Chapter Text
Softly, against a worn tatami floor, a well-loved cell phone sprang to life.
In a blaze of vibrations, it rattled against the soft flooring, its dance signaling the coming morning even before the sun managed to crest the nearby mountains. Its owner, meanwhile, tried to squeeze in a few final winks, hoping against hope that her phone would just shut itself off and let her enjoy these last precious seconds of her weekend.
But the phone persisted, as it always did, and before long, Adora found herself roused to the reality of the long week ahead.
With a heavy sigh, she pulled a hand out from under her pillow and nabbed the phone. The alarm silenced, Adora stared at the black mirror for a beat, her vision still too blurry to make out her own reflection. In the back of her mind, she weighed the option of just skipping morning practice entirely. It would be worth it, she dreamed, if Coach Angella weren’t around to notice.
Her coach would notice, of course. What coach worth her salt wouldn't notice their captain's absence at Monday morning drills? The thought of letting down the team was enough to scuttle any truant ideation as well, forcing Adora to heed her alarm and start the day in earnest.
Clicking her phone on, Adora took note of the current time. "7:17", the lock screen read, a gentle reminder that she needed to be out the door and on the way to the train station in 30 minutes flat. But seeing as she only needed 27 minutes to shower and grab a bite to eat (she'd timed herself numerous times), Adora decided to cash in a couple minutes of relaxation here in bed, where no one was forcing her to run sprints.
After adjusting her pillow, Adora tapped in her passcode - 66666 - and swiped her phone open. Without missing a beat, she pecked the Instagram app and closed her eyes, hoping to avoid the discomfort of its bright transition screen just this once.
When she reopened her eyes, she was surprised to see a horse of a different color. Rather, her usual feed of star athletes, motivational speakers, and social justice leaders had all apparently taken Monday off. In their place was an artistic array the likes of which Adora would have expected to see in the marbled corridors of a museum or gallery.
A statue, a candid, a detailed painting of the State/Lake station; a triptych, a doodle, a fish-eyed snapshot of Bright Moon at sunset; a charcoal sketch, a modified Polaroid, and now…was that woman covered only in paint? That was definitely new…but it wasn’t anything a quick restart couldn’t fix.
With a grumble, Adora tried to hold down the right buttons to force a hard reset. But as she moved her thumb down to the home button, she grazed the app’s camera icon. Even before she realized what her clumsy hands had done, the camera booted up, revealing a mirrored image of Adora in all her pre-morning-shower glory.
Or at least, that's what Adora expected to see. Instead, staring back at her was a new face, a stern face, a face that was cloyingly familiar and in the same measure, undeniably foreign.
Her heterochromatic eyes stood out first, blue and yellow like a pair of rare gems against her medium complexion. Next came her jaw line, agile and foxlike in all of the right ways. Even this woman's wild almond mane was hard to ignore, its unkempt state speaking volumes of its owner's restless sleeping habits.
Then, as she leaned forward to get a closer look at this unusually fetching stranger, a thought crossed Adora's mind. It was a curious, improbable thought - something straight out of the sci-fi novels she used to love as a kid. But it was a pertinent thought, nonetheless, especially after witnessing the figure on screen seemingly lean forward at the exact same instant.
To test her theory, Adora blinked twice in quick succession. The girl on screen did the same in an identical cadence. Adora then raised one eyebrow, which the girl on screen mirrored in sync. Even as she raised a hand to bat a loose strand of hair from her eyes, Adora was astonished to see the on-screen figure perform the exact same gesture without any hesitation at all.
That's when she noticed it - not her own straight, blonde locks, but a shock of scorched brown hair, untamed and frantic between her own fingers. Her hand, too, was not its usual pale pigmentation, but a richer hue, more radiant and ochre than she'd ever seen up close. Her woven bracelet was even missing, despite only leaving her wrist to bathe and the occasional workout session.
Against her will, Adora's heart began to pound, her hectic breathing setting the pace. Something was wrong - seriously wrong - and she couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. As best she could tell, she'd just woken up in another girl’s body - in another girl's bed - and there wasn't even a single clue as to why – or how.
Then, like football to the face, it hit her.
Wait...this is just one of those dreams…!
Instantly, Adora felt some of the tension in her bones melt away. This was the only logical explanation, the blonde reassured herself in silence, especially given her dramatically altered appearance. Sure, she didn't look like anyone she'd ever met in her life - not any classmates or teammates or even some stranger from the train - but a spurious fantasy was the only rational way something like this could happen...right?
Deciding that she'd hit the mark on her first penalty kick, Adora loosened up and began to glance around her room - or rather, this dream girl's room. Gone were her AFC Bright Moon posters and shelves of hard-earned trophies; in their place hung an assortment of watercolor paintings, charcoaled sketches, and ripped up band posters. Gone, too, were Adora's impressive collection of supporter scarves, replaced by an equally impressive collection of luscious, flowering house plants.
Adora’s quick survey made it even more clear - this wasn't her one-room apartment at Ballister Tower anymore. However, that fact would have also made itself apparent mere moments later, when a nearby door slid open with a riotous clatter.
"Catra, would you get up already? We're not going to be late again because of you."
Adora whipped her head around to face the intruder: a severe looking young woman around her own age. She didn't look like a sibling at first glance, but who's to say what this girl's family was like? Who's to say where she lived or what her everyday life was like? And who's to say any of that mattered, if this was just a dream that would burst like a bubble at any minute?
"Oh, Catra...you're actually awake for once."
The young woman stared down at Adora, a look of curt surprise spreading across her face. Adora, meanwhile, couldn't believe how clear and concise her visitor's voice sounded, given their supposedly ethereal setting.
Tossing her phone aside, she gestured one trim finger at herself and tilted her head inquisitively. "Me? You're talking to me?"
"Yes, of course I'm talking to you, Catra!" the young woman shot back, her dreadlocks bouncing as she vigorously nodded her head. "You missed your turn to make breakfast…again! Not that I'm surprised at this point or anything."
"I...umm....forgot about that,” Adora tried to explain, her people-pleasing tendencies immediately shining through. “But I can make breakfast tomorrow for sure! Whatever you want, I promise!"
The offer only earned a further puzzled look from the young woman.
"Anything, huh?"
Adora nodded earnestly, half-expecting the offer to allow this oddly confrontational dream to progress.
"Well, you know I wouldn't say 'no' to an omelet in the morning. Especially if it had some mushrooms and spinach in it..."
"I can totally do that!" Adora barked happily. "Those are my favorites, too!"
The young woman's confused glare only intensified. "Since when?"
"Since always!"
"If you say so..." the young woman relented. She looked ready to say more when another voice – that of a teenage boy - called up the hall.
"Lonnie...I think something's wrong with the rice cooker...!"
Scowling off in the voice's direction, the young woman shouted with surprising gusto for the early hour. "It's a rice cooker, Kyle! How hard can it be?"
Turning back to Adora, Lonnie raised a pointed finger and jabbed it in her roommate’s direction.
"Anyway, Kyle, Rogelio and I are leaving for school in 15 minutes, with or without you. So, get up before we change our minds and leave earlier."
With that, Lonnie slammed the sliding door shut again, leaving Adora to her solitude once more. Feeling slightly stunned, Adora looked down at her hands once more, as if they'd now hold the clarity her rushing mind craved. Her palms remained empty, however, leaving Adora to finally rise from bed and inspect her surroundings on her own terms.
As she found her balance on these new legs, Adora suddenly caught sight of another figure standing across the room. They stared without moving, clad in a pair of black sporting shorts and a loose crimson top. Their eyes were frozen in a hunter’s glare, their lips moving without sound. It was as if the wild-haired doppelgänger were sizing up their prey, waiting for the right moment to strike down the imposter in their midst.
With a double-take, though, Adora quickly realized that she was just gazing at herself – her new self – reflected back in a body-length mirror. The sight was more than she’d expected, this girl’s full form both fierce and captivating in the same breath.
There she is, Adora thought to herself, a keen grin spreading across her cheeks. Or there I am, I guess.
Clad still in her sleepwear, Adora inspected the fullness of her temporary form. After passing a gentle hand over her core, the young woman was amazed at how real it all felt - how real this Catra girl really felt up close. It was almost hard to believe that her own subconscious had conjured this up based upon...well, seemingly nothing at all.
Looking up at the mirror once again and allowing this corporeal feeling sink in further, Adora noticed a pile of ruffled clothes laying inert at its base. Upon closer inspection, the lot looked formal in nature - white dress shirt, navy skirt, leggings, and...a braided hair tie? It was a little old-fashioned for a school uniform, Adora thought, and it had been an eternity since she’d last worn a skirt to school.
But if she was going to go to school like...Lonnie, was it?....suggested, she'd need to get changed fast. Going to school in an unimaginably lucid dream like this felt for a moment like a wasted opportunity. But after another momentarily glance at her host's body, Adora decided that this may well be her best shot at seeing everything this dream had to offer.
"And besides," Adora chuckled while pushing back her unruly almond bangs, "if it gets me out of Monday morning practice, how bad can it be?"
***
A car honks, an emergency siren wails, a busker swears at a cop, and an Orange Line train roars by at top speed.
That was more than enough to wake the beast.
"Lonnie...whatever the hell you're doing out there...stop it - before I come out there and make you!”
Through her overstuffed pillow, Catra half-shouted, half-mumbled her threat, to no avail. The cacophony filling her bedroom continued uninterrupted, as if the world around her were already dead set on ruining her Monday.
Scowling, Catra pulled her pillow over her head, hoping that her makeshift baffling would grant just a few more restful minutes. But even that wasn't enough as the piercing sounds of concrete demolition and urban congestion found their way into the restless artist’s already-ringing ears.
Narrowing her eyes, Catra silently wished death upon everyone in a mile radius. Then, at least, she could skip Monday morning classes without feeling guilty.
"...this is bullshit..."
With any hope of sleeping in now abandoned, Catra reached out and tried to find her phone. Knowing what ungodly hour she'd been awoken at wouldn't help, she knew, but hate scrolling through Twitter might. Misery loves company, after all.
With her phone in hand and her passcode - 66666 – dialed in, Catra quickly noticed the lateness of the hour. Usually, by 7:20 or so, Lonnie would already be pestering her to get up, as if she'd been tasked by some higher authority with nagging Catra into appreciable self-regulation. Resilient as ever, though, such attempts were always rebuffed, with Catra finding new and elaborate ways to sleep in each week.
But not today…or at least, not yet anyway. Maybe Lonnie was running behind for once, Catra thought, despite her oh-so-perfect morning routine. Serves her right. Or maybe she had finally given up on forcing her out the door each morning altogether. That’d be even better because it was that kind of shrewish scolding that had all but forced her to leave home in the first place.
Well, that was part of the reason, anyway…
As Catra’s thoughts started to wander back to the events of her childhood, the jackhammering outside picked up its pace, breaking her out of a downward spiral. Now back on the surface mentally, Catra felt her drowsy ire begin to boil, the kettle in her head screaming for a release. Lonnie had to be behind this, somehow, and Catra felt ready to give her a piece of her mind, once and for all.
With a fire beneath her feet, Catra sprang from bed, cast her phone aside, and charged toward the door. Blinded by her rage, she flung the door open wide, ready to filet the first roommate she saw on sight. If they had the nerve to make that kind of noise on a Monday morning, after the weekend she'd had, then they deserved to have their head bitten off.
"Lonnie, I swear to God! Shut the fuck up! I'm sick of your stupid little games. Every. Damn. Morning. I can take care of myself and I don't need you barging in like you know what's best for me and---"
In the midst of her fervor, Catra's eyes broke free of their blinders and caught sight of the door across from her. It was a faded, metallic blue, like the old utility trucks that slogged through town after a thunderstorm. Nothing hung upon it, not even a number plate or a seasonal wreath. All Catra could see was a peephole – a cold, lifeless peephole – staring back at her like a sentinel.
Leaning out of the doorway slightly, Catra expected to see the narrow, bamboo-slat-and-clapboard hallway she'd become accustomed to over the past two years. Instead, she saw only a ratty carpet floor, flanked on both sides by yet more identical blue doors, each more menacing than the last. Even the fluorescent exit sign at the far end of the hallway appeared villainous, its intermittent flickers a goading wink toward Catra’s already furious fists.
Jerking back over the threshold, Catra looked down at the door she still held in hand. Seeing that it was blue and scratched up like the rest, she suddenly released the doorknob and pushed it away from herself as if it had been burning her skin. Her eyes now jumping from door to door, out into the hallway and down the dingy runway again, Catra’s mind raced with a fear she’d held since she was little, since that little boy next door went missing in the middle of the day without a trace.
She’d been kidnapped. Or worse – abducted in her sleep.
Fight or flight started to set in as Catra rushed back inside, slamming the door shut behind her. In the light of morning, she began to see her prison cell clearly, its cramped quarters apparent even at a glance. Its decorations, though, were far from what she’d expected in her nightmares, this clutter hardly fitting for some kind of unhinged holding pen.
There were sports posters on the far wall, a shelf full of gold trophies next to it. Discarded clothes lay near the foot of the bed, where a sizable gym bag also laid open, its contents spilling out onto the cold, tile floor with reckless abandon. Upon closer inspection, there were even a few abandoned coffee cups crowded onto a squat bedside stand, each emblazoned with different uplifting aphorisms.
“She persisted,” read one ceramic chalice. “This too shall pass,” slyly read another.
Okay, Catra thought, maybe this isn’t some underground dungeon. It just looks like some jock’s pathetic excuse for a living space. But if that was the case…who the hell had abducted her? And why the hell were they keeping her here, of all places?
Without pausing to consider the ramifications further, a plan of escape formed in Catra’s mind. Bounding across the room, she snatched her phone off the bed and hammered in her passcode. With a shaky hand, she tried to pull up the call app and with it, her meager contact book of friends.
But much to her surprise, she didn’t see a familiar face in the bunch. Scrolling frantically down the list, Catra didn’t see Lonnie or Kyle, Rogelio or Scorpia. Instead, names like “Glimmer” and “Bow,” “Frosta” and … “Sea-Ra?”... whizzed by, each profile picture more alien than the last. Clearly, this wasn’t her phone, or if it was, her captor was playing some weird trick to confuse her further.
Just as Catra started to imagine the unholy villain that had put her in this loud, unkempt jail, her keen eyes caught sight of someone standing across the room, frozen in place with her gaze locked on Catra. To Catra’s eyes, they looked ready to charge, ready to strike, ready to enact the next step in their nefarious plan by any means necessary.
That has to be them, Catra seethed as her eyes grew wide. I can’t let them get away.
As every muscle in her body thrummed in unison, Catra leapt forward in the closet’s direction and landed in a tight crouch. Stopping just short of the closet door, Catra looked up, expecting to see her assailant with his weapon of choice in hand. But instead, in the place of her imagined attacker, she saw only a determined looking blonde woman crouched down mere inches away, her bluebell eyes almost glowing with an otherworldly magic.
Stumbling backwards, Catra tried to hastily climb back up the bed and grab a pillow for defense. But at the same moment, the blonde woman did the same, clambering onto an identical bed in a yet unseen part of the room. She even appeared to be holding a pillow of her own, her shoulders squared in an offensive stance.
Just then, another Orange Line express thundered by. As the entire room from floor to ceiling shook, Catra paused and refocused her eye. All at once, she realized what she was seeing – and more importantly, who she was seeing.
Tossing her pillow aside, Catra slide off the bed and cautiously approached the closet. There, a tall mirror hung, reflecting the image not of her captor, not of some pervert from the local most-wanted list, but herself – or so it seemed. On any other day, Catra would have seen herself, disheveled and bleary-eyed, her dark hair a rat’s nest from a night filled with tossing and turning.
But this morning, for reasons known only to the gods, Catra found herself staring on a new woman - not herself but a blonde Aphrodite the likes of which had never graced her presence before. There weren’t many memorable faces in a town like Erelandia, but Catra knew at once that this one – with her steadfast jaw and toned, athletic build – was an unknown quantity altogether.
Unknown, but certainly not hard to look at.
With another step toward the mirror, Catra grinned, revealing this woman’s pearly whites. It was all starting to make sense now. The weird room, the creepy hallway, the unbearable racket roaring in from every side – this was some sort of wish fulfillment in form of a dream. Clearly, her subconscious had finally given in and let her visit the city of her dreams, all while giving her the keys to a dream girl she would never, in a million years, meet out in the po-dunk, middle of nowhere town she called home.
Now this is my kind of dream.
Now Chesire-like from ear to ear, Catra started to really inspect what she was working with. As far as she was concerned, this girl was her polar opposite – strong, capable, and athletically-gifted, if the medals hanging on the near wall were any indicator. If this was who she was going to walk around dreamland as…well, she could have done a lot worse.
After indulging her eyes for a minute or two more, Catra turned from the mirror and looked over at the bed, where a soft humming had begun to emanate from the crumpled heap of blankets. Pacing over, she picked up the phone and inspected the most recent notification.
“Morning Practice” the reminder read, followed by three soccer ball emojis.
“Nooooo thank you,” Catra sneered, cackling at the thought her taking part in any organized team sport. “I don’t care if this girl is supposed to be a freaking Olympian. I’m not wasting my perfect dream doing that.”
Another train rushed by, drowning out the end of Catra’s laughter. Her smile flattening, she furrowed her brow and glared at the now vacant train tracks outside. Beyond them, golden rays of morning light reflected off distant skyscrapers and landed without a sound on a million nameless buildings.
For a beat, Catra imagined the people living in those buildings, some ending their workday at dawn while others were just starting on their grind. They all lived their own distinct lives, limitless and unpredictable in a metropolis of such mighty size. The thought of that potential – in a million unknown lives, in a million unexplored places, in a wondrous symphony of sight and sound, taste and smell – made Catra’s heart race with anticipation.
Turning back toward the room proper, Catra smirked at her now welcome surroundings.
“I’m not going to waste my perfect dream in here either, that’s for sure.”
With that imperative in mind, Catra turned on her heels and sauntered over to the closet, looking for something interesting to wear. After all, if she was going to make her debut in Bright Moon, she had to be looking her best.
Here’s to hoping that this jock girl has any sense of style beyond matching her socks with her shorts.
Meanwhile, over on the bed, Catra’s phone vibrated again. This time, a text from “Sea-Ra”:
“Adora? Where are you? Practice is about to start!”