not to have realized that Shadow Weaver was manipulating them, it really was a little surprising that Catra kept buying into it from Hordak. But that was okay! Scorpia got that. Sometimes, when the only people in your life that really knew you were the same ones hurting you, it really does just become a big box of nothing. You get trapped in it. You forget it's not true even though once you knew it wasn't.

Oh yeah, Scorpia had been there and come out the other side a little bit dimmer, according to some, but at least she knew what was what.

When Catra had held her claw, no flinching from the sharpness, just as glad as glad could be--the happiest she had seen Catra ever--she had been so sure that that had been the moment Catra was finally free of all it. But Scorpia had been wrong, as she had so frequently been wrong before. Adora and Shadow Weaver--maybe she would never be free of them. And if she could never be free of them--what did it mean, for them?

Secretly, Scorpia was not sure if Catra had listened or come to her own conclusions. There had been that one time Catra had left her in charge, but she had failed. She had tried her hardest, but she had failed. But, Catra still hung out with her. Catra brought her the wastes with her when she was supposed to have died alone. Catra put her hand in her own! Catra valued her!

It probably wasn't Adora's fault, but man, she had really done a number on Catra. Every time they ran into them, Catra came back with a new needle under her skin, a new hurt that had been torn right back open as if the past months of moving on from it had never happened.

But now--wanting to destroy the world? Turning on Entrapta, one of the people who wanted Catra in their life? Who had gone out of her way with data and proof and reason for her not be sent to Beast Island?

And then--to threaten her with that weapon when not too long ago they had been running together, holding hands, envisioning a new life for themselves far away from the Fright Zone, far away from Hordak and Shadow Weaver and Adora and everybody else who had tried to put her in a box, to shut her away, to make her less.

Scorpia had never believed that Catra was ever less. No sir. 

But what did Catra have in that moment other than the desire to destroy everything--everything they had--everything they could have--because Shadow Weaver liked Adora better? Some people just liked other people better! It was a part of living! It was just like how they liked Lonnie better than Kyle. Didn't see Kyle trying to destroy the world, did ya now? 

Scorpia had asked Catra not to go. To stay in the wastes and be the best captain, the best leader, she could be without being held back by what had already happened.

She wondered, as if in a dream, if Adora had once asked Catra to stay with her, in a place where they could have been happy. Had Catra said no to her too?

So yeah. Scorpia knew she would need to choose--that she couldn't close her eyes and pretend it didn't happen or pretend that Catra didn't mean it that way, really. But still, even as the hall grew small and flickered with the green light--she just wanted Catra in her life. She just wanted her to be happy. 

And she just wanted Catra to want that for her too.

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Sometimes, Razz called her Adora. Mara took it in stride and, when she visited Razz's hut to help her clean up or make a pie, she would sometimes say, "So tell me about Adora."

"Oh Adora!" And if it was a bad day where Razz thought Mara was actually Adora, Mara gleaned very little information. But sometimes, she would find out that Adora was similar to her. She was young. A soldier. "They consider her a traitor, you know," Razz said, her eyes blinking large and huge behind her glasses. She laughed then, gleefully. "But they were the traitors first, Mara dear." 

Mara was still unclear who "they" were, but perhaps Adora and Mara had more in common than their names and She-Ra.

Because, when she was in the forest with Mara, when she was picking the berries, when she was observing Etheria's magic, she questioned whether or not they should be doing what they were doing. She had stopped sharing her concerns with Light Hope, but she shared them with Razz. "Oh Adora, you have already left them behind!" Razz would assure her, putting her dry warm hand on her cheek.

Would Razz cup Adora's cheeks in her hands and say, My Adora, in the way the same way she said, "My Mara."

Before she had made her choice, before she had injured herself, before she abandoned the sword, before she chose to hide Etheria, she had known how the story would end. When she spoke to her like she was Adora, she mentioned Mara as if she were gone. Not gone as in had gone away and would be back tomorrow, not gone as if she had decided to leave and never come back, but gone as if she were dead. 

She supposed the only thing that mattered then would be how she would die. 

"These are my favorite berries," she told Razz on a good day. 

"There will always be a pie for you, Mara dear," Razz said back. Then she whacked Mara's knuckles for putting more berries in her mouth than the basket. Mara protested, but her purple lips and purple tongue gave her away, and they laughed together, with no fear of the deep woods around them.  

Tomorrow, Mara had said. We'll make the pie tomorrow.

It was not the first time she had told Razz she had no time to help her, and it was not the first time that disappointment had dimmed Razz's eyes.

But today, Mara chose to believe in that. The pain in her side told her not to believe it. What she had learned, the terrible thing she had learned about the heart of Etheria, told her not to believe that. As her pain deepened and she struggled to leave her final message for Adora, who had also chosen to turn her back on the people who had raised her, she chose to believe that tomorrow she would make pie with Razz. 

Her ship warned that impact was imminent. She told Adora that she believed in her, that she could save the world they loved. That was all that mattered, in the end.

Mara closed her eyes. Buttery, flaky pastry, like only Razz could make, melted in her mouth. The berry tang pushed through, puckering her cheeks. Thank you, Mara whispered as the screens flashed one final time.

The world went silent as Razz's voice echoed through her ship and through her heart: for you, Mara dearie.  

Chapter Text

Friendship was hard. "It's not easy, Emily." Scorpia sat in her changes, tail tense, stinger vibrating. She tried not to get like this too frequently, but it was okay for now because Emily didn't have soft skin or a central nervous system that could be paralyzed. The piece of paper was stubbornly blank as she gripped the pen in her pincers. "Gosh it's hard."

Emily beeped at her. The nice thing about Emily was that, even though the bot wanted to rescue Entrapta, Scorpia knew that it didn't want to leave her behind. It wanted her to help them because they had become friends too. They were all friends even though Scorpia had let Catra do what she did. 

She really hoped that Entrapta would forgive her. For some reason, she thought she would. 

Scorpia cleared her throat, sniffled her nose. "Okay. No more fooling around now. I gotta write this and then we can go." She huffed out a small exhale of breath. 

Dear Catra,

I don't know when you'll notice I'm gone, but I didn't want to leave without an explanation why. 

You're a bad friend. You push people away, and I get why, I've wanted to push people away too, but sometimes you just have to sit down with yourself and have a good long think as to why. I've done that myself, recently, only I was asking myself why I'm staying for you, when you're a bad friend. When you treat me as a thing and evaluate me on how well I follow your orders.

I held on for so long when you told me to go away or else they'd just drag me down with you. For a long time, I hoped you'd pull me back and we would be happy together. But that was just a lie I told myself--though I still hope that, at the time, you must have really meant it.

Scorpia brushed away at a tear and held her face up so it wouldn't make the paper damp. "Get it together, Scorpia. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect, okay?" She nodded, and went back to the paper.

The hardest part about writing this is I know you will think that I left you behind, just like everyone else. It took me a really long time (with Emily's help) to realize that you left me behind first. But I want you to know, wildcat, that I'll always be ready if you decide to come back.

Yours always,


She placed the letter on the neatly folded vest Catra had given her when they had been in the wastes. It seemed like such a long time ago, when there was still so much promise and hope for them both. Scorpia heaved a shaky breath as she shouldered her pack. "Let's go, Emily."

Chapter Text

Catra shook as she walked the long way home on foot. It figured that Adora couldn't have been bothered to have left even one functional tank. 

Adora. What had happened to her? Once, she had been on the ground, at Catra's feet. Her cheeks smudged with dirt, her eyes pleading. Come with me, she had said.

That was before she had bothered telling Catra she was someone else besides Adora--a giantess with flowing blonde hair and pale blue eyes.

What was with that?

Catra didn't know what that was all about. Had Shadow Weaver known all along? Catra's fists clenched so hard her long claws pierced her skin. That would be just like Shadow Weaver to have sent her on a mission she knew was doomed for failure. How was Catra supposed to have been prepared for Adora's transformation?

She laughed out loud even though there were only the woods to here. If only the flower had been the last surprise. She hated that pink flower, tucked over her ear, so bright against Adora's pale hair. Catra couldn't remember the last time she had worn anything but her helmet. She couldn't remember the last time Adora had added something to that ridiculous poof.

Shadow Weaver's threat lingered in her ear.

Did Adora just forget that they had been raised by the Horde? Who did she think had been their parents--probably civilians from a similar town. Their parents hadn't come for them either. Probably because they were dead or maybe because the Horde was too big, too powerful. Adora wanted to throw all of that way, all that power that they had managed to take when they weren't supposed to have any, because of what? Some people she barely knew? People who had kidnapped her? Who would have taken her their own prisoner? 

At least they knew where they stood with Shadow Weaver. At least they had the means of gaining their own power. People like Shadow Weaver and Hordak were already teaching them everything they needed to know. All they needed to do was wait until their moment came.

But now Adora wanted to risk bowing down to some queen they didn't even know. 

Come with me, she had said. 

Catra snarled, her claws unsheathing as she ripped into the bark of a young tree. It bled sap, and Catra sneezed. 

Come with me, and we'll be together.

Would Adora ever say, I'll go with you, I'll stay with you.

Catra crested the last hill. Below was the Fright Zone, almost alive in the orange light and the smoke that poured from their factories. Behind, the forest full of danger, the natural defense against Bright Moon and its Queen. 

Come with me.

Did Adora take her for someone who would follow her without question, when Adora didn't believe in them enough not to be distracted by something new and shining and glittering? Was she someone so easily tossed aside for other maybe friends? Catra sat down on the hill, tail curled around her ankles: one eye on the forest, one eye on the Fright Zone.

She waited for the pounding footsteps of Adora, for her voice to filter through the leaves and the trees: Catra, wait!

When would it ever be Adora's turn to come with her?

Chapter Text

When you're told you're supposed to take over Perfuma's territory you can't help but laugh a little because it's just so hopeless--for them, you mean.

You've read about flowers, of course. You've even seen some flowers struggle to grow in the cracks of the side walk in the Fright Zone. There are rumors that Shadow Weaver cultivates a deadly garden where she tends the most poisonous of plants, the most toxic of blooms.

That last one is just a rumor, and you don't know how true it is. You just know you're some horde soldier who has to take orders from the newly minted Force Captain Catra and take control of Perfuma's realm.

It's all too easy. Take some weed killer, dump it in the ground, and watch the whole place die. That's all you gotta do. It doesn't seem quite right just sitting here watching the poison work.

You didn't even get close enough for you to smell anything but the fuel that powered your war machines.

What a waste of time. You wish that you had a different job to do. You wonder what it'd be like to be a force captain. Better, probably, except for the part where you have to report directly to Shadow Weaver and Hordak. Force Captain Catra's choices probably weren't hers at all--just Shadow Weaver's and Hordak's and who knew what they really wanted. A cold sweat runs down your spine, and you're so distracted you don't even notice you are under attack.

What the hey!

It's--it's--you think it's a princess, no two princesses, and a whole slew of villagers who were supposed to be on their knees, all hope beat out of them, but instead they're fighting you with whatever they got left to fight with. You're taken by surprise, but you recover easily. If surprise always had the drop on you, they wouldn't even allow you to be a soldier. You can't help but admire their resolve.

But the real sinker is when the air changes. It becomes slightly clearer, but still just a little bit pinker. The flower princess laughs with delight and suddenly the whole area is bursting with foliage. You don't even know green had a smell until now. You're frozen, transfixed, can't help it. The vines crawl up you, from your ankle to your knee, and you step forward. They break and regrow but not on you. A wreath appears around your neck and you jump nearly out of your skin. You start to run and leaves and pink flowers and yellow blossoms obscure your vision. You thrash at your helmet and find it's just a flower crown.

You run until the ground and the air seem normal again. Your fellow soldiers stand around, catching their breaths. They have wreaths around their necks and heads too. They pull them off one by one, and stamp them with their boots. They are still beautiful, if a little crumpled.

Nervously, you take your helmet off. It still has the crown on it. The vine and the leaves seem so alive. You touch it, and bits of green fuzz stick to your fingertips. You bring one of the pink flowers to your nose and sneeze. Pink has a smell too.

The rest of your company regroup, but you don't. You stay in the woods. You toss your helmet into a ravine. You take off your gloves and your boots and tuck them under the roots of a tree. You lost your weapon somewhere behind you.

You wear only the wreath around your neck and the crown on your head, and you go. 

Chapter Text

Catra had been hurled so deep into the water she was not sure which way was up. She thrashed, struggled, and when she finally found the surface her lungs burned. 

She wasn't sure which was worse: being on a boat or in the water or seeing She-Ra transform back into Adora, small, tiny, pathetic Adora, surrounded by all her new friends.

There was the archer heart on his chest instead of his sleeve, a bullseye if she ever saw one. The glitter princess. The mermaid. Some swashbuckler who got lucky.

What was it that Lonnie had told her a few a days ago? Careful. No Adora here to protect her now. 

She hissed, and then she stared. 

Only Adora had ever stood beside her, and when Catra deigned not to follow her lead, she got other people who would follow her around. So much easier now that she could transform into an eight foot glowing beacon. 

Would they follow her if she was some Horde soldier who had defected? Probably not. One day they'd see beyond the sword and realize. One day, she'd throw it away just as she did her Force Captain badge. One day, she'd leave them behind.

Adora got everything, and when she got bored with what she had, she got new things, new people, new family. Some people were just lucky that way.

She was still staring at them when Scorpia pinched her by the collar and started swimming back into Horde territory rambling on and on as she went that some battles were lost but there was still the war! Catra watched them until they blurred into the horizon, until her eyes ran from the sun glaring on the water. 

Chapter Text

It's time for a change, something to show that you're not the same old Catra they thought they knew, that you don't need friends or anyone to get what you want. You rummage in your few belongings and, almost against your will, you find the cast off suit you had worn to that princess ball a long time ago. You hold it in your hands. The fabric still smells like her and like Scorpia. You had lost the untied bow tie a long time ago. 

It had been easier, then. Scorpia wanted to be your friend but she didn't want anymore from you. She had taught you dance, and you had laughed at the silliness of it all. Then she had looked so good in that dress, hiding those jewel-like bombs. Distracting Adora had been too easy, but she hadn't lied when you said it had been fun. The only times you had seen each other you had fought. There were rules against that at the ball, but you wouldn't let a stupid rule stop you. You knew she would take your hand at the dance--you had wanted her to, and deep down, you knew that she still wanted you to follow her. It was like a driving need of hers: always to be followed, never to be the follower. Her hand had been warm and sweating in yours. She went to the glitter princess, the flower princess, the glitter princess again, and you fell against her, back to chest. A warm solid wall of person, of someone you still, despite everything, missed. But that was reasonable, that was rational. You had slept in her bed--true, at her feet.

The memory still makes you snarl and hiss. You were better than that.

It had been so fun to make her so mad. Just this lunging thing of anger and righteous indignation--how dare you harm her friends after all, friends she may or may not abandon whenever she found some new thing to catch her eye. You didn't even need to try to fight her when she got like that. Hands in your pockets, too cool for her, and she couldn't land a punch on you. Okay. You were surprised when she dodged that last elbow slam, when she didn't block you from toppling over the cliff's edge and your feet found air instead of hard ice.

It was worse that she caught you by the waist, like you had to her just a few moments ago, utterly in her power. It was worse that you didn't speak, that you just stared at each other--no more taunts, no more blows. That even when you were trying to win, she was still just trying to save you. For a brief moment, you maybe almost wished it could play out like she wants it to: you'll go limp, you'll surrender, you'll follow her back to Bright Moon and spill the enemy's secrets, you'll be friends again. We all win in the end that way, right?

The moment crumbles as you tumble over the edge together, the cold air going through your thin dress clothes like they weren't there. Eyes squeezed shut against the rush.

Her hand in yours, yours in hers, hanging from ice cracking under the pressure.

Your eyes met. 

You did what everyone has told you must do: you let go (but did you really?).

Your name in her mouth echoed against the ice. You didn't know that Scorpia was waiting below the clouds. You didn't know if there would be anything or anyone to catch you. You only knew one thing: you would rather die than be saved once more by Adora. And that was okay, because you had lives to spare.

You still do.