A Psychic Parasite Is Feeding On Our Trauma, And The Fights It's Causing Might Actually End Us

The first thing Catra registered was the sunlight, warm and golden, slanting across the plush blankets of their bed. It was a soft, gentle light, nothing like the harsh, artificial glare of the Fright Zone or the stark, unforgiving sun of the Crimson Waste. This light felt like peace. It felt like Adora.

She was still asleep, curled on her side facing Catra, her breathing deep and even. Her blonde hair, usually pulled back in that ridiculous, endearing poof, was a messy halo on the pillow. A faint scar, a pale white line just above her jaw, was a stark reminder of everything they had survived. Without thinking, Catra reached out, her fingers ghosting over the mark before tracing the strong line of Adora’s jaw. She was so solid, so real. After years of chasing a ghost, of fighting a memory, having her here, warm and breathing in their bed, was a quiet miracle Catra was still learning to accept.

Adora stirred, her blue eyes fluttering open. A slow, sleepy smile spread across her face when she saw Catra. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

“Hey, yourself, hero,” Catra whispered back, her hand moving from Adora’s jaw to her hair, threading through the soft strands.

Adora leaned into the touch, her eyes closing again for a moment. “I was having a good dream.”

“Yeah?” Catra’s thumb stroked Adora’s temple. “Was I in it?”

Adora’s eyes opened, and the intensity in them, even hazy with sleep, made Catra’s breath catch. “Always.” She shifted closer, her arm wrapping around Catra’s waist, pulling her flush against the heat of her body. The thin material of their sleep clothes did little to hide the firm muscle of Adora’s stomach and thighs pressed against her. Adora’s lips found hers, a soft, questioning kiss that Catra answered by tilting her head, deepening it instantly.

It was slow and lazy at first, a simple morning greeting, but the familiar fire sparked between them. Adora’s tongue swept against her lips, and Catra opened for her, a low purr starting in her chest as their tongues met. Her hands tangled deeper in Adora’s hair, holding her in place as the kiss became more demanding. Adora’s hand slid from her waist, moving down her back to cup her ass, pulling their hips together. Catra could feel the heat pooling in her stomach, the distinct way Adora’s body was reacting to hers.

A sharp, authoritative knock on their bedroom door shattered the moment.

“Princess Adora?” a guard’s voice called from the hallway. “General Glimmer requires your assistance. There’s been a structural collapse at the Elberon resettlement site.”

Adora pulled back, a groan of frustration escaping her lips. The sleepy softness was gone from her eyes, replaced by the focused, dutiful look Catra knew all too well. The look of She-Ra.

“I’ll be right there,” Adora called out, her voice already taking on its command tone. She looked back at Catra, her expression softening with apology. “I’m sorry, Catra. I have to go.”

Catra pulled away, rolling onto her back and staring at the canopy above their bed. The warmth where Adora had been pressed against her was already beginning to feel cold. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice flat. “Etheria needs its hero.”

She heard Adora’s footsteps fade down the hall, followed by the distant, heavy sound of the palace doors closing. The silence left behind was immense, a hollow space where the warmth of their morning had been. It was a familiar silence, one that tasted like resentment. Catra shoved the blankets off, the cool air of the room a sudden shock against her skin. The bed still smelled like Adora—like soap and sweat and something uniquely her, something that usually felt like safety. Right now, it felt like an accusation.

Needing to escape the sudden opulence of a room that felt more like a gilded cage, she pulled on her worn leggings and tunic. Her claws pricked the pads of her fingers, a restless energy buzzing just beneath her skin. She needed to move, to feel the rough bark of a tree under her hands, not the polished silk of their bedsheets.

The Whispering Woods was the only place that made sense. It was wild, chaotic, and didn't care that she had once tried to burn it down. Here, she wasn't a princess’s consort or a reformed war criminal. She was just Catra. For a while, leaping through the canopy, the wind whipping past her ears, she almost managed to outrun the sour feeling in her stomach. The physical exertion was a balm, a simple, clean burn that pushed the more complicated ache aside.

She pushed deeper than usual, into a part of the woods where the trees grew thick and ancient, their branches blocking out most of the sun. The usual vibrant chatter of the forest faded into an unnerving quiet. It was there, huddled at the base of a twisted, old tree, that she saw it. A patch of flora that didn’t belong. The leaves were a dark, bruised purple, slick with an oily sheen that seemed to drink the light. They weren’t growing so much as they were festering on the forest floor. A low, rhythmic pulse emanated from them—not a sound she could hear with her ears, but a deep thrum she felt in her bones, a vibration that set her teeth on edge.

Drawn by a morbid curiosity, she dropped to the ground and crept closer. The air grew cold, carrying a faint, acrid smell like static and old dread. She knelt, her hand hovering just above one of the unnatural leaves. The thrumming grew stronger, a sick beat matching the sudden pounding in her own head.

The woods dissolved. She was thrown back in time, the soft moss beneath her turning into the cold, unforgiving metal of the Fright Zone floor. The pulse was the deep, industrial hum of the Horde’s machinery, a constant, oppressive vibration that lived in her bones for years. The acrid smell was the ozone tang of a training simulation, thick with the scent of fear and failure. Shadow Weaver’s voice wasn’t a memory of words, but a pure sensation that coiled in her gut—the chilling weight of her disappointment, the casual promise of pain. You will always be second best. You will always be left behind. The image of Adora turning her back, bathed in the golden light of She-Ra for the first time, flashed behind her eyes, so vivid it stole her breath.

Catra flinched back, landing hard on the damp earth. She was in the woods. The memory receded, leaving her gasping, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her gaze snapped back to the ugly, dark plants. It was just a flashback. Lingering trauma. The war was over, but the ghosts remained, eager to surface whenever she felt weak or alone. That’s all it was. It had to be. The thought of telling Adora died before it could fully form. Adora would just worry, her brow furrowed with that earnest, heroic concern that always made Catra feel like a problem to be solved. She didn’t want the pity. She wouldn’t be another one of She-Ra’s projects. Shoving the cold dread down into the pit of her stomach, Catra forced herself to her feet and walked away, not looking back.

The sun had long set by the time Adora returned. Catra heard the heavy drag of her boots in the hall before the bedroom door creaked open. Adora stood silhouetted in the doorway, her shoulders slumped, covered in a fine layer of white dust that dulled the red of her uniform. She looked smaller without the golden light of She-Ra surrounding her, more like the girl Catra grew up with and less like the savior of the universe.

“Hey,” Adora said, her voice rough with exhaustion.

Catra didn't answer, just uncurled from the window seat where she’d been watching the moons rise. She moved towards Adora, her steps silent on the rug. Up close, she could see the grime smudged on Adora’s cheek and a long, shallow scratch along her forearm. Without a word, Catra reached out and began to unbuckle the pauldrons of Adora’s uniform. Her fingers were deft, working the familiar clasps.

“Catra, I’m so sorry,” Adora whispered, her hands coming up to rest on Catra’s waist. “About this morning. I hate it. I hate leaving you.”

Catra’s hands stilled. She looked up, meeting Adora’s tired blue eyes. The apology was there, raw and genuine. “You came back,” Catra said, her voice low. It was all that mattered.

She led Adora into their bathing chamber and turned on the water, the steam rising to fill the marble room. Adora shed the rest of her uniform, her body aching and sore underneath. Catra took a soft cloth, soaking it in the warm water before gently wiping the dust from Adora’s face, her touch careful and deliberate. Adora closed her eyes, leaning into the simple act of care. Her hands found Catra’s hips, pulling her closer until her stomach was pressed against the hard muscle of Adora’s.

“I’ll talk to Glimmer,” Adora murmured, her head resting on Catra’s shoulder. “I need to set boundaries. I need… I need this. Us. More than they need She-Ra for every broken wall.”

Catra dropped the cloth and wrapped her arms around Adora’s neck, her body molding against Adora’s bare skin. She kissed the spot on Adora’s neck just below her ear, feeling Adora’s pulse quicken under her lips. Adora turned her head, capturing Catra’s mouth in a kiss that was desperate and deep. It wasn’t hungry like the one from the morning; it was searching, a plea for reassurance. Catra gave it to her, her tongue tracing the seam of Adora’s lips, her hands tangling in Adora’s wet hair. Adora’s hands slid down Catra’s back, her fingers spreading wide over her ass, pulling her impossibly closer. Catra could feel the evidence of Adora’s arousal pressing against her thigh, a familiar and welcome heat.

Later, curled together in the vastness of their bed, the tension finally bled out of them. Adora’s arm was a heavy, warm weight over Catra’s waist, her face buried in Catra’s hair. Catra’s hand rested over Adora’s on her stomach, her claws retracted, her purr a low, steady rumble in the quiet room. For the first time all day, the cold knot of anxiety in Catra’s chest loosened. This was real. Adora was here. She wasn’t leaving.

But as sleep took them, a subtle chill, unnoticed, crept in from the memory of the woods. Adora’s breath hitched. She was She-Ra, sword in hand, but it was impossibly heavy. The city of Elberon was crumbling around her, the faces of its people twisted in terror, their screams silent. She tried to move, to lift the sword, to save them, but her limbs were leaden. The weight of failure was a physical force, crushing her, suffocating her.

In the same moment, Catra found herself back in the Fright Zone. The air was cold, smelling of metal and fear. Adora stood a few feet away, her back to her, bathed in that brilliant, golden light. “Adora,” Catra called out, her voice a thin, desperate sound. Adora didn’t turn. She just took a step, and then another, walking away into the light, leaving Catra alone in the suffocating, pulsing darkness. A profound coldness, the same cold she’d felt from the strange flora, seeped into her bones, and she shivered in her sleep, pressing closer into the warmth of the real Adora beside her.