— lifegiver

*

back in the Before, allura met the princess of the j’sepp system. the princess stood tall and lean, with flowing lilac hair and shining gold eyes, no sclera or iris in sight. allura, only then finally reaching her father’s shoulders, her markings blooming pink in the softly lit foyer, faltered and stammered. 

the princess smiled. her sharp teeth gleamed. “you may call me seler.” 

they held hands in the garden. allura fashioned her hair after seler’s, twisting and pulling back twin locks away from her face, clasped at the back. back then, her hair curled shorter —the aftermath of an argument against her otherwise well-meaning father. seler liked to touch the fluffy ends brushing allura’s shoulders. seler liked to brush the tips of her fingers over the faintly glowing pink freckles across the bridge of allura’s nose. seler’s affection came easy and gentle. allura leaned towards it; towards seler. allura dreamed endless lilac and gold. allura wrote poems her tutors would scoff at and collected flowers and sat and wondered at the softness of seler’s hands, seler’s hair. 

it never went where it might’ve. seler, the slightest bit older than allura, married off soon after. the touches stopped. allura buried herself in her studies and her travels and mended the jagged ends of heartbreak with distractions. 

and then, the war. 

* 

despite what she projects, allura is more than aware what her appearance means. lance is brazen and obvious. he wears his heart on his sleeve. his eyes linger. his stare burns. the affection itches at her hands, her throat. 

she sees young diplomats and royals admire her hair, or her figure, or her eyes. she smiles, and laughs, and maintains whatever professionalism she can. the flirting never truly stops, but she weathers through it. 

lotor, however — lotor calls her princess. lotor offers his arm when appropriate and never lingers. lotor smiles, except always tainted by that air of exhaustion he carries at all times. lotor listens to pidge’s long ramblings, and asks about her algorithms, and watches as she and hunk debate and theorize. lotor never presses too close when leaning over allura as they work on the sincline ships. lotor tells her, i could not do this without you, and allura’s heartbeat throbs hot and loud at her throat. 

it’s a familiar set of nerves. it’s different. she shouldn’t indulge in it. but he helps her up after she collapses, hands gentle and sure, his gaze soft as he searches her face, and allura wants in a way she has not allowed herself to in so long. 

quintants later, when he helps her yet again, her knees shake. she rises up just as he leans down. her markings flash pink and bright and warm. and she kisses him, and he kisses her, and she wants, and wants, and allows herself to. 

*

she thinks little of him, after. 

( how could she have loved him when he stood for everything wrong and broken in the universe, when he lied and stole and killed for nothing but power, when he was WRONG? how could she look in the mirror and know that the first and last mouth to touch her own is dead, and it’s her fault, even if he deserved it —it’s her fault, and his screams linger, his laugh echoes — )

space is vast. blue purrs at the back of allura’s, a comfort against the endless black. 

( poor allura, he had laughed. her stomach had twisted. rage or sorrow, she’ll never know. ) 

only when lost with no lions, no voltron, only four humans and herself locked elbow to elbow —

“— you’re the one that got us cozied up to lotor.” 

*

allura’s mother and father were each others’ first loves. fala, braiding allura’s hair, told her of a childhood spent with teasing laughter, with stealing glances, with sneaking off to the blossom canyons and falling and wanting. the proposal had been natural and destined. allura’s birth a culmination of love. 

after fala’s death, alfor never remarried. allura understood, even if her throat tightened when she found her father staring up at her mother’s portraits. 

she had hoped for a love as grand; had thought, perhaps, that fate had driven her and lotor, ten thousand decaphoebs into the present, together. it sounded storybook.