( whether Catra likes it or not, she reaches for the black anyway. she's stuck in the motions of a memory that isn't hers. the dress is heavy as she drags it closer, steps into it and pulls it up over intricate layers of undergarments.
and that corset is digging into her ribs, enjoy that.
Mattie thinks the black is boring, but even with the mass of buttons hanging open in the back, Catra finds herself more at home. this black is a part of her as much as the empty still of her heartless chest and the missive from maman informing her that she needed to return to Styria. this is who she is, in this new powerful existence she's determined to make the most of.
arms circle around her as she stares at herself in the mirror, and a warm rumble of a laugh vibrates against her shoulder. )
You're positively depressing, darling. You might as well stitch a scarlet V to your breast. ( despite the taunts of her sister, Catra feels more fondness than shame. because despite her teasing, Mattie leans back to fix up the back, in steady confident motions. ) It doesn't matter how dour you dress, kitty, we're going to live like kings tonight. You, me, the city of lights. Art and life and lights and splendor all around us, and all ours.
( there's still a steady buzz from the excitement knocking around from the night before, and it's only brightening and building now. Catra turns and Mattie catches her hands and swirls her around the room, dragging her into a waltz so quickly she almost forgets the steps. Catra laughs, despite herself, despite the responsibility threatening to creep up and vice around her neck like a shackle still sitting where she'd abandoned it by the vanity.
Maman could wait. tonight, they'd live. tonight, they would —
and just as suddenly as the picture happened, it's gone. the opal is snatched from Catra's hand. it's replaced with the girl she saw in that memory's mirror, same age, but so different all the same. )
You listen worse than a toddler, ( Carmilla condemns, and the hammer she's holding is clenched particularly tight in her fist. it'd be a lie to say she isn't tempted to swing it straight at Catra, though she doesn't. )
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and that corset is digging into her ribs, enjoy that.
Mattie thinks the black is boring, but even with the mass of buttons hanging open in the back, Catra finds herself more at home. this black is a part of her as much as the empty still of her heartless chest and the missive from maman informing her that she needed to return to Styria. this is who she is, in this new powerful existence she's determined to make the most of.
arms circle around her as she stares at herself in the mirror, and a warm rumble of a laugh vibrates against her shoulder. )
You're positively depressing, darling. You might as well stitch a scarlet V to your breast. ( despite the taunts of her sister, Catra feels more fondness than shame. because despite her teasing, Mattie leans back to fix up the back, in steady confident motions. ) It doesn't matter how dour you dress, kitty, we're going to live like kings tonight. You, me, the city of lights. Art and life and lights and splendor all around us, and all ours.
( there's still a steady buzz from the excitement knocking around from the night before, and it's only brightening and building now. Catra turns and Mattie catches her hands and swirls her around the room, dragging her into a waltz so quickly she almost forgets the steps. Catra laughs, despite herself, despite the responsibility threatening to creep up and vice around her neck like a shackle still sitting where she'd abandoned it by the vanity.
Maman could wait. tonight, they'd live. tonight, they would —
and just as suddenly as the picture happened, it's gone. the opal is snatched from Catra's hand. it's replaced with the girl she saw in that memory's mirror, same age, but so different all the same. )
You listen worse than a toddler, ( Carmilla condemns, and the hammer she's holding is clenched particularly tight in her fist. it'd be a lie to say she isn't tempted to swing it straight at Catra, though she doesn't. )