I Finally Got the Girl, But a Cursed Forest Is Using Our Trauma to Tear Us Apart

The morning light was soft, filtering through the wide kitchen window and catching the dust motes dancing in the air. It was a peaceful light, the kind Adora had only ever dreamed of. It settled over the small, sturdy table we’d built together, over the mismatched chairs we’d salvaged from a Bright Moon market. It settled over Catra.

She was leaning against the counter, one hip cocked, stirring something in a pan that smelled of fried bread and sweet spices. Her tail twitched lazily, a perfect picture of domestic contentment. Her ears, however, were swiveled in my direction, tracking my every move. She knew I was watching her. She always knew.

I felt a familiar ache in my chest, a love so vast it was almost painful. This was ours. This quiet, this acre of peace carved out of the wreckage of our past. I should have been soaking in it, but my fingers tapped a restless rhythm against my mug. My gaze kept drifting past Catra, past the window, to the distant, shimmering towers of Bright Moon castle. Etheria was healing, but the scars remained, and I could feel them like a phantom limb, a constant, low-grade thrum of responsibility.

“You’re going to break that mug,” Catra said, her voice a low purr that did things to the base of my spine. She didn’t turn around. “Then you’ll have to drink out of your hands like the barbarian you are.”

I smiled, the tension in my shoulders easing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe.” She finally turned, a plate in her hand. Her mismatched eyes, one gold, one blue, scanned my face, missing nothing. The playful smirk on her lips didn’t quite hide the question in her gaze. She set the plate in front of me and leaned down, her hands bracketing my shoulders. “Stay here for a minute, Adora.”

Her mouth found mine, and the world outside the window vanished. It was a soft kiss, tasting of sugar and the coffee on my lips. It was a kiss that said you are home. I slid my hands from my mug to her waist, pulling her closer until she was straddling my lap, settling her weight against me. The kiss deepened, her tongue tracing my lips before seeking entrance. I opened for her, my own restlessness finally finding a focus. This. Her. The heat of her body, the familiar scent of her skin, the slight rasp of her tongue against mine.

My hands slid up her back, under the thin fabric of her shirt, my fingers tracing the hard lines of her spine. A low vibration started in her chest, the purr she saved only for me, and I felt it resonate through my own body. My hips shifted, pressing upward against her, a silent request. Arousal, sharp and immediate, coiled in my stomach. She broke the kiss, her breath warm against my cheek.

“Better?” she whispered, her lips brushing my ear.

“Getting there,” I breathed, burying my face in the curve of her neck, letting her scent fill my senses. For a moment, there was nothing but the two of us in our small kitchen, the sun on our skin, and the promise of a quiet day. But even as I held her, the pull of the outside world was a faint but persistent hum beneath the surface, a duty I could never fully set aside. Catra felt it too; I could feel the subtle stiffening in her muscles, the way her purr faltered for just a second. The peace was real, but we both knew how fragile it was.

My hands tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against me. The heat from her core seeped through her clothes, a demanding warmth that answered the ache low in my belly. I wanted to stay here, tangled up with her in the morning sun, to let the day dissolve into nothing but the feel of her skin and the sound of her breathing. I shifted my hips again, a more deliberate pressure this time, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath against my neck. Her own hands slid down from my shoulders, her fingers hooking into the belt loops of my pants, her knuckles pressing against my stomach.

“Adora,” she murmured, the single word a mix of warning and invitation. My name on her lips was a catalyst, and the warmth inside me sharpened into a pointed, urgent need. I was about to answer, to pull her shirt over her head and lay her down on the table we’d built, when the air in the kitchen fractured.

A sudden shower of bright pink sparkles rained down beside us, shimmering and fizzing out before they hit the floor. Catra was off my lap in an instant, landing on her feet in a defensive crouch, a low hiss rumbling in her throat. The soft, pliant woman from a moment ago was gone, replaced by a warrior, her body coiled and ready for a threat.

Glimmer stood where the sparkles had been, looking frazzled, her hands twisting in front of her. “Sorry! I’m so sorry to interrupt, but it’s an emergency.”

My own arousal vanished as if doused with ice water, replaced by a familiar surge of adrenaline. I stood up, automatically moving to Glimmer’s side, my mind already shifting gears from Catra to the crisis at hand. “Glimmer, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s one of the new settlements,” she said, her voice strained. “A village deep in the Whispering Woods. The rebuilding efforts have completely stalled. People are… sick.”

“Sick how?” I asked, my focus narrowing entirely on her words. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Catra straighten up, her defensive posture melting away into something else, something closed-off and wary. Her tail gave a single, sharp lash.

“It’s not physical,” Glimmer explained, wringing her hands. “They’re terrified. Plagued by nightmares, paranoia… they’re turning on each other, seeing enemies in shadows. They’re saying the woods are haunted. We need She-Ra.”

The name landed in the quiet kitchen with the force of a physical blow. She-Ra. The hero. The savior. A current went through me, a sense of purpose so strong it was like a magnetic pull. This was what I was for. This was what I did.

“I’ll go,” I said immediately, my voice firm. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t think to look at Catra. “Tell me where. I’ll leave right away.”

It was only after the words were out that I felt the temperature in the room drop. I finally turned to Catra. The playful warmth in her eyes was gone, extinguished. In its place was a look I knew too well—a guarded, brittle expression that was a shield for the fear and resentment underneath. It was the face she wore in the Fright Zone, the face she wore when she believed I would always choose the world over her. The acre of peace we had built felt suddenly, terrifyingly small, shrinking under the shadow of my sword.

The silence Glimmer left behind was heavier than any I had known during the war. It filled every corner of our small house, thick with unspoken words and old fears. The plate of sweet bread sat untouched on the table, a cold monument to a morning that had started with so much promise. I found Catra in our bedroom, standing by the open window and looking out at the darkening woods. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her tail still except for the very tip, which flicked back and forth like a frayed nerve.

I came up behind her, my movements slow. I didn't touch her, not yet. "It's just one village," I said softly to her back. "It sounds like they just need some reassurance. I'll be back before you know it."

She didn't turn. "That's what you always say." Her voice was flat, stripped of its usual warmth. "There's always one more village, one more person who needs saving. Where do we fit in, Adora? Where do I fit in?"

"You're everything," I said, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate. I rested my hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension coiled there like tight springs. She didn't shrug me off, but she didn't lean into my touch either.

"Am I?" She finally turned, her mismatched eyes boring into mine. The shield was firmly in place, but I could see the cracks in it, the raw hurt shimmering underneath. "Or am I just the thing you come home to when there's no one else left to rescue? This morning… this life… I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then Glimmer shows up, says your other name, and there it is. The sound of you leaving."

Her words were a physical blow, striking right at the heart of my own conflict. "Catra, no." I slid my hands from her shoulders to cup her face, my thumbs stroking the sharp lines of her cheekbones. "Don't say that. It's not like that anymore."

"Prove it," she challenged, her voice breaking on the last word.

I didn't have any more words. So I acted. I pulled her flush against me, my body molding to hers, one hand tangled in the thick mane of her hair while the other pressed into the small of her back, arching her into me. I crushed my mouth to hers. It wasn't a soft kiss; it was desperate, demanding. I poured every ounce of my conviction into it, trying to communicate what my words could not. You are not second. You are not an afterthought.

Her lips were stiff at first, resistant, but I held her tighter, my tongue tracing the seam of her mouth, begging for entry. She gave a shuddering breath and opened to me. The kiss changed instantly, her own desperation rising to meet mine. Her hands came up to fist in my shirt, clinging to me as if she were afraid I’d vanish. I could feel the frantic beat of her heart against my chest. My hips pressed into hers, seeking a friction that was both grounding and arousing, a reminder that we were here, solid, real.

I broke the kiss only when we both needed to breathe, resting my forehead against hers. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark against her skin.

"This time is different," I whispered, my voice thick. "Because I'm not leaving you. I want you to come with me. We face it together. You and me."

She opened her eyes. The fear was still there, a deep, shadowy pool, but something else flickered within it—a fragile spark of hope. She didn't say yes, not right away. But she leaned into me, her body finally relaxing against mine, her hands unclenching from my shirt to wrap around my waist. It wasn't a victory, but it was a truce. For now, it was enough.