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Catra wasn’t sure at what point she realized that the Horde wasn’t really on the side of good. But she had nowhere to go and as far as she was concerned, no reason to leave either. The rebels thought of the Fright Zone as the epicenter of Lord Hordak’s empire. For her, it was simply… home. It wasn’t a pleasant place by any means, sure. But it was where she had grown up, where she was taught to fight, where she met people she had once called her friends. It didn’t matter to her if princesses were actually evil or just propaganda spouted to rally people to the Horde’s side. For her, as long as Adora was by her side, it was worth fighting for; even dying for, if it ever came to that. That was her first mistake. The first mistake of many, at least.
I never wanted to leave you.
Distance was a deceptive thing, Catra learned. In the wake of Adora’s betrayal, she thought that keeping people at arm’s length would clear her path to glory. Had this been any other time, she would have ripped her claws through her hair, demanding to know why people were so quick to abandon her. But slouched in the back of one of Horde Prime’s holding cells, the real question she should have asked back then now crept to the forefront of her mind. Why did she push them all away?
But did you ever stop to think maybe they’re not the problem? It’s you. You drive them away, wildcat.
It was almost laughable, thinking that her mad grab for power was solely about bringing glory to the Horde. Maybe pride was part of it but Catra understood now that all she wanted was acknowledgement. It didn’t matter who that recognition came from, be it from Lord Hordak or Shadow Weaver. She wanted her success to be tied to her and her alone, especially when the one person who consistently outshone her all her life was gone. But even then, it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing did.
The holding cell in Horde Prime's ship was good for one thing, Catra realized. No matter which nightmare haunted her sleep, the cell was ever constant with its sharp corners and harsh geometry. The metal walls were always cold to the touch, the floor just as frigid. And when she crouched at the very back of it, it put things into perspective. The frame of the cell was hexagonal like the ones in the Fright Zone but it stretched deeper. The rotating guards looked more like life-size toys than they did soldiers. Even Glimmer, imprisoned in the cell across from her, looked more like a mirage in the force fields that caged them. A princess— no, a queen, and a mere facsimile of success in identical cells. Perhaps they had more in common than they realized but neither of them would ever admit that out loud and with any real sincerity.
There were the occasional cries for relief from the other prisoners but if Catra had learned anything in her years in the Fright Zone, it was how to drown out excess noise. After all, she had been the recipient of Shadow Weaver’s ill-meaning japes and jabs at her incompetence. Even now, the mere mention of her name still made her want to tear her claws through the floor. But thoughts of Shadow Weaver would inevitably lead to thoughts of Adora. And Adora… Adora meant nothing, yet everything to her at once.
Up until an year ago, Catra had more or less accepted that Adora would always more prioritized, more praised by Shadow Weaver. After all, the blonde was undoubtedly skilled and far more diligent about her duties than Catra ever was. But now, the witch’s reasoning mattered little to her. Catra wasn’t stupid. That fateful day in Thaymor, the smoke finally cleared. She saw what, or rather, who Adora had become. Maybe even who she had always meant to be. Catra had simply been blinded to the truth.
But strangely enough, the fact that Shadow Weaver had always known Adora’s destiny didn’t make her angry. Neither did the fact that her role as She-ra’s heir was the sole reason for her kinder treatment. Not at all.
No, no. It was the fact that no matter how much Catra accomplished, no matter how many Horde victories were under her name; she would always lose to Adora, even when she won. Had this been any other time, the unfairness of it all would have the blood in her veins go searing hot with rage. It wasn’t fair. It was a childish thought, she realized. But that didn't change the fact that she was always treated like second best by everyone except for Adora. But in the end, even Adora had left her. Catra had always known the Horde was never on the side of good. But as long as Adora was there, that had been enough for her to stay. Perhaps it was her fault then, for expecting that sentiment to be reciprocated.
I never wanted to leave you.
Then why? Why were the rebels that Adora had known for all but three days at most suddenly more important to her than all the meals, training, laughter, and tears they had shared? Why wasn’t she enough for anyone?
We both know this isn’t what you really wanted.
Damn them. Not for being wrong but for being right. Wholly, truthfully, brutally right. Even when Double Trouble had told her they had betrayed them, she couldn’t bring herself to harbor any real hatred or animosity. It’s not like she didn’t know somewhere deep down that something like this would happen. Hell, she would have done the exact same thing if their positions had been reversed. It was true: the best odds of survival are with the winning team. And considering that Catra was currently cowered somewhere within the bowels of Horde Prime’s ship, she was hardly in any position to argue otherwise.
Through the window of her cell, she let her eyes dart down to the blue planet below. The pads of her fingers pressed against the glass almost longingly.
Cold, blue, and silent.