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“Those whom I love have gone and I remain, like a sword, alone.”
— marilyn hacker, ‘fugue on a line of amr bin m’ad yakrib'
Adora used to sleep with a rough blanket, scraping against her cheek and making her feel itchy all over. It sucked, especially after a tough day of training when all she wanted to do was relax and sleep. Everything changed when she got to bright moon, though, where soft was the word used to describe absolutely everything she touched and tasted. It felt funny against her skin at first, but she got used to the thin fright zone blanket, she could get used to this thick one.
Soft, she thinks to herself, like the strands of blonde hair touching her face after refusing it for so long. Her scalp hurts, itches, but she’s too tired to even care. The sword is gone. She Ra is gone. Everything is gone.
She closes her eyes, inhales and reaches her hand.
Catra’s skin has always been the softest thing she ever knew. Before Adora even knew there was a word for the silky feeling on her fingers when she ran them through the smooth thin fur that covered catra’s arms at night. Catra liked to think that she was actually fooling someone by pretending to be asleep, but Adora knew best— she always did, when it came to Catra. For some time, at least.
There were some bold days that Catra would be facing Adora. And it was riskier, being this close, but her hands were already on the side of Catra’s face, brushing her fingers lightly on her tuffs, where she knew that Shadow Weaver touched Catra sometimes. And it felt so wrong, so heavy, and Catra always looked so devastated after— she couldn’t help but want for Catra to not have bad memories about this touch. That, when Catra would think of someone touching her face, she would remember adora doing this while she pretended to be asleep.
The way that Catra settled on the bed and her face brushed against adora’s hand, almost wanting more— soft. the way that Adora felt Catra’s lips, once, soft and sweet —another word she learned, and wishes she hadn’t.
Soft, like the silk and cold sheet against her hand now.
Adora opens her eyes.
There’s no one at the end of her bed.
If she goes out on the corridor, Glimmer won’t be in her room. If she goes to battle, there won’t be the weight of her sword against her skin, or the loud noise that her heart made on her ears when she spotted Catra on the battlefield.
The sword is gone.
Catra is gone.
Everything is gone.