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Catra and Adora had been going through the emotionally arduous task of sorting through all of Shadow Weaver’s remaining earthly belongings. Tears, regret, rage, confusion, all swirling emotions they had to sort through as well. The shallow hole was crudely marked in a page of Shadow Weaver’s personal journal, with no indication of what it held. With Adora and a trowel, it didn’t take long to dig down through the daisies and find the buried secret. Catra removed the wooden box gingerly from the shallow hole it was buried in.
Carved into it in an uneven hand was one word: WEAKNESS. “Do you think when we open it, some freaky spell is gonna come out and suck out our souls?” Catra half-joked.
“We can just leave it, Catra.” Adora said softly.
Catra raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to?”
“No.” she admitted.
“Good. Neither do I.” Like a band-aid, she told herself. With a flinch, she wrenched open the top of the box. One eye open, she noted the distinct lack of shadowy tendrils coming out to drain her of her life force, so there was that, at least. As she leaned forward and looked down into the box, she was stunned by what she saw.
Pictures. Photographs. Of her and Adora. No kindly taken photographs by a doting parent, but still preserved. Them at roll call, at their exams, at drill. The harsh realities of training in a military dictatorship.
“She... kept them.” Catra said in gentle disbelief, picking one up. Their fifth-year qualification exam. Adora had just lost that gap-tooth smile, and Catra had begun to look less floof and more sullen. “I figured they were just thrown out after each year... keeping the latest to track you down if you ran.”
Adora picked another photo up, shock on her face. Sentimentals were not what she was expecting among Shadow Weaver’s belongings. She had nothing to say. Nothing she could say. Just knelt there next to Catra in the topsoil, silently sorting through the disorganized mess of prints with her catgirlfriend. Some of the photos were of the squad, some, just photos of Catra and Adora. None of the photos held just Lonnie, Rogellio, or Kyle. It was clear who Shadow Weaver regarded as truly her’s.
“Wow. I don’t even remember half of these...” Catra muttered. The annual squad review, the exams, the yearly identification photos, those she remembered. But others – the quiet moments, the cheer and celebration after passing another of the Horde’s arduous tests, not at all what Catra would have expected. None of Catra in pain. None of her vulnerable. Only happy moments. In a sense, that hurt more.
A nostalgic smile spread on Adora’s face as she picked up a particular photo between her fingers. “Remember this one?” Their whole squad was piled together, laughing and wrestling. “When Lonnie started it by giving me a wet willy?”
"Yeah. I thought Shadow Weaver was gonna kill us after that.” Catra said, leaning over to get a better look. "Instead, she just had that... disapproving tone.” Catra’s ears flattened against her head. “Probably one of the few times she didn’t overreact.” She took the photo from Adora’s grasp to examine it herself. “Never would’ve imagined she’d keep a photo of this.”
Adora didn’t say anything to that. She didn’t expect any of it. Shadow Weaver always seemed to find new ways to confuse her. To, as Catra would say, mess with her head. She furrowed her brow in contemplation. It all seemed a lifetime ago.
Catra’s chalky murmur rumbled in her ear. “I... I remember this one.” Catra held it up inbetween her fingers. It was of her, maybe seven years old, looking up into the camera with a cut on her cheek and big, vulnerable eyes. “It was when Bryne came back with that nasty head wound, and didn’t remember most of us. I asked Shadow Weaver if... everyone would forget me someday.” Catra swallowed hard. She remembered being so scared that Adora would forget her... scared enough that she risked Shadow Weaver’s capricious wrath in an effort to find refuge from the thought. “She snapped the picture, and then she said to me...” Catra’s eyes unfocused. ”’Now, Catra, you will never be forgotten.’” she said distantly, “’So make sure that you are worth remembering.’” Catra paused, a grave silence settling. Her voice was weak and hoarse when she spoke again. “I was still young back then. She was almost nice to me, sometimes.” Catra stared at the picture sadly. As the years wore on, Shadow Weaver tortured her less, and denigrated her more. Sometimes she wondered which was worse.
“I don’t know if her keeping these makes everything better or worse.” Adora muttered. They had talked, seemingly endlessly at times, about Shadow Weaver after her death. The only consistent conclusion between them was that she was very damaged, and damaged others.
“It makes it worse. Knowing she cared at all.” Catra said quietly. “Because that means she hated me that much more to do everything she did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Catra shook her head. “That part of my life – of our life – is over.”
“Do you want to bury it again?”
“No.” Catra said. “Nothing she could ever do can make up for what she did to us. But this is something real – something good – she gave us. Like...” Catra hesitated, and softened her tone. “Like her last moments.” She swallowed hard and raised her voice to a more confident tone. “Let’s bury the box. That’s her’s. But...” Catra grinned with malicious intent. “You’re even dumber than I thought if you think I’m gonna give up pictures of baby Adora.” She waved a photo of a gap-toothed little girl in her face. “These are getting framed on our door so everyone sees what a cute brat you were!”
Adora blanched, then smirked. “Oh, just you wait until Bow and Glimmer get a glimpse of little floofy Catra!” Adora grabbed one of the photos, and took off at a sprint
Catra’s tail bushed up. “Don’t you dare!” she cried, and bounded after her.
The box would return to the earth. Rot and fade with the passing of time. But the memories would never be forgotten.
