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Shuri never believed in the ancestral plane. Or she never had time to think too hard about it, she never understood how people could be so sure of things with no physical evidence. Sometimes she felt the urge to scream and beg for them to stop preaching something that wasn’t real.
Now she understands why, because the thought of her loved ones still being around to watch and silently judge as she made every mistake under the sun scared her as much as it did when they were alive.
Tradition was always considered beautiful and graceful and anything but ugly. Tradition was her mother, father, brother and anyone else in Wakanda. Picturesque. She was the necessary ugly that made it work, the history, the reason why things worked the way they did. She wasn’t disposable but she was a shadow.
Hence why, when her brother died, she had been so sure that the Black Panther had died with him, because who could come after? Nakia left for a greater cause, Okoye was bound to her task and her mother was too weak.
They all asked her why she wouldn’t take the mantle and she made up excuses. So, so many excuses. Everything from
‘it’s so fresh I don’t think I could do it’ to ‘I’m just not skilful enough for it.’
Eventually she’d lock herself in the lab and hoped it conveyed the message she was trying to get out ‘I don’t fit into any of this. Ill be worse than any past or future black panther to enter that god forsaken throne room.’
She was bitter and she had wanted nothing more than to talk to her brother about it all, about how sometimes the thoughts got so loud and how sometimes she couldn’t sleep. About how the guilt weighed down on her as if the boulder she stood under as he got thrown off that cliff had crushed her. About how sorry she was, she was so sorry. She’s still sorry. She doesn’t ever feel like she can’t be sorry, it’s all her fault. She’s sorry she swears.
And he’d probably hug her and tell her something that sounded a little too wise to be made up on the spot and forgive her with a sad smile, wondering why she even apologized knowing she was forgiven.
She thinks, If the ancestral plane existed, she could only pray she’d meet him there.
The day the funeral arrived; she didn’t complain. Yes, the earrings were heavy, yes, the smiles were taunting her and yes, she wanted to run back to that stupid cave with the stupid snow, the only time she believed in something otherworldly, the first time she wanted to fully fistfight god.
When she cried on his grave that day she truly understood where she was on the royalty spectrum. She was on the side, while people came and left the throne, she’d pick up the pieces and hand it over to the next person. And every time she did so she would fracture just a little more. Until she’d eventually break.
She wondered what breaking would be like for her.
She’d seen others break, she’d seen the screaming and sobbing, the festering anger. But she’d also seen the silent build-up to nothing. To the end.
And she was fine with being that person. Technology had a time limit before people would eventually move on, and apparently, she did too. How fitting.
So really, she was fine with her fate, she didn’t want to be worse than she already was, she wanted the comfort of stability without the responsibility. The loveable princess who has her single task that she does well until she can't anymore. She wouldn’t be missed, she thought, simply remembered.
But looking back on those thoughts after finding out the ancestral plane is
- Very much a real thing and
- The cause of all her fears
She realizes moping isn’t going to solve anything, if she’s going to die than at least let there be something she did. She needs to do something, anything at all! She can’t just let her home become washed up, what’s the point of technological advancement if some shark boy gets to come here and make it a safety hazard for everyone? That should be her job. she shouldn’t’ve had to watch. It wasn’t fair, once is bearable, second is hardly manageable so what’s third meant to be?
She knows what it’s meant to be, she remembers watching that third funeral procession, knowing her mother was in that casket. And that she could’ve done so many things to avoid it. It felt like a whole new layer of grief. It felt like until now she’d never fully felt grief, as if she’d been plunged into a cave and it was up to her to decide if they kept going down to explore or not.
And right now, she’s considering not.
Some problems are best unresolved, right?
All she knows about grief is that when her father had died, she had felt some form of emotional apathy, she’d only cried when his written return date passed by and there was no sign of a plane landing and no radio crackling.
When her brother died, she’d been the opposite. Consumed by guilt and a deep resentment towards herself she spent nights in a quiet empty lab, not allowing herself the enjoyment of music or anything at all. Not until she found the answer. Eventually Aneka had been sent to make sure she was fed, when she reached she was faced with a sleeping princess who looked on the edge of death. And a table of failed attempts at healing her already dead brother.
(She was fixed to bedrest for a week after that.)
And when her mother died, a part of her died. The part full of warmth. It's not as if she was stone cold, she was just… empty. As if someone had cut off her arm and she had yet to process it. And yet when she did, the world went quiet.
She stood in front of the grave for hours, the wind humming in her ears, the gap left in her had turned into a pool of resentment. That would later turn into a deep depression.
The moment she saw Erik, or Killmonger she knew she’d done something. It felt like someone had electrocuted her and suddenly she felt so immensely sad. As if it might eat her whole. Leave her to die. Because somehow, somewhere she’d lost track of something and that was why she was here. Abandoned by those who loved her. She thought they’d never come back for her.
Looking back, she thinks the worst part is thinking she deserved it.
She deserved all of it, for trusting the outside to take care of her family. For failing her family, thrice. For not being there. For never listening or trying, God may know she tried but she’s starting to feel hesitant about it.
Everything she thought she was good at she realized she wasn’t. and even though when she thinks deeply about it, she can admit she’s human and that she cant help making mistakes. It’s just part of human nature. Yet, something hidden so deep in her heart, something with a rusty lock and key that hasn’t been touched in years tells her that she’s better than that.
Better than human nature.
(Even if she is better than human nature, she probably wouldn’t tell anyone)
But after everything, after almost killing someone. After almost being possessed by something grotesque and ugly she can’t help but feel a sense of pride
If tradition means taking every situation gracefully then she thinks she handled that impalement with utmost grace.
And since the ancestral plane does, in fact, exist. It means she now has an audience to entertain.
But before that, she might take a brief intermission. To just, sit with her grief and maybe take a nap.