#the lyrics ''she gave us one last feature; the fullness of her face'' rly get to me...

[horde-princess]

Death With Dignity

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Catra reflects on her redemption and the sacrifices of angella and shadow weaver (and kisses her girlfriend 😌😌). Inspired in a major way by @catradora‘s beautiful illustration of catra gazing up at a mural of angella 💘

--

1. monarch

Bells echoed quietly through the halls of the Bright Moon palace. It was four in the morning and Adora’s arm was draped protectively over Catra, her chest rising and falling against her back, heartbeat slow. If they were back in the Horde, the rhythm of it would’ve been fluttery and anxious. But in recent weeks an era of peace had settled over Etheria, and maybe especially over its destined hero. Her calling fulfilled, her new life beginning… Sometimes Catra let herself dream of it, too. Finding peace.

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She quietly slipped out of Adora’s arms, careful not to wake her. She’d had a lot of practice the past couple of weeks, which should probably worry her, but if there was something bothering Catra she couldn’t bring herself to admit it... too afraid of watching Adora’s love shatter in her hands like a fragile glass illusion that was never really hers.

Adora stirred in her sleep and her fist hit Catra’s pillow before she relaxed again. Catra flinched. It was hard to look away from her, a living mosaic of everything she found terrifying and breathtaking. The way the moonlight kissed her skin, the curve of her shoulder. When tears blurred her vision enough that she could barely make out the form of her anymore, Catra turned to leave. 

Walking the halls at night, she found an intimacy with Bright Moon that evaded her during the day. The bright colors were dimmed in shadow, there were no curious faces--or suspicious ones. Just the same few guards who had gotten used to her nighttime wanderings. While the palace was full of beautiful paintings and murals like nothing Catra had ever seen, there was one in particular that she kept coming back to every night. She stood before it and gazed up in child-like wonder.

Queen Angella… The former ruler of Bright Moon--or, as Catra knew her, the Horde’s number one enemy--loomed above, a masterful work of art set with colorful stones, gems, painted glass. Occasionally, light from the torches would refract through it a certain way and almost make her seem to come alive. Wings glittered as though moving in a breeze, giving her a divine essence. The larger than life depiction did little to discourage the way Catra had mythologized her in her mind. 

A mother, a warrior, an immortal queen… and the reason Catra found herself gazing into soft blue eyes every morning. 

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

A voice from down the hall tore Catra from her thoughts and set her heart racing. She automatically assumed a soldier’s stance, the way she was taught to show respect in the Horde.

“King Micah?--” Her breath caught in her throat. 

It had been two weeks since Micah had learned the truth about Angella’s sacrifice. She hadn’t dared ask for forgiveness. Not even as the days passed and Catra wasn’t able to eat, or sleep, or be of much use to anyone, really. Glimmer kept saying he just needed time. 

Micah approached slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the mural. He was dressed all in white, the traditional Etherian color for mourning, which drew attention to his sunken cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes. He came to stand beside Catra, who watched him warily before also returning her gaze to Angella. She could hear her own pulse in her ears.

“Just Micah, now,” he corrected after a moment. “My days of ruling have long ended.”

His voice was gravelly, tired. Catra guessed he wasn’t sleeping much either.

“Y-yes, sir.”

They settled into an uncomfortable silence as the queen looked down upon them, in all her dignity.

“I’ll admit…” Micah cleared his throat. “When Glimmer told me what happened, I… Well, I’m sorry. For the way that I reacted.”

A wave of nausea swept over Catra. She clenched her fists, feeling mortified.

“No. I deserved it.”

She could feel Micah’s eyes on her but kept looking straight ahead.

“Did you ever meet her?” he asked.

Catra tried to think, sorting through a dusty bookshelf of painful memories.

“I… I saw her once,” she whispered. “During the Battle of Bright Moon, she was… defending the Moonstone. But not really, no.”

Micah nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. 

“And she always said I was the brave one.”

Mesmerized by the artwork, memories continued to pull at Catra… Glimmer breaking down in tears, Adora and Bow’s restrained anger when they asked Catra to leave. The three of them sharing stories about what a loving mother Angella was, what a strong leader. Adora hugging herself as she relayed the details of what exactly happened in the portal that day. How Angella sacrificed herself to save everyone.

How she sacrificed herself to save Adora.

To save her from... Catra. 

From her own monstrous, vile, misplaced wrath.

Catra realized tears were streaming down her face. 

Too overwhelmed with shame to stand any longer under the queen’s scrutiny, she fell to her knees, as if in supplication. She barely registered Micah’s concerned hand on her shoulder. 

“I--I owe her everything,” Catra wept. “I can’t make up for it, I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”

Before she knew what was happening Micah had knelt down and wrapped his arms around her and she was falling apart, shaking like a child. She didn’t know how long she cried but at the end of it his white gown was washed completely by her tears.

“You’re forgiven, Catra,” he murmured into her hair, and she could only shake her head, trying to hold back another sob. 

“Why do you even care about me?”

Micah sighed. “The same reason my daughter does: you’re trying to make things right.”

He leaned back to gently rest his hand on Catra’s cheek, encouraging her to meet his eyes. The kindness in them was terrible, burning.

“And wherever she is, I know that Angella forgives you, too.”

Somehow, Catra actually believed him. Not because she could ever be worthy of it, but... because it's who Angella was. 

Micah offered her his hand. She hesitated, then accepted it. He pulled her to her feet and they continued to study the artwork together, side by side. Catra felt like she could stare at it for hours. Truthfully, she had.

“I wish I could’ve known her,” she confessed. “Everyone tells me how kind she was. And giving. Nothing like--”

Catra wasn’t sure where she was going with that train of thought. 

“Like Shadow Weaver?” Micah guessed.

The name was like rusty nails scraping out Catra’s insides. She didn’t say anything more. But Micah placed a hand on Catra’s shoulder and she felt some kind of unspoken understanding pass between them.

“Let’s take the day off tomorrow,” he said suddenly, a mischievous lilt to his voice.

Catra squinted at him, though it was a relief to see his cheerful demeanor returning.

 “What? We have the reparations meeting--”

“I need a break from this political stuff,” Micah complained. "Whaddya say, be my partner in crime? Besides, you’re the only one who can translate for Melog--I’ve been dying to ask how they manipulate light waves with magic to--”

“Okay, okay! Fine,” Catra chuckled. “I guess… It could be nice to take a break from everyone.”

“That’s the spirit!” He mussed up her hair a little. “I’ll make a rebel out of you yet.” 

Oh, man. Between Micah, George, Lance… Dads really were all the same. 

“Now why don’t you get some rest, kiddo.”

He said it so gently, and Catra couldn't believe it. How far down into her darkness the light of one person’s forgiveness could reach. 

“King--I mean, Micah… Thank you. For everything.”

Micah smiled fondly.

“You’re welcome.”

She glanced up at Angella one last time and could’ve sworn she saw a smile reflected in the stones.

Catra started to head back to her room, but something stopped her just after she turned the corner. She peeked around it and watched Micah step up to the mural of his wife. 

He touched his forehead to the wall and let out a long, heavy sigh.

“I miss you, my love.”

--

When Catra returned to Adora’s arms, exhaustion nearly overtook her for the first time in weeks, but she fought it and stayed awake all night just to listen to the sound of her breathing.

2. mother

It was strange, being back in Mystacor. The place held nothing but terrifying memories. 

Catra, she… distracts you. Confuses you. Haven’t you hurt each other enough?

Shadow Weaver is sacrificing you! Why can’t you see that?!

It doesn’t always have to be you!

Catra stood from the table abruptly. The other dinner guests stared at her with alarm and Adora met her eyes from across the hall.

“Are you okay?” she mouthed. 

Catra plastered on a smile to address the room.

“Sorry!--I just... remembered something, you’ll have to excuse me.”

She rushed out of the banquet hall and leaned against the wall outside, heart pounding. She forced herself to take a deep breath in. Then out. In, out. Huh. Maybe Perfuma wasn’t as crazy as she thought. They’d been away from home for a couple weeks, traveling and attending parties and helping rebuild kingdoms. It wasn’t that Catra wasn’t enjoying herself, it’s just that she hadn’t had much time to process… well, everything.

She peered down the long corridor, thinking a walk might help clear her head--and that’s when she saw it.

The statue.

The likeness was so uncanny it sent her into fight or flight mode. But Catra had decided a while ago that she was done running.

Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous silence until she stood directly in front of it. The marble glistened in the warm moonlight streaming in through the windows, and it stood tall among its peers in the Hall of Sorcerers--prideful, stoic, severe, and far too much like the woman Catra had once known. A shiver ran down her spine and she struggled for breath as though the air near the statue was thin, all the oxygen around it sucked out. Lifeless eyes stared forward, her gaze passing indifferently over Catra’s head.

I’m so proud of you, Catra.

Her hands were shaking and she clenched them into fists. Blood trickled from her palms to the floor. She shut her eyes but couldn’t suppress it, the rage, the disgust, it burst out of her from some dark and emaciated fragment of her heart--

“I hate you! I will never forgive you!”

The threat fell on ears of stone. Her body slackened. Lips quivering, tasting metal, her voice shook with anger.

“I don’t care if you helped save her... I will never forgive you.”

It was the one thing Catra held over her, the one birthright she’d ever possessed--to deny her absolution. Even in death. 

Especially in death.

At least you admit she’s evil.

You’re one to talk, aren’t you?

Catra gripped her head in her hands, trying to force the memory out, trying not to scream. But wasn’t there truth in it? Wasn’t she a hypocrite? How could she accept others’ forgiveness yet withhold her own? 

You expect me to believe you had a change of heart in the end?! Catra wanted to scream at her. That you actually cared if we survived? If I survived?

She glared up at the statue’s face, the veil concealing her mouth.

ANSWER ME!

“Catra?” 

All the fire drained out of her when she heard Adora call her name. 

Hurried footsteps, then hands grabbing at her shoulders, her wrists.

“Catra!--What--You’re bleeding--”

Catra collapsed against her, sinking into the warmth of Adora’s embrace. Her chest burned but she had no tears left. Not for her. She could only gasp breathlessly against Adora’s shoulder.

“Shh, I’m here, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“It’s not fair,” was all she could get out. “It’s not fair!”

--

“You know, it used to be all dirty. Scratched up.”

Catra hummed, more focused on Adora playing with her fingers than on her words. They sat against the wall opposite the statue. Her skin was stained red from the blood on Catra’s hands. 

“I guess Castaspella had it refurbished, after... well.”

“She should’ve thrown it out the window,” Catra said through gritted teeth. “Less effort.”

She could hear the disagreement in Adora’s responding sigh but she didn’t say anything.

“What? You think she deserves to be honored?” she snapped.

“No! Of course not. But... if it wasn’t for her…”

Catra pulled her hand away and rose to her feet. Adora followed after her.

“One good thing doesn’t make up for her ruining our lives!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Adora exclaimed. “I watched her hurt you over and over and couldn’t do anything about it!”

Catra started, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. She felt like she was a kid again, back in the Fright Zone, terrified and insecure and every stupid thing that ever happened to her was Adora’s fault, except it wasn’t. Not at all. 

She knew Shadow Weaver had hurt Adora, too. They’d talked about it a lot. Why she was always chasing some destiny and throwing herself into danger with no hesitation. But Catra hadn’t told her everything from her perspective, not yet.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Catra mumbled, feeling contrite for some reason.

Adora’s eyes filled with torment and a darkness Catra hadn’t known she was capable of.

She reached out for her hesitantly and when Adora didn’t back away Catra drew her close and cradled her face with both hands.

“Hey. I love you,” she said softly.

Adora hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut but the tears leaked out anyway.

Running her thumbs along her cheeks to dry them, Catra brushed her mouth tenderly over Adora’s forehead. Steady arms slipped around her waist and held onto her tightly and Adora tilted her face back up, hopeless, longing. Catra felt something almost holy running in her veins as their lips met and Adora’s kiss was warm, slow--too slow, making Catra’s temperature rise, and she didn’t know how long she could hide the truth of how desperate she was for her. But then a gentle glow behind her eyelids turned blinding and suddenly an explosive crack echoed down the hall. 

Catra jumped and opened her eyes to see both of them enveloped in magic.

“...Whoa,” she breathed, slightly lightheaded.

Adora was staring up at the statue in shock and she followed her gaze. As the dust settled, Catra saw the veil hiding its face had been violently ripped off, leaving nothing behind except vacant eyes and splintering cracks in the stone that ran from her hairline to her jaw. 

They stood together in silence, Catra hanging with a hand on Adora’s shoulder.

Light Spinner, whoever she was, had been mangled, torn away… This was the woman who had raised them. The weaver of their shadows. 

Catra coughed a little from the dust and laced her fingers with Adora’s again.

“Not sure Castaspella will like your remodel,” she tried to joke.

“Who cares,” Adora muttered. “Shadow Weaver chose her path. She wanted to be a hero... but she won’t be remembered as one.”

The set of her jaw was rigid, resolute.

“You can’t forgive her either, can you?”

“No. I--I don’t know. One day, maybe.”

One day seemed like a lofty goal to Catra. The unspeakable suffering she’d inflicted on her, on both of them... yet she always had some twisted justification. As if she believed her intentions were good.

I just wanted to prepare you for the world. I wanted you to be strong.

Tears filled Catra’s eyes as she observed the damaged sculpture, but they didn’t fall. 

“Before she died… She said she was proud of me.”

She sensed Adora looking at her, analyzing. Like she was trying to decide how to respond. Catra could guess what was going through her head. I'm proud of you. You should be proud of yourself.

“For what?” she settled on instead.

“Who knows.” Catra thought for a moment. “For not ending up like her, probably.”

Adora brushed her hair back from her forehead. Her hand trailed down her neck and came to rest over her heart.

“You were never like her.”

“Come on, Adora,” Catra nearly begged. “The things I’ve done, I was so angry...”

“Because you were hurting--because you cared, so much, and people just threw it away, I--” she stopped, misery etched on her face. Catra looked down, wincing. “But Shadow Weaver? She was just selfish. How could there have been room in her heart for anyone when she took up so much space herself.”

Catra let out a shaky breath. This day, this whole trip had been so draining. She leaned into Adora for support who wrapped an arm around her.

“If she hadn’t teleported me to the Heart...” her voice fell to a whisper. “I would’ve lost you forever.”

“I know... When I heard you scream, fighting that monster…”

Catra shivered from the memory. 

The sculpture towered over them, unhearing, uncaring. 

“Adora?”

“Hm?”

“Do you... Do you think the only reason she went back to save me was to make sure you set the magic free?”

Adora frowned like she had already thought about it.

“I think… I want to believe… there was some part of her that wanted us both to be happy.”

The image flickered in her mind of Shadow Weaver removing her mask, allowing them a glimpse of her face for the first time since they were kids. Her scars, her sins laid bare for them to see.

It’s too late for me. But you… this is only the beginning for you.

Catra gazed upon the marred face of her abuser, her mentor--her mother, for all  intents and purposes, though she couldn’t bring herself to actually associate her with the word--and something restful settled in her heart. Not peace, not exactly. Just a sense of calm.

Because her and Adora, they were finally free.

She held Adora closer and nuzzled her ear.

“Well, whatever she wanted from us… it doesn’t matter. We get to write our own happy ending now.”

A smile blossomed across Adora’s face. 

“You think you’re my happy ending, huh?”

“Whatever,” Catra scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t come back from the dead just to kiss me.”

She grinned and started to lean in, but Adora pushed her off with a groan.

“Are you ever gonna let it go? That was one time!”

“And for some reason, it’s always funny--”

Adora cut her off with a kiss and yeah, Catra had the feeling that everything was going to be okay. She laughed breathlessly and leaned her forehead against Adora’s.

“Can we go home now?” she pleaded.

“Ugh, I thought you’d never ask.”