Before the flooding, Adora walked around the island with a certain confidence, an (undeserved) assurance that she had things under control. She was making progress with Catra, despite the crushing weight of her lies, and no matter how often it felt like two steps forward, one step back. She'd made new allies, new friends, and not even Shadow Weaver had the power to stop her anymore.
In the end, it wasn't Shadow Weaver, or even Catra she should have been worried about: it was herself. When the water rose, she was useless; inside the lighthouse... she was worse. Far, far worse. For the most part, she's been avoiding people since, but guilt alone can't preclude her from needing to eat, even if the new food burns her hands when she touches it, as if telling her she deserves to starve instead. (Maybe it's right, but Etheria still needs She-Ra, and Adora can't hand off the sword with nobody in line to give it to. At the very least, she needs to make sure it gets back there safely.)
She's trudging towards Fruit's Basket to pick up her usual rations when she spots a familiar shock of pink hair attached to an equally familiar face... only, not quite. It's Glimmer all over, but she looks different than Adora remembers her--and instantly, fear pools in her stomach as she thinks of how quickly she'd believed Nero's reassurance that things back home would just stop, all out of a selfish desperation to keep Catra close again. That by not wanting to lose anyone, she might have lost everyone; leaving Bright Moon undefended and giving the Horde time to regroup.
For the first time in over a day, Adora finds her voice; dread permeating every word, heavy as the weight of the world on her shoulders.
"Glimmer?" Until recently, her biggest concern would have been keeping Glimmer safe from Shadow Weaver... and Catra safe from Glimmer. Now, she's terrified for an entirely different reason. "You can't-- you shouldn't be here. Where's Bow? Who's protecting Bright Moon?"
Her right hand grips her infected arm, the marks under her sleeve sealed, but still a threat. She's still a threat, like Mara was, the way Light Hope warned her she would be. If only she'd listened, instead of thinking she had a right to be herself, too.
frosty
Before the flooding, Adora walked around the island with a certain confidence, an (undeserved) assurance that she had things under control. She was making progress with Catra, despite the crushing weight of her lies, and no matter how often it felt like two steps forward, one step back. She'd made new allies, new friends, and not even Shadow Weaver had the power to stop her anymore.
In the end, it wasn't Shadow Weaver, or even Catra she should have been worried about: it was herself. When the water rose, she was useless; inside the lighthouse... she was worse. Far, far worse. For the most part, she's been avoiding people since, but guilt alone can't preclude her from needing to eat, even if the new food burns her hands when she touches it, as if telling her she deserves to starve instead. (Maybe it's right, but Etheria still needs She-Ra, and Adora can't hand off the sword with nobody in line to give it to. At the very least, she needs to make sure it gets back there safely.)
She's trudging towards Fruit's Basket to pick up her usual rations when she spots a familiar shock of pink hair attached to an equally familiar face... only, not quite. It's Glimmer all over, but she looks different than Adora remembers her--and instantly, fear pools in her stomach as she thinks of how quickly she'd believed Nero's reassurance that things back home would just stop, all out of a selfish desperation to keep Catra close again. That by not wanting to lose anyone, she might have lost everyone; leaving Bright Moon undefended and giving the Horde time to regroup.
For the first time in over a day, Adora finds her voice; dread permeating every word, heavy as the weight of the world on her shoulders.
"Glimmer?" Until recently, her biggest concern would have been keeping Glimmer safe from Shadow Weaver... and Catra safe from Glimmer. Now, she's terrified for an entirely different reason. "You can't-- you shouldn't be here. Where's Bow? Who's protecting Bright Moon?"
Her right hand grips her infected arm, the marks under her sleeve sealed, but still a threat. She's still a threat, like Mara was, the way Light Hope warned her she would be. If only she'd listened, instead of thinking she had a right to be herself, too.