These Violent Delights

by thelogladyslog

Adora has the perfect life-the perfect wife, the perfect kids, the perfect job. So why does she keep getting the feeling that something's wrong? The trees aren't where they're supposed to be in the Whispering Woods, the animals aren't acting right, even she isn't quite feeling her usual self. But if anyone can figure out the problem, it's Adora.

18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: Good to be back y'all! I hope you enjoy.

For those I've been PMing with: I've been trying to reach out both on this account and my other one. However, my message never seemed to send. So, I'm thinking that the issue might actually be on your end. I'm not exactly sure what would be the problem, but I'd check to see if your PMs are open and able to receive. Hopefully we can fix this and get back to talking soon!

...

Chapter 18: Man Down

She stumbled against a tree before haphazardly putting a hand out to stop herself from crashing downwards. Blood smeared the smooth purple bark before rain washed it away into nothingness. She opened her mouth and spewed up blood onto the soaked ground. Distantly, alarm bells went off in her head—that was too much blood too fast. She searched, reaching across lifetimes for her. She needed She-Ra right now, needed her healing powers, her invincibility.

And she came. But Adora shifted with an unfamiliar sluggish pace, her time spent as part Adora, part She-Ra longer than any transition she'd ever experienced. And even when she became She-Ra entirely, the fire of mortality burned her fuse shorter and shorter. She tried to draw in health and healing, but it crawled too slowly through her veins. She threw up again, her blood now looking more black than red.

She leaned against the tree and wondered at the forest closing in around her. That Spirit, or whatever it was, was gone but it very nearly succeeded in its mission of killing her. Could still succeed, actually.

And then what? She'd die in this forest? Be consumed by its unhurried, but steadily growing animosity towards her? And no one would know? She'd just disappear in the night, never to be seen again? It was funny—to go that way. Precisely because she'd come to this planet that way. She wanted to laugh at the irony. Instead, she just threw up more blood.

If she was being honest with herself, she wanted to sink down the tree and then to the ground. She wanted to make it so she couldn't stand up. And if it was just her, she'd do it. But it wasn't. Her kids, Catra. Bow and Glimmer. Brick and Sunny. They would always wonder what happened to her. So, if she was going to die, she was going to do it at the castle.

With renewed purpose, Adora pushed herself off the tree and began to limp back to the castle. Or where she thought the castle was. It couldn't be far, right?

But with every passing minute, her confidence in her direction lowered. It all looked the same, and maybe it was. Maybe she was going in circles. Maybe the forest was shifting so she'd walk the same path until she'd bled out and something carried her off.

She tumbled forward, falling into a heap despite her best efforts to stay standing. Her body was spent, it was flagging and her desperate mind was no match for her disintegrating form. So this was it? She'd done so much, and now she was going to die alone? It wasn't fair but when had that ever stopped anything? After one last attempt to push herself up, she laid her head against the muddy ground and felt her heat slowly, but surely, getting drawn from her.

Something bright lit the area up, bringing out Etheria's pinks, purples, and blues even in the downpour. Adora lifted her head to try and find the source. About ten feet away, and still, there she was.

Mara? Her increasingly fuzzy mind grappled with the other She-Ra's appearance. Was this some sick trick? Another trap? Maybe. But it was also her last resort. If she didn't get out of the forest, she knew, without a doubt, that she'd be swallowed whole.

Mara motioned at her to follow and began to float away. Water and spit and blood dribbled down Adora's chin as she pushed off the ground, and came to a shaky stand. She felt like a newborn foal trying to figure out its own feet, complete with several near collapses. But she kept going. If nothing else, she kept going.

Both her hands pressed against her stomach, trying to staunch the flow of blood from her worst wound and keep her intestines from unraveling. And even with the rain, her hands and her shirt stayed slick with blood. If something else came along, she'd never stand a chance.

She vomited again, splattering the ground with blood.

Just to the castle. That was all she had to do. Then she could lie down and close her eyes. But not right now. With those words as her repeating mantra, Adora steadily limped after Mara. Or what was hopefully Mara. What if this was a trap? And then what?

Just to the castle. That was all she had to do.

It was hard to believe that these were the same woods that once shrouded Bright Moon from the Horde. The same ones that watched her become She-Ra and grow into it. The planet had taken her in, and made her not only one its own, but its champion. What had Velesta said? That she was Eternian by blood and Etherian by choice? Naively she assumed much of the choice belonged to Etheria itself. Betrayal was such a strong word and yet its bitter knife twisted in her back.

The prospect of dying was no stranger, but it had been for something, for Etheria. And she'd been ready. Resigned, yes, but ready. She'd known why she was going to be trapped between dimensions, why she had to take the Failsafe. When it all started happening, it felt like a foregone conclusion. Tonight, some part of her still struggled to grasp that her belly had been sliced open like a fish. Some part of her still contemplated Velesta and her stolen destiny. Some part was still frozen at the sight of Brick and Sunny. Everything was wrong, yet still happening.

And then Mara drew closer, her features becoming less fuzzy in the downpour and more clear. It took a moment for Adora to realize that she had simply stopped ahead, and it was Adora who now steadily moved to meet her. About five feet from each other, the other She-Ra turned, smiled, and disappeared into the night without a sound. What little purple light Mara emitted evaporated under the jet-black curtain of the night, and now what did she do? She'd run out of options what felt like hours ago, so she kept moving forward and hoped the forest would end soon.

She took a shaky step forward, and then another, and…there was the castle? In the distance, seemingly every light in the castle lit up the sky and the surrounding area like a beacon. She turned, wondering how she'd been in the deep forest one minute and on the treeline the next. But no answers presented themselves. There was just the forest to her back and some hope of living to the front. It had to have been magic or Mara or Razz. But that didn't matter right now. Right now, she just had to make it to the castle.

And she did. But with every step forward, agony shot up her legs. Nothing had quite prepared her for the long walk home, for the deep, thrumming pain that wasn't familiar as She-Ra. She did know, however, the particular pain of continuing on when she should've quit long ago. She'd done this all before—going on for others when she had nothing left for herself. Closure always had a price, and today she paid on behalf of her family.

She wanted to burst through the castle's doors, maybe even kick them open. Something heroic, something befitting of She-Ra. Her head would be raised high, her hair flowing, her magic crackling. Instead, she tripped and practically pitched through the doors. After barely catching herself, she looked up to find everyone staring, silent. She fell to her knees, transforming out of She-Ra somewhere along the collapse. Droplets of blood, from her mouth, from her stomach, splattered against the tile. It all shifted beneath her very gaze. The tiles came closer, then away. There were four and then eight.

A hand on her cheek, then her shoulder. She looked up into the too bright ceiling, and there she was. Catra. Unable to stay on her knees any longer, Adora scooted backwards until she hit a wall and slumped against it. It was getting easier, the knife's edge of pain dulling into something inevitable.

Catra leaned in, making Adora smile despite herself. She knew what was coming and let her eyes flutter shut when Catra's lips touched hers. This was nice, but it wasn't going to save her. How many times could a kiss save someone, really? She'd gotten lucky with it once, it wasn't going to happen again. In fact, the number of things that were ever going to happen to her lowered by the second.

"Good try," Adora muttered as soon Catra pulled back. She actually looked surprised, her eyes going wide when she saw that Adora was still bleeding out with every beat of her heart. Adora glanced down at her stomach wound and moved her hand back a little. Bright red blood seeped from the wound, tirelessly drawing her further and further away. She let her head fall back against the wall. "I can't fix this." She wasn't looking at Catra, but she said it for her.

"I don't care if you have to wake the whole fucking castle up! I want every single healer, medic, and doctor here now! Do you understand me?" Catra yelled to…to someone.

"Yes ma'am!" Feet running was all she could hear in her glassy world. Weird, how she'd done this before. But it was already easier than before. At the Heart, she'd twisted in pain, her guts rolling in agony. Now she just faded from one thing to the other, the way she sometimes did during a particularly lazy transition into She-Ra. It was nice in a way, to slip out the door with little less than a numb parting.

"Adora," the urgency of her wife's voice right next to her ear woke Adora up a little. She cracked her eyes open (when did she close them?), and tried to search for her despite the edges of her vision going fuzzy, going black. "You have to stay awake, okay? Can you do that for me? Please, Adora."

"Catra." She scarcely recognized her own voice. "I think I'm dying."

Silence and then, "Brick, get your ass over here! I don't care if you faint. Adora needs you right now!"

Adora opened her mouth to explain that magic simply wouldn't do. It wasn't working or it wasn't working for her. But who really cared which one it was? At the end of the day, she still bled out into a rug more expensive than their whole cottage.

"Catra?" She tried to lift her hand, but it just wasn't responding. One last parting touch was all she wanted, and all she wouldn't get. "You'll tell them I love them, right? That I loved being their mom? That it's the best thing I ever did?"

"You can tell them yourself,"

"And you know that I love you?"

"Adora." That tone again. Like Catra could simply will her back to health with the strength of her conviction. She opened her eyes and Catra's face was right there. She was looking down, probably concentrating on plugging the wounds that wouldn't stop bleeding. Bow and Glimmer were there, too. Jaws set, their entire bodies set in motion to keep her alive.

So many said she was going to die soon. Adora was going to do them one better—she was going to die now.

She closed her eyes and started coughing. She felt something wet run down her chin, spit or blood or both. Someone yelled something, and she could feel her hold weakening. Which was really too bad because she had more to say. Dying was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and she'd always imagined that she'd have the right things to say. Something heroic, something inspirational. Maybe her words would make it into a tasteful mural in someone's school or civic center.

Instead, she was just going to die with a little wheeze and a mouthful of blood. It was hardly a fitting end for She-Ra. Or maybe it was actually the perfect end. How many She-Ras died in their beds? In their sleep? How many wanted to?

"I don't wanna die," Adora mumbled out. Because it was true. Because it hurt too much to have her family think she wanted this over them. At least they'd know she tried to stay with them.

"Then don't," Catra hissed.

Adora fluttered her eyes open and grinned. Catra was in good company with that advice. She nearly told her as much until a figure caught her eye. In the corner, farthest from her, stood something she couldn't quite make out. No one else paid it any attention, and maybe it had always been there? No, this was new.

Guards swayed with nervous energy near a doorway, and a fire roared in a fireplace at the end of the room. But nobody looked at the figure. No one but her. And it looked right back.

She always assumed it would be Mara that would come for her. Mara and her kind eyes, her calming presence, her steadfast heart. She'd know what to do—she'd done it herself. Her last lesson to Adora would perhaps be the most important: here's how you die and here's how you help the next. But it wasn't Mara that waited. It was no friend.

She pushed herself sideways, or tried to, but her strength was all over the floor now. She tried again; she had to get away. Where was Mara?

The figure, over seven feet tall at least, took another step forward. Blazing red eyes were the only features on the otherwise featureless face. They didn't blink, they didn't look elsewhere, that stare was all for her.

She'd heard of this happening before, in whispers, in the wind. Of losing your soul when you died, forgetting who you were and becoming something entirely different. But those just seemed like stories, like the evil Princesses of her youth. And if that did happen, it certainly didn't happen to her.

She scooted down the wall, grunting with the effort. She had to get away, more for her next life than this one.

"Adora," Catra said sharply, "Stop moving. Please. You're making yourself worse." A hand on her cheek. Quietly, "I'm sorry if it hurts. But, please…Adora."

Catra still didn't get it: this was happening. Her final parting, her last betrayal. They were supposed to grow old together; they wouldn't. They were supposed to knit mittens for their grandkittens and bicker about who made the better pair. They wouldn't do that either.

And now she was missing from the future. The Best Friends Squad minus one. Her things in a chest in the attic. Someone else wielding the Sword of Protection. A fading memory for Reyna. One day, Finn would wake up and not remember her voice.

The shadow in the corner took another step forward. She matched its movement and inched away, earning another frustrated, desperate admonishment from Catra. Brick pinned her shoulders to the wall, oblivious to the waiting figure. He didn't realize, maybe didn't want to, that there was little left to be done.

"I have to get away," Adora explained, trying to escape from his grasp.

"From who? From what?" With every word, Catra's voice rose a little bit higher until she practically yelled.

"It's coming for me!" She tried to point, to nod, to anything. But her body wouldn't cooperate. She squirmed against Brick's iron-like grip, wasting what little life she had on gaining control. It wasn't the first time she'd given up too much to gain some semblance of control, but it would certainly be the last. Desperate and dying, she appealed to Catra. "Please, don't let it take me."

Shiny, black claws slid out from her wife's fingers. "You're not going anywhere." Catra stood and whipped her head around. "Where is it?"

It stood only ten feet away now, wisps of darkness spreading from it and curling around the room like fingers. Foot by foot, inch by inch, all light leached away into the greedy darkness. It went slow, but it went assuredly. The orange and red glow from the fire dimmed in its presence, and Adora could not stop it.

Tendrils wrapped around her before tightening as well as any noose. With a jolt, her body was yanked down the wall. Instinctively her hands flew out and she grabbed onto Brick.

"Holy shit, Holy shit!" Brick yelled, his voice cracking into a higher pitch. Catra watched wordlessly with saucer-like eyes. When Adora made eye contact with her, however, her expression hardened into steel. She knew that look, knew it well: stubbornness. But when the thing dragged Adora closer, she saw another equally recognizable look: anguish.

Catra couldn't see it, whatever it was. If she could have, she would've attacked it, would've saved Adora. Without a doubt. But there was nothing to attack, at least for Catra. For Catra, the only visible problem was Adora flailing around helplessly. The room was not consumed around her. It was not becoming the stomach which would digest Adora.

More hands gripped her, tried to pull her from the being's wanting maw. Bow, Glimmer. Sunny. They all tried to pull her back; they all failed. This was no easy save, this was no test of strength. If their love could've saved her, it would have. But love had no sway here. And neither did Adora.

So she dragged across the carpet, the weight of four people meaning nothing to the being. How had she survived the forest only to be dragged away now? How could she walk and crawl and stumble through the rain only to be taken in supposed safety? This was the reward for surviving? And now her friends and family had to watch it all unfurl? Watch the slow slide to her death and worse? She should've died that first time, that first strike of the chain. It would've been the humane way out—a glint of steel and then red ribbon until it led to Mara. Not this unbecoming.

In this strange world, this almost place, pieces of her began to dislodge. Her already anemic sense of safety went first—it did not matter that she was She-Ra. Then her cracked understanding of deservedness. What had she done to deserve this? And when had deserved ever factored into anything? Finally, inevitably, something about the world died out or, perhaps, flickered on. Which, she couldn't decide. But it unveiled like a moon from behind a midnight cloud. She wanted more than anything to stop this, to live, but want could not change her fate.

As she went towards the thing in the corner, the wanting shadow, that looming presence, all her future better days became unimaginable. They were not ahead, they did not wait. She fell behind, stuck and static, while they went ahead without looking back. These days were undefined in many ways, but their general shape came easily: lazy days by the fireplace in their cottage, hours spent coaching Reyna's sports teams, countless plays (with Finn as the lead) attended, the birth of their third child. This was what was being stolen with each passing second. So, too, was the love she could give.

Unable to keep her head up any longer, Adora let it fall backwards onto the flooring. She stared at the hanging, rainbow chandelier above and used it to mark her position. The drag no longer registered as a physical sensation, so the chandelier told her how far she'd been pulled and how far she had to go.

Then one crystal lit up, then another, until the whole thing shined too brightly to keep looking. When she closed her eyes, the image of a thousand different lights of so many brilliant colors kept dancing in her mind. Compared to her expectation, this death seemed suspiciously pleasant.

In the kaleidoscope of the chandelier, she found the strength to reopen her eyes and face what was coming. But this newfound strength came too late, arrived to a scene that no longer needed courage. Because when she opened her eyes, only Madame Razz waited. No castle walls, no bloodstained stone floors, the chandelier, and its million blinking lights, gone.

"Where am I, Razz?"

"Well, dearie," Razz started before handing over a cup of tea, "You're on your way out." She took a delicate sip and looked over her rim at Adora.

"On my way–? It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Razz nodded. "My Mara felt the same." Neither said it, but the truth was there. Mara didn't want to die, and she'd died all the same. Was that what Velesta meant—that things were supposed to happen all the time, and that meant practically nothing?

Adora couldn't meet Razz's gaze anymore. Tears blurred her vision, and this was really happening. "How, Razz?"

Razz sighed and brought a gnarled hand up to adjust her glasses. "Etheria, dear, is so many things. And some part wanted you dead tonight." She wrung her hands together and a few of her own tears ran down her cheeks. "We didn't see it in time."

"Something came to get me," Adora said, surprising herself, "After I…Just now."

"Yes," Razz agreed, "But Razz gave them the ol' Razzle Dazzle. It won't bother my Adora again."

"And before that…Something else chased me through the woods. What was it?"

Razz paused mid-sip and shifted her owl-like eyes upwards. "Something from Etheria. Something almost as old as you are." Adora waited for more details, but they never came.

"It drank my blood," Adora added, hoping to jog Razz's memory. Unlike the other woman, Adora didn't know Etheria by century. Surely this hadn't been the first time something like this had happened.

Razz nodded and took another sip. "Until you came along, Spirits were fading. The magic that was supposed to be all around us, all around them, was gone. Some are still like that, and your blood, She-Ra's blood, brings them back and gives them precious time."

"So, that's why it attacked me? It wanted my blood?"

The look on Razz's face bordered on the indecipherable. A small smile spread thinly across her lips, but she didn't seem particularly happy. "Partly, yes, my dear." But she said nothing else. For a few moments, they drank their tea in the flickering firelight without saying a word.

Where were they anyway? By the looks of the unwashed pots and overgrown vines, they sat in Razz's house. Which, truth be told, was not quite how she pictured the afterlife. "I thought it would be different."

"It almost was." Razz's words sent a shiver down her spine. That was true in a thousand different ways. "But you're here now, and you're safe." She reached out and patted Adora's leg.

Safe. She looked at the cauldron brewing under a steady flame, at the friendly shadows dancing in the corners, and knew Razz told the truth. She was safe, and that wasn't particularly comforting. As soon as she became She-Ra, probably even before that, she took on danger so others didn't have to. If she couldn't do that anymore, what happened to everyone else?

"I can't believe I'm leaving them behind." After carefully setting her tea down, Adora buried her face in her hands. "I've done it so much already. I vowed never to do it again." The wound of her careless departure from the Horde spread so far, so deeply, so angrily, so out of control that it still lingered in her daily thoughts. In some ways, it was the most important decision of her life and she'd messed it up so badly.

"You tried, my dear," Razz said. Tried could be the story of her life. When hadn't she tried? And when had trying ever been enough? "Adora."

"Razz, I'm not ready. It can't happen like this. I didn't even—"

"Adora," Razz interrupted. At that, she lifted her face to meet the older woman's kind eyes.

"What is it?"

"Your healers," Razz said with a grin broken up by missing teeth.

She looked around the room, but nothing changed. What was she missing? "What?"

Adora blinked and blinding light immediately forced her to slam her eyes closed. Talking, talking, talking. So many people yelled, called, spoke over her, around her, through her. Where did they start and where did they end?

"I got her," someone said from right above her, "I got her. Here she comes." A surge of something, of life, burst through her veins, causing her to lift upwards. Or as much as she could. Something, or someone, held her down so she just ended up shaking. "Hey, hey, hey. You're okay. Just breathe."

Someone's ragged breaths, maybe her own, rose above the noise and then replaced it. She dared not open her eyes and see the truth. Wherever she was, she had forever to see it. For now, she possessed precious few seconds to enjoy the in-between. Before anything ended or began.

Soft, familiar fur glided over one cheek before hot breath puffed against her ear. "I'm here." Problem was, Adora wasn't. Not anymore. Consciousness slipped through her fingers easily, like water. The blinding light, the feel of Catra, all of it dulled until she fell backwards, through time and space. The soaring blackness lasted a second and then her feet landed back on solid ground. This time, she did open her eyes and found she could keep them open in the absence of burning, oppressive light. She pressed a hand to her stomach, but she'd healed up. She no longer spilled out into the open air. No longer bled away the days. The pain was gone, too. So gone, in fact, she couldn't quite remember how it felt like the end.

She sat up, then stood, marveling at the mastery she commanded over her body. It went smoothly and without complaints. Strange how her previously broken body demanded her every attention, her every consideration, and now it was quickly becoming an afterthought. All she wanted was to be fixed. There was no want quite like a dying one. But now that she could stand tall, she transfixed on her curious, wandering thoughts. In the middle of it, of keeping her intestines pressed inside her, she never expected that her attention could be pulled from her failing self. It was nice, in a way, to consider a new place idly.

Where was she anyway? Somewhere dusty. Her boots were coated with the stuff, as were her pants. The sun shone high and bright, forcing her to cup a hand over her eyes as she scanned the area. Some people milled about and assembled lazily around Adora. They shifted their eyes toward each other, lips tight, but no one spoke. Scorpioni, avian beings, moth people, magicats, humans, they all made up the ranks of the growing…crowd? Was that what this was?

A building loomed close but the sun was in the wrong place to offer any kind of shade or respite from the heat. A building made of red brick and soaring towers. A building she knew. This was the place where that boy had been pushed, where she'd met the black-haired woman. A kind of metaphor perhaps. Something her mind conjured as a parallel to the Horde. So, this was a dream. What was the lesson this time?

The crowd's shifting restlessness ceased, and all heads turned the same direction. She followed their attention and watched two guards escorting someone out of the building. In the sand stood several wooden posts, and they led the person to one. Was that…? No. But the black hair was unmistakable, so was her defiant stance. With her head held high, the guards bound her wrists around the pole and stepped back.

The woman who tossed that little boy out the window strode from the building. A black whip coiled in her hand like a snake. She walked towards the black-haired woman, scowling and staring at nothing else but her prisoner. Her teenage prisoner. Adora squinted, to get a better look, to be sure, and the black-haired woman was indeed a teenager. Big, sure, but just a kid. Maybe fourteen or fifteen.

The woman who killed that boy was put together in a way that monsters often were. In a purely objective fashion, she was beautiful. Her silver hair fell around her shoulders flatteringly and her perfectly fitting suit looked like she was somehow sewn into it. It must've been easy to float around this place looking like that. The commands to bind a teenager's hands for whipping said with such a smile that one might be hard pressed to disagree.

A crack, as loud as a thunderbolt, cut through the crowd's tension as easily as it cut through the girl's flesh. The woman's whip streaked through the air for a moment, connected, and then twisted in the sand below, leaving a trail of red. Was this supposed to happen so quickly? No one said anything. No announcements.

As if reading her thoughts, the woman called, "This is what happens when you run. This is what happens when ego gets ahead of the group. Do not forget it."

Another hit of the whip, then another.

"I used to piss myself." Adora jumped at the intrusion before calming to recognition. Here was the same black-haired woman she'd come to know. Not the beaten teenager, but the knowing woman. She didn't look at Adora, she watched her younger self. Understandably. Adora always watched her younger self, wanting to understand what moments had made her.

Adora turned to watch the whipping, unsure what to say exactly. Taking her silence as confusion, the woman nodded at the kneeling young girl. "When they whipped me, I pissed myself every time. I always wore black pants because of that. Never let them see you sweat, you know?"

"I…I guess?" She hadn't thought about the details like that. Only the slow tick of time as the clock neared her very painful and very public punishment. Sensing the woman wouldn't say anything else without prompting, Adora added, "I was whipped. Once. For other people. And then I was healed right away. Poof and the pain was gone. One wave of her hand, and I had no scars. I still remember it, though."

They watched the whipping together, separately, silently. "I'm glad they did it," the woman said suddenly, causing Adora to shift her attention away from the kneeling, bleeding teen.

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm glad they whipped me." Few times in her life had Adora been rendered speechless, this was one of those times. "When I try to tell someone what it was like, what this place was like, they never believe me. 'It wasn't that bad,' they say. 'You were just a child, you're remembering it all wrong.' They say that shit and they really mean it. But I have these scars on my back and suddenly it's real. I show them, and I let them trace the lines. Suddenly, like magic, they believe my story. If I just had the memories and my conviction, I'd have nothing. So, I'm glad they whipped me."

"By that logic, I have nothing," Adora said, cringing. Surely anything else would've been more comforting. Silence was better than that horrid answer. "I'm—."

"Don't you think that might be part of the problem?" The woman searched her face calmly. Her words should've been adversarial, but her tone couldn't be taken the wrong way, no matter the words spoken. "I believe you, Adora. Physical scars or not. I don't know if anyone's ever said that to you, but I believe you."

Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, Adora nodded. No one had actually said that to her, and that was no fault of their own. There was nothing to believe or disbelieve. She gave them nothing to contemplate, to judge. What was the matter of believing someone when there was no story shared in the first place?

But the woman's words soaked down, doused a flame, blunted a blade. Without thinking, Adora sat down. In the middle of the crowd, in the middle of the show, she sat. A hundred different people here and only one believed her. For now, that would be enough. It was more than she'd ever gotten in fifty years. She pulled her legs to her chest and rested her head against them.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have–"

Adora put out a hand, stopping the woman's frantic apology. "Don't be sorry, I needed to hear that."

An arm settled around her, and she found the woman seated next to her. Her younger self was being whipped twenty feet away, and yet her eyes stayed locked on Adora. "The first time someone told me that, my life changed," the woman said.

"For the better?"

"Not at first," the woman admitted, "But I got there. I got there. I hope you can, too."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Adora squinted, trying to get another glimpse of the bleeding teen. Where was she now? Unconscious? Dying? This was so much worse than anything Adora ever went through. So much more shattering, more bloody, more everything. It was pathetic to be stuck like this, to be so affected. "Other people have it so much worse. I'm fine. I am okay. I have been for a very long time. I don't need all this. Or, at least, I shouldn't need it."

"So what if other people have it worse?" The woman said, shrugging. "There's always someone who has it worse. They got beaten, they got starved, they got whipped. Whatever. You're allowed to be in pain, too." She took a breath. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you are fucked up. You still come here every night, my friend. You still carry the Horde every single goddamn day. That's okay. And let me tell you something. You did have it bad. Worse than most, if that even matters. Do you a favor and believe yourself. You might find some healing."

She said it all so casually. So easily. You believe yourself and all is well. You believe yourself and then you heal. If it was that easy, she would've done this twenty, thirty years ago. She would've climbed to the tallest mountain and screamed how she believed herself. She would've dusted her hands off and returned home without another thought spared for the past. But that wasn't how it worked. "You're still here, too," Adora pointed out, "How come?"

The woman laughed. "Well, I guess I'm just as fucked up as you are."

"So, you don't have all the answers? I haven't put it together yet?" Adora massaged her temples. If she could figure this stuff out, that would be great. Why was she here, anyway, if not to get better? These dreams, this woman, all for what? She needed to sort this stuff out, not get more questions than answers.

"You look like you're about to kill someone."

Like she'd been taught, Adora froze and accounted for her body. Her balled fists, her tight jaw, her pounding heart. First, she let her jaw go slack, relaxed her shoulders. She opened her fists and breathed. It was time to go somewhere else, think other things. "I can't have this conversation," Adora said.

"Then we won't." The woman smiled easily and turned to watch the whipping again. Adora followed, but the scene had looped into a restart sometime during their conversation.

"This is what happens when you run. This is what happens when ego gets ahead of the group. Do not forget it." Then that first hit, that first slice, that first blood. How long did it loop? How long did it restart? How long were they stuck here?

"What happened?" Adora blurred out.

The woman shrugged. "Just like she said, I ran. And I might've gotten away that time, but I came back."

"You came back?"

"I always dreamed there was a whole wide world out there. And when I ran, I discovered I was right. But I also discovered that none of it was for me. I had nowhere else to go, and no one else to be. So I came back."

"Did you ever escape? After this?" Adora asked.

"I did. I ran so many times, but I always came back. Except for one time. That one stuck."

"And why did that one stick?"

"The injustices were mounting," the woman explained, "My friends were beaten one too many times. Too many battles happened with too little gain. In hindsight, I did not run for myself. That idea still fucks with my head. For so many years, I always thought it was one of the only things I ever did for myself. I always had this belief that it was the nicest thing I have ever done for me. But I didn't do it for me, Adora. I see that now." She turned to watch the crowd, then added, "Honestly, that's probably why it stuck."

"When I left the Horde, I didn't do it for me, either. If I had, I would've left years and years earlier. I should have, you know? In hindsight. But I didn't."

"Hmmm," the woman hummed. She searched Adora's face but said nothing else. Did she find what she wanted? "Why were you whipped? That one time?"

Adora rolled the memory over her tongue, admired its metallic taste. The woman was right; there was something undeniably validating about beatings, about whippings, about getting hit. "Some cadets, who were technically under my command, tried to steal from the kitchen. That happened all the time, but they got caught that time. Shadow Weaver was going to whip all of them, but I demanded that it be me. That I would take it, and she agreed."

"But why? You didn't do anything."

"Sure, but I was the leader. And more than that, they were my friends. They were my responsibility, and that meant taking the good and the bad. Plus, that was four people. Four people whipped to my one self. How could I let that pain spread over that many people when I alone could have it? It was an easy choice back then, and I would do it again."

The woman opened her mouth, seemingly intending to say something, before shutting it again. Finally, she said, "Not many people would do that, you know? I'm not sure I would."

"You might surprise yourself."

"Maybe." But she didn't seem convinced.

Next to the great building, with the soaring towers and careful brickwork, a teen was whipped with a brutality that should've been reserved for no one. The crowd watched, doing nothing. Perhaps anyone else would've wondered at their indifference, at their empathy that never extended into action. Not Adora. She knew that feeling, of watching, of staying still. This was normal, she could tell. Their world had whippings from the very beginning; the bloody scene was not shocking.

"Is that the worst you ever got hurt?" The woman asked.

"No," Adora answered, "I think I'm actually going through that right now."

At that, the woman looked up sharply, eyebrows drawn down. A thousand questions crossed her face before she settled on one. "What do you mean?"

The question lingered between them and then between worlds. As the scene froze and began to fade (whip mid-hit), the concerned look on the woman's face stayed. There were a million other things to consider, to watch, but Adora kept looking at the woman. Something about her expression felt important. Felt genuine. Frozen like this, she looked a little bit like a statue. A worried one. This figment of her imagination casted back an emotion that eluded Adora throughout this whole process: concern for her own well-being. If whatever piece of her that constructed this woman, this world, looked this upset, this genuinely scared, then what was coming? Not death, she'd escaped that only through the skill of the castle's healers. What had her mind like this? What twisted it into panic?

All the warnings she'd ever gotten from herself, in her dreams, fared better in hindsight. The symbolism was beyond her conscious self, the themes a little too convoluted. But she was starting to get this message. The woman's face reflected back something worse, something deeper than she'd ever gifted to herself. Something she desperately needed to understand. Something about running.

And then the woman was gone.

With a ragged inhale, Adora was elsewhere. In bed. In the dark. Moonlight streamed in as broken beams when it hit the blinds covering the windows. In the dim lighting, next to her bed, Adora could make out a pair of ears. Then the sound of snoring tore through the almost peaceful scene, causing Adora to breathe out a sigh. It was just a dream. She wasn't dead. Everything was okay. Or it would be.

"Catra," she croaked. A snore cut off and then silence. Did she hear her? "Cat–"

She stood up suddenly, her mismatched eyes wide and unblinking. "Adora." Catra said, her voice cracking. She looked over Adora before seemingly deciding on something. Carefully, slowly, Catra leaned closer and pressed her face into the crook of Adora's neck. With a shaky hand, Catra combed through her wife's hair. Adora closed her eyes, and soaked up the sensation of being alive, of being with Catra. This was how found the strength to crawl back to the castle. How she kept going when all she wanted to do was stop.

"This is my preferred way to come back from the dead, you know? In your arms. Maybe kissing. Just a thought."

Catra pulled back, rolled her eyes, but kissed Adora anyways. And it was everything it needed to be: soft, reassuring, familiar, and good. She missed her wife out there, out in the woods. Missed her into her next life.

Marriage and kids bound them, sure. But there wasn't anybody in the whole galaxy who truly got her. No one except Catra. Adora wasn't well understood, she knew that. And that was endlessly frustrating to live with. The blank stares, the scratching heads, the jokes that were funny but no one else laughed. That was hard to take, and some days were worse than others. Where were her people? And then Catra was there and Adora could breathe.

And maybe it was time to say that. "Catra," she whispered, "I won't die on you that easily. We've been through so much, and I love you and the kids too much. Plus, we only make one functional person combined so we gotta stick together."

Catra laughed, totally and freely. It was the kind of laugh that could only come after a near tragedy. The kind that was almost unbelieving but unwilling to ask too many questions. It was an expression of relief, and blissful recognition that Adora would live to annoy her another day.

"Lie down with me." Adora tried to lift her arm but it wouldn't respond.

Catra lifted her head, swallowed, and said, "I don't know if that's…"

"I'm not going to bleed out all over just because you lie next to me." Catra glanced at the door then very carefully, very nimbly lowered herself next to Adora. Still they weren't touching and that was the whole goal. "I wanna feel you."

Catra blinked slowly at her before moving a bit closer and delicately placing an arm over her. With equal care, she moved until her front was pressed against Adora's arm and side. Adora couldn't turn her head, but she knew her wife's head laid close to hers. A soft purr radiated out from her, and her warmth leached into Adora's bones. This was also her preferred way of coming back from the dead.

"Adora…"

"I know." And she did. But what was there to say? A million words from a million poets could not capture the depth of their almost collective loss. They were Catra and Adora, as paired to the other as the sky to her oceans. So what happened when there was just one? They'd almost found out, and there were no words for that.

Instead of speaking, they clung to each other. Or Catra clung and Adora laid. But if she could have, Adora would've reached out and never let go.

"Where are the kids? Are they okay?"

"They're with your parents. I explained that you got hurt, but no details." A shaky inhale. "Adora, I almost had to tell them…" A muffled sob escaped from where Catra's face pressed into Adora's neck.

If they reversed, if it was Catra in the woods, Catra getting dragged away, Catra dying…Was there anything worse? How many hard things had she lived through? And yet, telling their kids that Catra was dead seemed almost undoable, unfathomable. How did that conversation even go?

She did not envy Catra's position, those hours or days of thinking how to tell them, when everything was in flux and Adora teetered between the living and the dead. Strange, twilight hours where the world could end with the next breath. How Catra survived that was beyond her.

"I am so sorry," Adora whispered. Leaving halfway through their life together was not part of the plan. If she could, she'd go back in time and stop herself from heading into the woods. She'd tell herself to ignore that draw, that oddly comforting call that led her to time and time again to the dark recesses of the Whispering Woods. "You kept me going, you know that? I wasn't going to die out there and leave you to pick up the pieces. I wouldn't let you down like that." At that, Catra laughed. Unsure what other reaction to have, Adora laughed along nervously. "What's, uuhhh, what's so funny?"

"Letting me down? Spirits, Adora, you almost just died! Don't worry about letting me down, you idiot. Worry about healing, worry about getting better. For once, worry about yourself."

"Absolutely," Adora started, "not."

Catra laughed and nestled back into her wife's neck. Adora thought better of commenting on the tears soaking her skin and blanket. For a time, they both shook side to side as Catra's sobs rocked the bed, her uneven, shaky breaths becoming the defining noise of the moment.

After a while, Catra spoke softly, "What would I have done without you?"

"You'll never find out."

"You promise?" Catra asked, her eyes unblinking as they met Adora's.

No. Never. No matter how much she may have wanted to promise that she would always come back, she could guarantee nothing. It did not work that way. Especially as She-Ra. Especially when you had a target on your back. Especially when you were prophesied to die soon.

And how many promises had she broken over the years? Only a couple, but they were important. How could she do that again to Catra? How many broken promises could her wife take?

Still, she said, "I promise."

Catra took her in, her full measure. Perhaps a lifetime of assessments conglomerated into this one. Did she like what she saw? Was the person in front of her the person she'd intended to marry?

Apparently satisfied, Catra smiled a little. "Pinky promise?"

"If I could move my pinky, you'd have my promise."

Catra reached down and clasped their pinkies together. "Now you can't break it. Those are the rules. Sorry, I don't make them."

Adora smiled and closed her eyes, felt the world slipping. Was this what it felt like to be injured? It was so hard to remember how easy sleep pulled you under when a wound demanded something longer than a few seconds of consideration.

"What happened?" Catra asked, her voice tying Adora back to the bed.

Her dreams could wait. "Do you really want to know?" Catra nodded and wiped at the tears staining her face. Adora found a spot on the wall and began, "Well, it all started with this curtain…" She explained that magnetic pull to the woods, her trip in, Velesta, Brick and Sunny, and the fleeting glimpses of their pursuer. Despite a voice telling her not to, Adora also described how the thing pulled her close, blew a hot breath into her face, and told her how it was protecting Etheria against her.

No other part of this story could measure up to those words. No knife, no teeth, no claws had quite the killing potential that those words possessed. Even when the conversation moved on, she half lingered on the implication.

She stopped, looked towards her wife. Catra still hung onto every word, but this next part would be hardest on her wife. But it was the truth, so she forged on. She closed her eyes and the hospital room faded into the memory of that night.

Time paused for a moment when the knife slid into her stomach. She remembered her gasp of surprise. That shock stood out in a night of surprises. That careful gutting, that considered slice, as it looked in her eyes and tried to kill her. This was no mistaken identity, no random act of violence. It had come for her, and only her. When it looked into her eyes, its elated expression belonged to a hunter finally caught up with its promised prey.

Its knife came out gleaming with blood then just shiny as the rain washed her away from its blade. The knife itself was pure black, something she'd never seen before in all her travels. And it cut a path that would not heal. It'd been thirty years since she was just Adora, thirty years since bandages and pressure were the first line of defense, thirty years since she'd suffered an injury longer than a few seconds. And she'd forgotten how to do this.

She staggered backwards, brought her hand to her spilling gut. So this was it?

The beast stepped towards her, knife at the ready. About ten minutes prior, she had a lifetime of rage to parcel out across the years. But now she had minutes and her rage began to fill her constricting vessel. Like magic, her pain transformed into an actionable red.

When the beast took another step, so did she. A flash of something, of fear, crossed its face. How many rabbits walked back into the fox's den? How many deer tracked the wolf pack?

The Sword of Protection glowed and began a low hum. Even in the downpour, the noise thrummed in her chest. As soon as the creature took a shaky step back, it was all over.

She began hacking with the uncoordinated desperation that was altogether unfamiliar. Each blow came down in a slightly different spot, each swing a different level of force, each gash a different depth. Adora didn't hit to kill and she certainly didn't do it clumsily. And yet…And yet…

She stopped talking. How to explain this? She'd been attacked, and she'd attacked back. There was a simple arithmetic to it. Her hand was forced, it'd been self-defense. But that was hard to explain when she'd split it open, bashed its head, bled it out. Spirits could not be killed, but she'd tested the limits of that natural law with every single swing of her sword.

When she finished, when she tripped backwards and fell into a heap, the creature was barely recognizable. Its wings lay shredded and disconnected in some places. It'd been screaming the whole time, but its voice faded into a whimper.

With that, she left. Turned and didn't look back. Maybe she should've stopped to make sure the beast could stagger back to wherever home was, but she hadn't. She'd left it groaning in pain and in ribbons. That leaving was when her long trip back started. When the trees shifted, and the forest twisted around her. She told Catra about that too, and Mara.

When she finished, Catra remained silent. Adora couldn't blame her, that was a lot to take in. She'd been the one to live through it all, and it was still hard to believe. Finally, Catra said, "What was that thing? When you got back to the castle, I mean? What tried to drag you away?"

Right, that…thing. "I don't know," Adora said, truthfully, "But between that, the beast in the woods, and the Spirit at the banquet, I, ummm." She swallowed. "I don't think Etheria's very happy with me."

As soon as Catra kissed her, she knew her wife thought so too. Catra was the smartest person she knew, and her confirmation of Adora's sneaking suspicions doubled the weight on her chest. Almost getting killed was one thing, almost having that happen as a deliberate, targeted killing was quite another.

Maybe it was the exhaustion blanketing her slowly like fresh snow. Or maybe her stomach wound drained too much of her. Or maybe it was the realization that some part of her was so flawed, so damaged, that Etheria demanded her death. Maybe it was all three that made her cry.

Tears bursted out of her with a speed she didn't think herself capable of right now. Catra sat back, alarmed, then busied herself with being Adora's rock. She brushed the tears off Adora's face with a featherlight touch, and pushed the tangle of blonde hair out of her eyes. It did not stop the question of the century, maybe the question of Adora's life, from bubbling out of her. "What did I do, Catra? What did I do to deserve this?"

"You didn't deserve this," Catra said instantly, "Not one bit." The combination of Catra's low voice whispering more comforting words and the draining quality of crying sent Adora back to sleep, despite her best efforts to stay.

…

Next time she woke up, Bow, Glimmer, Red, and her parents milled about her room. Glimmer noticed her first. She sipped at her coffee, glanced up, then froze when their eyes met. For the first time in a long time, she didn't wear flowing robes; instead, she wore a rumpled t-shirt and pants. Judging by that choice of attire and her coffee, they'd probably been keeping watch over her for some time.

"Adora?" Glimmer whispered, then her voice rose to an almost-shout, "Adora!" The rest of the room turned before rushing the bed.

Hopefully, this situation was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, meaning that her window of opportunity for joking was also fleeting. "Who are you people? I've never seen you before." All four stopped and exchanged a look that could only be described as indescribable. Not wishing to upset them for too long, Adora laughed and grinned. "I'm just kidding, get over here."

Glimmer and Bow reached her first before her parents and Red followed. "Holy shit," Glimmer said as she carefully hugged Adora. "You are never, ever allowed outside again. Especially not in those fucking woods."

"We're so glad you're okay, Adora," Bow added before leaning in to give her a hug.

"Okay is a strong word," Adora said. Even now, her stomach wound ached. "But I'm alive."

"Thank the fucking stars," Glimmer said, hugging her again. Bow also came in for a second hug, and it became a little difficult to breathe in the royal hug sandwich.

"Guys," Adora wheezed out, "You're squishing me." Bow immediately jerked back with a horrified look, and Glimmer followed right after. "No harm done, I'm just a little tender, you know?"

They both nodded in agreement but took great care not to touch her again. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything.

Glimmer frowned and said, "I don't understand any of this, I thought She-Ra was invincible."

The knife. That black knife. For some reason, she lingered on the noise she made. The exhale/grunt when it cut her open so easily, so unexpectedly. It really shouldn't have been a surprise; the knife did exactly as it was made to do. But even now, hours or days later, some part of her remained shocked at the attack. For its brazenness, for its violence, and for how her body bled greedily, with no consideration as to what was supposed to happen or her general feelings on the matter. It bled and it bled, and it did not care about her supposed invulnerability. It was a betrayal she could not shake.

"She is. Mostly. You should've seen my other injuries." The shattered jaw, her ripped off cheek. Her leg had been broken in two places, pulled apart by the creature's chain. The way it drunk her blood and choked her. All, in their own devious ways, worse than the stomach wound, except in one key area: they could heal and they did. "But I thought so too. Trust me, no one is more shocked about all this than I am," Adora said, "When I was…out there, bleeding and trying to find my way back in the rain, and I couldn't heal? I'm not sure I've ever been more surprised." Or desperate. Or dangerous.

"Adora, I don't even know what to say," Glimmer admitted, "I'm sorry this happened. It never should have. And I won't let it happen again. That, I can promise you." Adora smiled, but what could Glimmer do? No decree could undo the attack, no order could mend this wound.

"I've never heard better news in my entire life than when the healers said you'd be okay," Bow said before planting a kiss on Adora's forehead. "Whatever you need, we'll make sure you get it, okay? Don't be afraid to ask."

"Wait, where are you…?" She understood when they both glanced at her parents.

"We'll be right outside if you need anything," Glimmer said, squeezing her shoulder. Then both left and only her parents and Red remained.

"Red. Mom. Dad." Was that too familiar? Should she go with Hannah and Fisher?

"Adora," her mom said, placing a worn hand over her daughter's, "I can't believe we almost lost ya again." Truth be told, Adora felt the same. How could this have happened? At the height of her life, she'd almost been struck down by the very planet she always assumed would be on her side. And it didn't just know her, it knew everything about her. It knew about the Horde and how she struggled. It watched her shatter her sword, and fight Horde Prime. They raised their kids here, and maybe she hadn't been born here, but it was certainly home. Or it had been.

The betrayals were mounting.

"So, this is what it's like?" Her dad asked.

Pulled from her thoughts, Adora frowned at her own lack of understanding. "Is what like?"

"Bein' She-Ra. This is what it's like?"

"It's usually not so…" What did she mean? Because it was demanding, at all hours of the day. It was dangerous and it could be too much. But death had only ever been a viable option once before. "I have only been that close to death one other time. So, it's not usually so bad. It could absolutely be worse. Sometimes it's even fun." Even to her own ears, it didn't sound like a riveting endorsement. Both her parents swallowed audibly. "But I wouldn't give it up for anything. She's more than just someone I transform into. And she's not a sword. I am She-Ra. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Kinda," her dad said, settling into a chair next to her, "But I suspect it's one of those things that ya have to go through to truly understand."

"I think you're right about that."

Silence. Nothing to say. But then, "I'm sorry it's not been easy. And I mean that in the broadest possible way," her dad said, "When we found out that ya were the Imperator, we cried for hours and hours. And they weren't tears of joy. It's a hard life, a duty-bound life. And it ain't a callin' like the sea is. And maybe She-Ra ain't the Imperator, but as far as I can gather, they're damned close. After this week, it seems like maybe we were right to be so upset."

What could she say to that? If it were Reyna or Finn in this bed, she'd feel the same way. Words often failed her, but never so dramatically as waking up from this particular wound. So she fell back on a phrase that had almost always built bridges and repaired the damage. "I'm sorry," Adora said. She'd never been more aware of how the attack exploded outwardly like a bomb, her family and friends caught in the shrapnel of grief and worry. Perhaps she suffered things differently, but never alone.

"Oh, honey," her mom said with a soft smile, "You don't have a thing to be sorry for. We all just want ya to be okay."

She ached for okay. She hungered after it. Good was long gone; great had never been an option. Okay was such an easy want, and somehow almost unobtainable. "Me, too. And thank you."

"Mind if I come in, Princess Adora?" Honey stood at the door, patiently waiting. She pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose and clutched a datapad with both hands. She was tiny, smaller than both Catra and Glimmer but immensely powerful. She was young still, but already the castle's best healer.

"Of course, come in."

"We'll give ya some privacy," her mom said before leaving the room with her dad.

Red stayed a moment longer but didn't break the silence he'd kept over the course of the visit. He simply patted her hand, smiled, and then left. She watched him go for a moment. They'd promised that they'd try to salvage their relationship, and this was his way of reaching out. Now she just had to do the same.

Honey approached the bed and began to undo the dressings on Adora's stomach. But even Honey's expert touch sent pain shooting through her, and she clenched her jaw tight to stop any grunts from escaping. "It's looking better, for sure." Adora looked down and inhaled sharply. This was better? Visible stitches held her together; the skin around the puncture blossomed into a strange mosaic of blue, black, and yellow.

"What's the situation?' Adora asked.

"As I explained to Princess Catra, elemental magic isn't working on this wound. I have no idea why, I've never seen this before, but there you have it. Spells saved you, and they're also healing the wound now. But it's gonna be much slower than what you're used to, Princess."

"How long?"

"A month at the earliest, but I'd wager longer."

At this, Adora turned to look out the nearby window. Could Etheria go a month without a healthy She-Ra? Could she? And what about just Adora? She wanted her back too.

"I'm sorry," Honey said.

"Don't be. It's not your fault." Sometimes fault was hard to assign, or wholly unnecessary. But it was easy to see that Adora was the one who'd caused all this. If she'd just stayed away from the forest, if she'd just gone to sleep, none of this would've happened.

"Maybe not, Princess, but I'm still sorry. I hate to see you like this." She squeezed Adora's shoulder and smiled at her sadly.

Another thought, equally as important, crossed Adora's mind. "You saved me, didn't you?"

Honey shrugged. "It was a team effort," the young woman said, "It took every healer in this castle." She looked away at some spot on the wall. "You were pretty far gone. Too far for any one person to bring back."

"Then I owe every single one of you my life." Adora held her gaze. Perhaps she thought Adora was exaggerating, but she wasn't.

"A pay raise would be sufficient, Princess," Honey said, grinning. Adora couldn't help but laugh, and they left it at that.

When Brick and Sunny came in a few minutes later, she still searched the distant woods for answers. Some part of her half hoped the creature would step out, and they could finish things once and for all. But nothing came except for two very sorry, very humbled young adults. Brick couldn't make eye contact, and Sunny sniffled occasionally.

"Guys, you're acting like it's my funeral," Adora pointed out.

"It could've been!" Brick yelled, causing a stunned silence to follow. She couldn't remember the last time he yelled like that. Maybe sometime as a teenager.

"I guess I'm dressed for it," Sunny said, trying to diffuse. She nodded to her all-black attire accented by black lipstick. That would usually work on Brick, but he failed to even smile.

"You almost died, Adora," Brick said, voice cracking, "And it would've been all our fault. So fucking stupid."

"It wouldn't have been your fault. I went into the woods, I alone accepted the danger." She took a breath. "I did this to myself. There's no one else to blame."

"Catra was fucking pissed at us. I've never been chewed out like that in my entire life, even when I killed my mom's peace tree by accident. I mean, she was absolutely seething with fury, but even she said it wasn't our fault," Sunny added.

"Catra talked to you guys?"

"Oh, yes," Brick said, lifting his eyebrows, "Did she ever. And she was right. We were idiots, and that almost got you killed."

"Brick, I should've known better than to go, especially after that Spirit appeared at the feast. Especially because it was the Day of Restoration. If anyone was being stupid, it was me."

Sunny cocked her head, searched Adora's face for a moment, and asked, "And why did you go?"

Why did she go when she knew better? What kept her coming back? If she knew that, perhaps none of this would've happened. "I don't know. I guess I could feel them calling. I knew something wanted to talk." It was a lame excuse and all three knew it. Normally Brick would comment but it seemed her injury had afforded her one non-answer.

"And before…before everything happened, what was that Spirit saying? We saw the pyre and that other Adora."

Right. They'd seen Velesta's visions. Adora sighed and nodded at her water. "Little help here?" After Sunny helped her drink, she settled back in the bed. Where to begin with this particular mess? Simple and true. That was where. "She was warning me that danger was near, and that I had to be careful. And I'd say that she was pretty accurate."

"She couldn't have, I don't know, sent you a carrier pigeon with the exact same message? She really had to see you in the woods?" Sunny narrowed her eyes. "It just seems a little sussy, you know?"

"I don't think it was like that," Adora said, "I don't think she was trying to lure me into a trap. She seemed just as surprised when…whatever that thing was showed up. Spirits are not the united front they may appear to be. Much goes on in their world that we can only hope to understand."

Brick nodded, but Sunny frowned before saying, "I still don't like it. All this Spirit shit makes me feel ill."

"Trust me, I get it. But you don't have to get involved anymore. Just leave it to me." A shiver ran through her, but it was a mere shadow to the lightning bolt of shock that struck her when she turned to find them in the Whispering Woods and in great danger. "In fact, please leave it to me."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Brick said. Stunningly, she actually believed him.

"Why did you follow me anyways, you two knuckleheads? Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to follow someone unannounced into a dark and dangerous forest?"

"In between dinner etiquette and dance lessons, I guess I forgot to take that class," Brick said, dull eyes starting to twinkle. There he was.

"Adora," Sunny started, "You've been acting weird. We've all noticed it. And when we saw you leaving, we thought we'd get a better idea of what's going on with you."

She couldn't look at them anymore. Her stupid, funny, eager apprentices followed her because she'd been coming undone. Another reason this was all her fault. If she could pull it together just a little, maybe she could prevent another near catastrophe. "I'm sorry." It was the phrase of the day. "I know I've been…strange lately. But I'll do better."

"We don't want you to be better, we want you to be okay," Brick said, "Okay, grandma?"

"Grand—-? Okay, alright. Nurse!"

…

When she could stay awake for longer than an hour, Catra collected the kids for a visit. A much needed, life affirming visit that helped teeter her back to the land of the living.

When three pairs of ears walked through the door, no Spirit could've wiped the smile off her face. But it did falter a little when both kids walked in with their ears swiveled sideways. Reyna hung close to Catra, a small bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand. Always the lionhearted, she led the trio but her poofy tail gave her trepidation away. Finn's hair was combed nicely to the side and, surprisingly, they spoke first. "Hi, mom."

"Hi, Finny." Adora wiped a tear off her face with a shaky hand. Her weakness did not go unnoticed.

"What happened to you?" Reyna asked.

At the exact same time, she and Catra made eye contact. They'd practiced this part, but she still stammered her way through it. "I, uhhh, had a bit of an accident. But I'm going to be okay. I just need to rest more, and then I'll be alright."

"What kind of accident?" Finn said. What kind, indeed? They'd entered unknown territory. Few people had ever talked to a Spirit, even less were attacked. They didn't yet have a language to describe their spectral counterparts and the violence they were apparently capable of committing.

Catra picked up her slack, filled the growing silence. "Mommy had a little accident in the Whispering Woods. She hurt her stomach, so we need to be extra careful with her, okay?" She looked at Reyna and added, "That means you, Reyns. No jumping, jostling, or otherwise roughhousing on or nearby Mommy. Okay?"

"Okay," Reyna agreed, tail drooping.

"But you can still come and give me a hug," Adora said, stretching her arms as far as they could go in her diminished state. With careful concentration that was altogether new for her daughter, Reyna climbed up the bed and snuggled into Adora's side.

Reyna looked up with those cute, wide eyes that made it near impossible for Adora to deny her anything and said, "I missed you." Adora opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she started crying instead.

Reyna bolted upright, eyes wide, and said, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Shit. She hadn't meant to both scar and scare her daughter in one go, but here they were. Both Finn and Catra reached her bed in record time, and she'd traumatized her entire family with a single bout of tears.

"I'm okay," Adora reassured them, "I'm okay. I just missed you guys, too. So, so much." She'd almost missed them forever, missed the people they'd become, missed the things they'd do. They didn't deserve to see her like this nor did they deserve the worry and stress. Watching Catra almost die was a thousand times worse than almost dying herself. And she'd spread that very pain to the ones she loved most in the world.

She didn't hate much, but its flame grew steadily in her heart for that beast and the part of Etheria that wanted her dead.

Catra brushed blonde hair from her eyes, and Finn held her hand. Reyna sorta hovered over her nervously before settling back down. "Awww, don't cry, Mom," Finn said, "We're here now."

"I know," Adora said, futilely wiping at the tears still running down her face, "Seeing you guys makes all the difference in the world to me. I love you both so much, you know that? You're my whole world."

"I love you too, Mommy!" Reyna threw her hands around Adora's neck a little too forcefully, but she managed to stop a groan of pain from rising out of her. She motioned at Finn, and they leaned in to give her a hug. She let out a breath she'd likely been holding for days now.

Something mended in her then. Something that had been steadily oozing out of her since the attack. Something that dulled the colors of the room and stole the words from her mouth when she tried to tell her story. Something both insidious and much too loud. No one else but their kids could've had this effect. She hugged them both tighter.

Over the tops of their kids' heads, Adora mouthed, 'Thank you,' to Catra. She'd brought them in to see her, been holding the fort down, really everything. She owed her wife one, possibly twenty.

It was one thing to know that they were partners in all things. One thing to say the vows and to have a wedding. And it was quite another to watch it happen, to be the receiver of such support. Adora needed to see their kids, and Catra made it happen. It really was that simple. But simple did not mean easy. Who knew what it took to be the anchor? Who knew what it took to be there for everyone?

When Reyna and Finn moved back, Catra walked closer and took Adora's hand in hers. She squeezed her hand three times. I love you. Adora squeezed back. I love you, too.

"So you just lie here all day? Aren't you bored? I'd be bored," Reyna said, sitting crisscross next to Adora. Her ears pricked forward, and the tip of her tail flicked.

"Oh, it's not all bad," Adora said, brushing some curls off Reyna's face, "I get to eat popsicles all day." She leaned in closer. "The blue kind."

Reyna's eyes widened. "All day?"

"All day," Adora confirmed. "And I bet I can get you one. You too, Finny. If you want. And Mom."

"I wouldn't say no to one," Finn said with a smile.

"Me neither," Catra added. With that, Adora got busy procuring their snack.

After Reyna and Finn left with their grandparents, Catra stayed behind to relay the news of the world to Adora. The beast, she explained, could not be found. In fact, the Whispering Woods seemed totally normal. There were no overturned trees, no clearings drenched with dried blood. The odd exception being that no animals were sighted during the exploratory trip into the woods. Not one bird, not one boar. They'd run for their lives, it seemed, and hadn't yet returned. Adora couldn't blame them. At the prospect of going back to the woods, her stomach somersaulted.

The last bit of news came from far away, from a distant planet. "We received another message from Tirik."

"Oh, ya?" Adora said through a mouthful of jello. "What did it say?" She lifted her head from her gelatinous treat when Catra remained silent. "You're kinda scaring me. What did it say?"

"Well," she said, drumming her fingers, "It cut off. I didn't get much. It just said, 'Send help. Queen Evangeline is here.'"