“Micah!” Bow scolded, “Stop telling my kids it’s okay to eat bugs!”
Micah looked perplexed. “But it is. They’re perfectly nutritious; I lived off bugs for—”
“Yes I know but now they’re bringing them in the house!” Bow gestured broadly. “And what if they try to eat something poisonous! Or something with a stinger!”
“Oh, you gotta remove the stinger first—”
“Siloh is four he’s not going to know that!”
“He will be fine. He’s strong! Like his grandfather.” Micah paused thoughtfully. “Or his mother.”
“Micah,” Bow grabbed the man’s hands in his own. “I love you so much. No.”
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Adora bunched the blanket around her shoulders tighter, determinedly ignoring the cold.
For the attempted shattering of the moonstone…
She turned another page of another book. How many pages had her tired eyes strained over? How many books?
...for her role in the attempted murder of Queen Angella...
Another masked and vaguely spherical servant set down a cup of tea—lidded so as to avoid spillage upon the ancient texts—and a plate with warm, hearty vegetation that would leave neither crumbs or stains next to Adora. Adora mumbled her distracted thanks to the person whose body and clothing were better suited to the cold than her own and reached out numbly for the fork.
...for her role in the capture and torture of Princess Glimmer…
Adora hadn’t ever bothered to count the number of meals brought to her in this place, so it was hardly like she had lost count. She ate and drank fast, for the warmth, sure, but mostly just to get the action out of the way. Her eyes never left the page, and she turned it.
...and for seeking out the destruction of the balance, foundation, and structure of Etheria itself…
Adora stood in sudden excitement, blanket slipping, forgotten, from her shoulders as her eyes traced the words as fast as she could possibly read them. Then she read the passage again, to make sure, even as her breath picked up and her heart thudded in her ears.
...I hereby sentence Force Captain Catra of the Horde to death.
She’d found what she was looking for.
—
“Glimmer! Bow!” Adora shouted before Swift Wind had even finished landing. Her friends were there to greet her, looking excited and relieved to see her back in one piece.
“Adora!” came twin shouts in return, the two of them immediately tackling her into a hug before her feet touched the soil.
“We’ve been so worried about you!” said Bow, not an admonishment, just the truth.
“Did you find a way to help Catra?” Glimmer asked, pink eyebrows knit in worry.
“I did,” Adora said, pulling out the tablet she’d borrowed from Bow and pulling up the photo she’d taken. “But I need your help. This is going to take… some convincing.”
Bow and Glimmer looked at each other, a conversation passing between their eyes, and then they smiled at her. “You can count on us,” Glimmer promised.
—
The traditions of Brightmoon were very different from the traditions of the Horde, which were mostly just the stripped-down basics of the traditions of the Desert Throne that Hordak had half-accepted as a way to keep the peace among people who remembered the time before he landed in Etheria. Adora had expected some differences, since everything was different here, but wow. There was a lot more tradition involved than she had planned on.
Even so. Step one was the most crucial part of all, and that part? That part transcended cultures.
First came the question.
“Catra,” Adora said. The sound didn’t reverberate down empty, stone halls like it would in the Fright Zone’s prison. Bright Moon’s was, like everything else in this place, pretty. Pretty, clean, pastel. Catra didn’t look up from her prisoner’s mat, which Adora recognized was completely indistinguishable from her own bed. It would’ve been funny, to know that Glimmer and Bow had gotten her bed from one of Bright Moon’s literal jail cells. But as it was, as Catra would see it, it was just a normal bed in a pretty room that served as further mockery to Catra’s situation.
Adora wasn’t good at reading others. Even her best friend. Even her Catra. But from what she’d learned in the terrible, wonderful years since leaving Catra’s side, she knew that Catra would look around and see the pretty walls and floors and bed and gate and feel them as an insult.
“Catra, it’s me,” Adora said, not knowing what else to say.
“Hey, Adora.” Catra’s voice was flat. No mockery, no coy charm, nothing. Two words like dead rocks hitting the ground, thunk thunk.
The gate didn’t creak when it swung open. Didn’t even squeak a little at the end of the hinge. It glided smoothly, soundlessly, and Adora’s footsteps were the only sounds to make Catra’s ears twitch.
“I found a loophole,” Adora said. “A way for you to avoid execution.”
Catra lifted her chin from her knees and her eyes from the mat, fixing Adora with a blank stare. Adora pressed her lips thin, then continued.
“I know… you’re doubting me. I know that every time I’ve tried to protect you or save you or help you, I’ve either made it worse, or I didn’t actually manage to do it. I couldn’t protect you from Shadow Weaver. I couldn’t—I didn’t, help you in training. I kept getting your hopes up only to let you down, and I’m sorry.”
Catra’s ears were forward, her eyes unblinking, all of her attention fixed with devastating, unwavering intensity on Adora.
“And… I know you don’t need saving. That you’re capable, and you’re so, so smart, and you’re a survivor and ambitious and a menace and you’ve probably got at least two plans on how you’re going to get out of here and run off into the wild and lead a new life with all your crazy ambitious awesomeness. I know you don’t need my help. But, I want to give it to you. I want to keep you safe, safe for real, and I want you here with me, and to show you all the cool things I’ve discovered and introduce you to my friends and to show everyone how amazing you are and come home to you at night.” Adora took a deep breath. Why was this the hard part? “Because I love you.”
Fluffed fur, mirror blushes, the words finally said where neither of them could take them back.
“So,” Adora said, her knees slowly sinking down to the mat in front of her best friend, “Catra,” Adora said, her hands reaching out and folding over the scarred and clawed hand of her first and only love, “will you marry me?”
—
Apparently ceremonies happened before legal signings, in Bright Moon, but since this was a special case the two were flipped. Adora and Catra didn’t actually care, since in the Horde the only things that happened were the legal signings. With Catra freed from Shadow Weaver, the Horde, prison, and death itself, she set right into her natural way of making her presence everybody else’s problem. Everybody but Adora, who was too happy to have her best friend back, to have her best friend love her back, to get mad at her antics.
The wedding of She-ra was a world-wide hot topic. Everyone had contributions they wanted to make and advice they wanted to give. Perfuma and her people sent over gargantuan floral displays of every conceivable type and arrangement, calling them “samples” and asking which ones Catra and The She-ra liked best. Mermista offered catering, Frosta sent warm regards (which Adora had to explain was A Big Deal), Netossa and Spinnerella helped decorate, Castaspella and the other mages sent blessing after magical blessing, and even Scorpia, despite the new pressures of her place as ruler of the Desert Throne, sent assistance and a long comic depicting her absolute joy at their upcoming union.
Planning, preparing, and gathering everything and everyone took months, and Catra basked in the attention. Force Captain Catra, bride of She-ra, the unkillable, the desirable, the bold. Despite She-ra initiating the world’s attention, it was Catra who seized and kept it. Adora, better suited to her place at her lover’s side, watched on with pride and happiness.
—
Scorpia and Entrapta stood on one side of the patio, Bow and Glimmer on the other. The Moonstone of Bright Moon hovered high above them, and before them stretched the crystalline lake they’d once fought in years ago. Flowers bobbed gently in the still waters, too multitudinous to even attempt to count, and all along the palace exterior and shore of the lake stood happy faces, watching the ceremony of She-ra—who was really just Adora—and Catra. Bow and Scorpia were already crying. Their girlfriends held their hands (or, well, claw, in Scopria’s case). With the hand not holding Bow’s, Glimmer reached up and the Moonstone began to glow.
“By the authority of the Moonstone,” Glimmer said as Catra and Adora approached the steps leading down into the lake, “I bind these souls together. To love, to hold, to cherish and protect. To stand beside and value, and always to respect.” As Glimmer spoke, Adora and Catra walked, hand and hand, into the cheery waters, flowers parting as they passed, the folds of Adora’s dress and Catra’s robe rippling as they dragged through the water. “In hardship and in wealth, in sickness and in health, when the heart is sweet or har’d, your souls nevermore to part.”
Adora and Catra’s heads submerged, holding their breaths, and they smiled with puffed up cheeks at each other. The water was so clear, they could see each other just as well as they might above the surface. Adora turned to rise back up the steps, but Catra did not release her hand. Instead, she tugged on it sharply, darting forward and kissing Adora beneath the surface, light shimmering through the dancing waters and shadows passing over them beneath the flowers. Adora kissed back with surprise, and their laughter literally bubbled out of them. They rose to the surface still smiling, both pairs of hands held fast, and their foreheads fell together as natural as they had all their lives.
“Catra and Adora rise from the waters with fresh hearts and fresh eyes,” Glimmer called out, her crisp voice booming out to the distant crowd. “No longer one and another, but two souls intertwined; rejoice!”
The crowd burst into raucous cheers, Netossa even throwing up a few magical nets that burst into color before fading midair. Scorpia and Glimmer helped Catra and Adora out of the pool, Scorpia immediately pulling Catra into a weepy, bone-crushing hug.
“Aaa, I can’t believe I remembered all that!” Glimmer exclaimed as she and Bow—also still definitely crying—hugged Adora just as viciously. Entrapta perched on Scorpia’s shoulder and her thick pigtails began shaking water from Catra’s hair as she babbled on about the fascinating implications of Bright Moon’s traditions, comparing them to Dryl’s.
“You did great,” Adora praised, feeling like she could be literally glowing, with how good she felt. A sharp claw tapped lightly on her shoulder and she pulled out of the hug just enough to see Catra grinning at her, a full show of fangs and sharp eyes.
They are teenagers at their first solo princess prom, no longer attended by their mothers now made queens. They are young, the last remaining allies of the Bright Moon Rebellion, and they are in love. The whole of Etheria must know it. They keep saying it over and over, just for the sheer joy of it, the exuberance, “That’s my girlfriend.” “That’s my girlfriend.” “That’s my girlfriend.” Each inflection is tried, the words rolling unfamiliar and giggly off their tongues. They’re girlfriends. They’re together. They’re in love.
Two tugs made by a tiny hand draw Spinnerella’s attention down her dress. There is little Perfuma, too young to be at princess prom without clinging to her mother’s skirts, but possessing no mother with skirts on which to cling. She is attended by a nanny-looking plus one, her people mindful of their Princess’s life after the loss of their Queen’s.
“What’s being in love like?” little Perfuma asks her, and Spinnerella smiles and kneels and hands her the fondant flower she’d saved off her cupcake for last.
“It’s a magical feeling,” Spinnerella tells her happily, looking over to Netossa, the shape of her a brilliant flare against the backdrop of the world. “It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world.”
Little Perfuma takes the confection and nods thoughtfully, the too-serious expression of a child deep in the inner workings of her own mind on her tiny brow. Then she smiles, eats the frosting, and dances off, the flowers and intricate pins of her hair bursting with life along the lower level of the dance floor. Spinnerella goes to Netossa’s side, thinking little of it.
Second.
Netossa and Spinnerella were older, wiser, but it didn’t feel like they were wise or old enough. They were in Plumeria at Queen Angella’s behest, having received word of Horde soldiers menacing the river. The few soldiers that were there scattered quickly with Spinnerella and Netossa’s arrival, and they went to Plumeria’s center to tell the reigning monarch of the news. Little Perfuma—who was not quite as little anymore—insisted on feeding them an assortment of party carrots and brightly colored salads, and offered them a place to stay if they spent the night. While technically Spinnerella’s magic could get them back to their home territories without having to do much night travel, the two agreed it would be nice to have an evening together in the bright and floral place.
“So, um,” Perfuma said, catching Netossa by the hand after she showed them to the guest quarters. Her sunbleached hair was bunched up in a messy ponytail doubled over on itself, and beneath her tan she was blushing. “Can I ask you a… awkward question?”
“Yeah, honey, what’s up?” Netossa asked. She didn’t need to kneel to get at Perfuma’s height anymore, but Perfuma was small enough that Netossa still wanted to bend and get on her level.
“So, it’s a puberty question,” Perfuma started, then seemed to panic and backtrack, “And I know you probably want me to ask someone else but that feels weird and—” Perfuma cut herself off, fidgeting badly but not letting go of Netossa’s hand.
“Hey, girl, we’ve all been there,” Netossa said gently, but was relieved anyway when Spinnerella returned. “Perfuma has girl questions,” she informed Spinnerella briefly, and watched her brilliant lover connect the dots rapid fire. Spinnerella smiled warmly and bent down a little as well, also more to Perfuma’s level.
“What do you need sweetheart?”
Perfuma reached her free hand up to tug at her ear, elbow knobby and ear sticking out, limbs too long from growing too fast in that way young teenagers had.
“If I… like someone, and that someone is a good friend of mine, and I think sometimes about kissing that someone but then I see that person win a race and I start to feel… weird, um. Like. Like, body weird.” Her blush was stronger than ever and she couldn’t look at them, which was just as well, since they were blushing too, “Is that what being… you know. Attracted, to someone, feels like?”
“Oh boy, okay, so, probably yes,” Netossa said, sitting down on the ridiculously plush grass of Plumeria that continued to grow even inside buildings where sunlight was more minimal. “Honey, has anyone given you the uh. Birds and the bees talk?”
Perfuma shrugged one shoulder and shifted on her feet uncomfortably. “Sort of? I know more about bees than uh, birds. Pollenation is a very advanced science here in Plumeria, and bees are our friends.” She bit her lip and tugged harder on her ear. “And… I know what animals do in the spring. But.”
“Not humans?” Spinnerella finished for her gently, sitting next to Netossa. Perfuma nodded.
“Every time I try to ask one of the elders I back out or they give me weird half-answers,” Perfuma said, like an explanation, sitting in front of them.
“Alright, well, we can’t have you stumbling around in the dark now can we?” Netossa asked with a smile, even as she screamed internally at the stars for having to be the one to do this. But she had Spinnerella there to help her out, and it was just science. Science, anatomy, body parts that people had and pubescent teenagers needed to know about. That was enough to settle her nerves, and the three had a long conversation.
Third.
Spinnerella and Netossa are fully adult, fully together, and content with the fact that theirs will be a long engagement. Few people know—they no longer parade their love life around like twin badges to all in range—but they make no effort to hide it. Netossa wears Spinerella’s necklace, and Spinnerella wears Netossa’s. They are “rings” around their necks, but rings enough for them.
Perfuma is one of the ones to figure it out.
“What’s it like?” she asks Spinnerella, “To love someone enough to marry them?”
Spinnerella rolls her tongue around her mouth while the thought rolls in her head.
“Love is… a commitment.” She nods, to herself mostly, and continues, “Love is a feeling, sure, but it’s also a choice. It’s a decision you make every day, over and over. And Netossa and I have decided that we want to keep that commitment, every day, for the rest of our lives. We want an ‘always,’ and we want to choose that ‘always’ every day.” Spinnerella squints and leans forward, bracketing her face with open palms. “Marriage isn’t saying ‘I will love you every day,’ to someone, it is saying ‘every day, I know I’ll choose to love you.’ Which is kind of confusing but—”
“No, no, I get it,” Perfuma says. “One’s something you have to do, and the other’s a promise of what you will do.”
“Yeah! Yeah, you’ve got it.” Spinnerella bumps Perfuma’s shoulder with one arm and Perfuma bumps her back, smiling.
“Congratulations, by the way.”
Spinnerella beams and reaches up a hand to touch the bright blue stone on her neck. “Thanks.”
Fourth.
Netossa hardly wanted to leave her lover’s side, especially considering they’d just barely won the battle of Bright Moon thanks to She-ra’s planet-bending magic, but leave Spinnerella’s side she did, climbing up to the vantage point where Little Perfuma—who was an adult in her own right but looking far too small right then—was perched.
“Hey honey, what’s eating you?” Netossa asked, sitting next to her and dangling one leg off the side of the stone, other bent to lean an elbow against. Perfuma’s eyes darted from wherever they’d been glued and seemed to notice Netossa for the first time, despite Netossa making no effort to hide herself, and she smiled. It was a pretty weak attempt at a smile, all things considered, and Perfuma had a lot of experience smiling when she didn’t quite mean it.
“Nothing! I am fine! Why aren’t you down in the celebration?”
“So I could come up here and ask you that,” Netossa said bluntly, and Perfuma wilted. Netossa stretched out a hand and clasped her shoulder. “Hey,” she said, far gentler this time, “what’s goin’ on?”
Perfuma’s eyes returned to where they’d been and Netossa’s followed the gaze, landing on Bow and Glimmer, caught up in a tight embrace and babbling at each other excitedly, each seeming to intrinsically know when the other would break and seamlessly starting their own train of thought at the very moment it happened. Netossa connected the dots and made a little “oh.”
“Do you… know what heartbreak feels like?” Perfuma asked. She twirled a small vine around her fingers, fidgeting.
“Sorry, honey, that one I don’t know much about.”
Perfuma nodded. “You and Spinnerella have been together forever.”
“Not forever,” Netossa said with a snort, “but for a long, long time, yeah.” Her thumb stroked idly over Perfuma’s shoulder, an attempt at comfort.
“I feel like I should be more upset,” Perfuma said, watching Bow physically lift Glimmer into the air, their laughter rattling over the wind like bright and distant chimes. Perfuma leaned into Netossa, who wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “But I also feel like I’m more than upset enough.”
Netossa kissed her hair, right above the flower crown, and told her, “It’ll be okay. You’ll meet someone else.”
“Oh, I know that,” Perfuma said, “I get crushes pretty easily. They always come and go.” Perfuma sighed, sinking more of her weight against Netossa. “Right now it just… sucks.”
Netossa snorted, to hear the usually-avoidant Perfuma phrase it so bluntly. “Yeah. Yeah, and that’s okay too,” she said, giving Perfuma’s arm a slow rub down and back up. “Love is hard sometimes, honey, it’s allowed to just suck for now. As long as you need.”
Tiny blue flowers twined around Netossa’s fingers and in her hair, pretty, friendly things.
