#tracesofcrimson

Illustration from my fanfic, Traces of Crimson.

Illustration commissioned from Henar Torinos of @ilikeyoucatradora

The fanfic can be found on AO3, link below:

Adora was the first to slip into the down sleep sack they shared, holding it open as Catra immediately followed suit, wiggling in until she was snug against the other’s warm body. Both women immediately intertwined arms, legs, and hearts in a loving embrace, their natural state since declaring their love for one another.

Catra sighed in contentment; she coveted this moment of each day. It was the only time she found any shred of respite from the weight that hung about her neck, pulling her down into a stoop as it attempted to drive her into the dirt. Catra had never felt the intimate trust that was achieved with Adora—that someone would make themselves so vulnerable as to fall asleep naked in her arms. It meant so much, and with Adora so close, so utterly near that Catra could feel the heat of her sex against her upper thigh, she could almost attain a sense of… completeness… of peace.

“Good night, Catra,” Adora whispered. “I love you,”

But then the doubt crept in; Adora’s human vision was not as adept as her own, and Catra could see her lover’s eyes searching for her in the dark. At this moment, when Catra felt hidden while still able to view the other, she wondered: would Adora still love her if she knew? If she knew just how far Catra had fallen during the years of the war, discovering what she did in the name of heartache? How she used it as an excuse to—

“Catra? Are you asleep already?” Adora whispered.

With a jolt, Catra noted that Adora was staring straight at her, now able to catch the subtle flashing of the mirror-like lenses in her feline eyes.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just been out of it.” Catra said. “You know I love you—how could I not?”

From my newest fanfic, Traces of Crimson! Illustrated by Henar Torinos of @ilikeyoucatradora !

The link to my fanfic on AO3 is below:

But something unwelcome happened as the expedition approached the end of their journey: an insidious subversion that disrupted what Catra perceived, twisting it into forms that diverted from reality. The sweet scent of flowers and the aroma of earthy resin were replaced by the electric tang of ozone, oozing up into her nostrils to sting her brain.

The music of animals, the hum of insects, and the soft whistle of wind were dominated by a plugging drone, the submerged sound of flailing limbs as someone fights to escape restraining hands.

And last but not least, the sensation of the sun on her body, the pleasant warmth subsumed by the claustrophobia of cold fluid. It surrounded her body with its violating perception, locating the correct avenues to her identity for deletion, replacing it with a new persona.

Horror seized Catra as she was transported back aboard the Velvet Glove, restraining hands forcing her into the green pool of electric energy as Horde Prime watched with smug glee. She had choked on the thick slime as the clones held her below the surface, the whole time thinking of Adora as her mind was erased. Catra had thought she had given up before this; the dice had been thrown and damn the consequences. She believed there was nothing to lose after all, but as the recollections of a blonde-haired and blue-eyed angel slowly disintegrated in the emerald blaze of annihilation, Catra knew that there was much to lose. It was, in fact, everything.

Illustration by @iriaabella, a.k.a., @ilikeyoucatradora, for my fanfic, Traces of Crimson!

My fic can be found on AO3 by following the link below:

The epilogue and conclusion to 'Traces of Crimson' are coming out tomorrow!

Illustration done for me by Henar Torinos, a.k.a., @ilikeyoucatradora

Retracing her steps, Catra spotted a bend in the hall, one she had no memory of passing before. With a shake of the head, she braced herself for what this place wanted to show her. Based on what happened last time—being pulled through a mirror by a giant spider—it was most likely going to be bad.

Leaning forward to crane her neck around the corner, Catra found a scene spread out before her. A tableau composed of miserable memories stitched together to form a tapestry—a weave forming a pattern, unmistakable in its design: that of a sad childhood.  

Catra saw her unmistakable younger self—a little girl dressed in a red leotard and gray leggings, the knees long torn away from rough play. A mass of stone-gray hair sat upon the head in an unkempt fray, long brown fuzz hanging behind both long black ears. This young version of Catra had not shed her baby fat, and the child clutched with cinnamon hands at her little belly paunch, seeming in pain. Catra’s child self peered up at an imposing figure, a red-robed woman with a crimson mask, the eyes of which were cold and cruel. This was her mother, of course; this was Shadow Weaver. The old witch gazed off in the opposite direction of her ward, contemplating the depths of a gigantic dark crystal in search of more power.

“Shadow Weaver?” Young Catra said. “I don’t feel so good. My tummy hurts,”

The crimson mask did not even bother to turn. “What?”

“My tummy hurts,”

Still not turning, Shadow Weaver waved a hand dismissively. “Why are you telling me? Stop your incessant whining. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

The younger Catra frowned, seeming very confused by this response. “Because you are my mommy,” she said.

Finally, the old witch turned—slowly and with utmost menace. “What did you say? Your what?”

Fear immediately bloomed on the young child’s face, making the older version want to weep. Catra did not need this vision to be reminded of this memory; it was stuck in her heart like a thorn of onyx for all time.

Illustration from my fanfic, Traces of Crimson, the link to which can be found HERE ON AO3

“So? What do you think?”

Catra stared at the other woman, expectation explicit in a pair of raised dark eyebrows. She had just recounted the story of what transpired in Glenmar the day the Horde invaded—ripping Quillon’s throat out with her claws, killing him in front of a child she had just struck.

Now was the moment of truth.

It was a most vile deed, and out of the many she committed during the darkest years in the Horde, it’s what tormented her the most. It was the yoke fashioned from contrition fixed about her neck, a shackle from which she dragged the baggage of remembrance unwanted. It was a bleak cloud cast about her life, the thick haze of dread from which the beacon of hope could not be discerned.

But most of all, it was the Crimson blemish, the stain buried so deep that its corruption pierced Catra’s very soul. It had taken root there, spreading its network of sable tendrils to infect all aspects of her past, present, and most important of all—future.

Much like the tribunal, now was the moment she should receive her verdict, a judgment set upon her head like a crown of thorns. Wasn’t she the terrible monster they had always suspected? Didn’t she deserve even more punishment? Or was she to continue in this half-life of damnation, forever tormented by her dark acts?

Or was there another more favorable outcome? It seemed unlikely, though, as remote as a distant withering star, an ancient sun that died out a millennia before its faded light reached your solar system—what hope can be discerned had already been spent. Was there an aftermath for Catra that involved something approaching the extremities of happiness? Was there a state of grace to be achieved in purgatory?   But now, with her confession given, there was no fiery condemnation or angelic reprieve as Catra had expected; the other woman only stared back, face as impassive as a mask. There wasn’t an iota of indication as to what was transpiring inside that pretty head of hers—none at all. Worse even, it was almost as if she was the one expectant of Catra—which was infuriating, to say the least.

Illustration by Henar Torinos of @ilikeyoucatradora! Done for my fanfic, Traces of Crimson.

The link to my fic on AO3 can be found below:

“Hey! Catra! Snap out of it! What hap—” Lonnie stops speaking to inspect the hand that touched the feline woman, discovering that it's covered in blood. With a sweep, her dark eyes quickly dart about the scene, recoiling upon spotting the body of the Constable. Hand covering mouth to stifle a retch, she pivots back to Catra, horror and disgust forming an accusation upon her face. But then her own coping mechanisms take over, and Lonnie quickly conceals this behind her own façade of calm. She swallows the bile before clearing her throat.

“Did you get the crystal?” She asks.

“No, it was destroyed in the fight,” Catra responds, voice small.

“Then it's over. Let's get out of here.” Lonnie concludes, pulling out a compact communicator.

Catra tunes out Lonnie’s voice as she calls in the transport for an emergency evac, heterochromatic eyes moving upwards, towards the heavens. She can make out the blue sky above through the drifting smoke—a clear sapphire expanse. The feline woman suddenly realizes what a beautiful day it must be… which is so strange…

A sudden gust blows Catra’s stone gray mane back as the transport thruster blasts downwards, its gangway extended like a metallic tongue. She is aware of Lonnie prodding her forward and allows the touch, the two moving swiftly up into the transport’s belly.

Catra has one last sight of Glenmar through the closing transport hatch; feeling safe enough to leave their hiding places, the townsfolk are streaming across the park. On their faces is concern, they can see the little girl weeping over the prone form of their Constable—they must be wondering just how bad it can be. Just as the mouth of the doors snaps closed, a great tumult can be heard, a sound that makes Catra’s long ears press against the side of her head in an attempt to muffle. Catra knows they must have reached the Constable’s cooling body and discovered what she has done—what she has brought to Glenmar.

Art commissioned from Henar Torinos of @ilikeyoucatradora

Except from my ongoing fanfic, Traces of Crimson.

The link to my fic on AO3 can be found below:

The Prosecutor returns her attention to the datapad, and with a few deft finger taps on the screen, sifts through battle entries as her brown eyes dart left to right, searching for a specific event.

 “If you don't mind, I want to run through an example of how this particular scenario plays out. I’m going to select an engagement—one you should be familiar with, in fact—and I want you to tell us how this ‘shock and awe’ worked to dimmish any unwanted deaths.”

The datapad beeps as Euridice’s eyes light up. As the Prosecutor turns the electronic device in her direction, Catra realizes that her earlier notions of being led like a lamb to slaughter are accurate. Once again, she recognizes the many Horde engagements written out before her, but this time, something obscene is between the lines of text. It blemishes the interstitial space between clearly formed words, seeming to drown them in crimson. She knows that only she is privy to this vision—her sin—highlighted like a halo around a single location and date.

“How about Glenmar as an example?” Euridice says—as if randomly selecting it. “How would you pacify Glenmar? Actually! Based on its size as a village and what you told me about the Horde procedure, a high-ranking Horde officer would have been in charge of this assault. That was you, wasn’t it, Catra?”

If one emotion can crush you to an utterly narrow point, it is anxiety, and at that moment, Catra is caught in its clutches. It blooms like a hideous flower in her chest, threatening to cast her into a whole universe of desolation—a separation from love—for that is about to happen.

 Catra is held firmly in place by two brown eyes—two very narrow eyes of the only other person in this courtroom who knows the truth. Knows the truth of who Catra is and what she is capable of—and soon—will tell everyone. Everyone will know, including Adora, and it will break her heart into pieces, no longer to be put back together. Her love for Catra will die.

“Yes, I was in charge when the Horde went to Glenmar,” Catra said in a near whisper.

Illustration from my fanfic, Traces of Crimson, done on commission by Henar Torinos, a.k.a., @ilikeyoucatradora!

The link to my fanfic on AO3 can be found below: