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Something is wrong with me, Adora decides. It’s been three weeks since Prime, since the heart, since she and Catra kissed for the first time, and… well… fuck, I think I’m broken.
Other than the momentary adrenaline crash, the relief hasn’t hit her yet. It’s not like she’s numb, in fact it’s the opposite, she’s overwhelmed by how in love she is most days, but she also still has the pit in her stomach, the tightness in her chest. A part of her is still always looking behind her, listening for danger even in the safety of her own bed, the safety of Catra’s arms. Her brain knows it’s over, that Prime is gone forever and the war is over, but her body hasn’t caught up yet.
It makes her blood boil. It kept her going, knowing that one day it would be over and her shoulders would slump and she would be able to finally release the tension in her chest because everyone would be safe, the war would be won. But even after everything she did, every fight she won, every trauma she faced, every person she lost, her muscles are still tight, and the weight is still on her chest.
How is that fair? That she has to hold this forever because she had to shoulder the burden for a time? Will it always be like this? Will she be eighty years old and still waiting for her first deep breath since she was ten? She has earned the relief. With blood, sweat, tears, everything she has fought, she has damn well deserved to feel light for once.
But no, she helps clean the castle as she counts the different ways she can escape a room, she plans rebuilding efforts like battles, she keeps watch in the night as though her enemies were still approaching. The war is over, but she still feels like she’s fighting.
Maybe it’s She-Ra. Since her return, Adora’s body has adjusted to the magic thrumming through her veins, the power under her skin. She didn’t know it at the time, but when she had the sword, the connection was muted, controlled. Now it’s raw, untamed, powerful, strengthening her even when in her regular form. Maybe with the extra power, the responsibility weighs heavier.
If that were true, though, she would feel it all the time. She wouldn’t have the quiet moments where the heaviness of her soul lifts away, ever so briefly. Late at night when, for whatever reason, she and Catra are out on the balcony watching the stars, and Catra can’t help but purr in Adora’s arms. Early in the mornings, when she and Bow cross paths in the kitchen and giggle about something silly whilst their partners both snooze. The afternoons where she and Glimmer can’t breathe as they laugh at some joke the others made.
Those moments, fleeting as they are, prove that it can be done, that this isn’t some burden to shoulder for the rest of her life, extra weight that comes with being the saviour of the universe. It remains unfair, though, that feeling normal is reserved for those little moments. Something else in her life that she won’t be able to have all of the time.
Not for the first time, Adora finds herself wandering the castle. Much like when she first arrived, sleep hasn’t been coming easily, and walking around helps to organise her thoughts. She won’t stay up for long, she never does because Catra wakes up often too and Adora doesn’t like her to wake up alone, but it helps quiet her busy mind enough to let her slumber.
Rebuilding has been a slow process, especially in the castle. They have the basics, but it felt wrong to focus on the luxuries whilst the people of Brightmoon were still living in rubble. Their efforts are certainly best spent elsewhere. So, while the floor is clear of debris and the walls are no longer at risk of falling, cracks still run through the palace, and the murals that have adorned the palace for centuries are in pieces.
Staring up at the wall, Adora can’t stop the guilt from washing over her. The mural will always remind her of Angella, despite the image being of King Micah. Her first night in Brightmoon was a confusing one, but it wasn’t the only night she found herself standing in front of the mural with the Queen. It became something of a ritual, when they were both struggling to sleep. Sometimes they would talk, others they would just stand there and look. At the time, Adora thought she was helping Angella, both with her relationship with Glimmer and to grieve her husband, but now she understands just how much those moments meant to her too.
“Can’t sleep?” A voice says, startling Adora’s eyes away from the cracked image to look to the man it was made for.
“Just a little…” Adora waves her hand around, hoping the vague gesture will get her point across.
“Me too,” Micah admits.
They stand, for a while, like she did back then, staring at the mural like it has all the answers.
“When did you… when does it, when is it supposed to sink in?” Adora asks quietly. “That it’s all over?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, when will I stop feeling like I’m carrying boulders all the time?”
Adora looks to Micah, and the pitiful look on his face tells her more than she knew a look could.
“When I was learning to be a sorcerer, I had a mentor.”
“Light Spinner,” Adora fills in. “I know, Casta told us when she showed up in Mystacor as Shadow Weaver.”
“Right,” Micah says sadly. “Of course. I’m sure you know about the spell of obtainment, then?”
“Yeah, that’s when she came to the Fright Zone.”
“She was my mentor for a long time, like she was for you, and I think I am right to assume that she put a lot of pressure on you too.” Micah puts a hand on her shoulder as Adora nods. “After the spell went wrong, I felt… wrong. Guilty, mostly, not only about the sorcerers who died but for what happened to her. That stayed with me for a long time, the feeling of wrongness. It wasn’t until I met Angie that I started to feel right again.”
“But I have Catra,” Adora points out.
“It wasn’t meeting Angie that did it, though it did help.” Micah smiles thoughtfully. “It took work, meditation and talking to someone about what happened to help me work through what I was feeling. There wasn’t a day where the light suddenly broke through the darkness and I felt good again. It was gradual, like I was taking it apart little by little.”
“So it isn’t over?” Adora asks in a whisper, unable to meet Micah’s eye as a tear starts to roll down her cheek. “I tho—I thought we would win and all of these feelings would just go away.”
“I’m sorry kiddo,” he says sincerely, “it doesn’t work like that. It isn’t fair, but it takes effort, and it takes time.”
“But it isn’t forever?”
“No,” Micah promises, “it isn’t forever.”
Adora nods, looking back at the mural and discreetly wiping her eyes. She doesn’t stay for long after that, wanting to get back to their room for Catra, so she thanks Micah and takes her leave, heading back down the empty halls.
Settling back into bed, snuggling into Catra’s back as she has every night for the past three weeks, Adora takes a deep breath. It isn’t perfect, it isn’t weightless, but it’s progress and that’s all she can ask for.