They pull themselves through Catra's claws, and she feels the give of their skin underneath her fingers, and it catches her off-guard. Enough that she stumbles backwards with their shove, the edge of the crate digging painfully into her back, and she's grateful for it. Grateful to have something to focus on other than the hatred that they mimic so well in Adora's eyes, grateful to have a physical excuse for the wet sheen of her own.
Is this what she always wanted?
No.
But it's what Adora left her to work with.
The rage burns and flares hot as it consumes her jealousy, her hurt. The world goes dark at the edges, narrowing until it's just Adora, just Adora's face and the steel of her voice, and Catra hates. her. One hand clenches into the crate, the scrape of Catra's claws piercing the air loudly as they scratch deep grooves into the metal. The other flies for their cheek, her fingers curled to dig deep and tear through that perfectly replicated face in fury.
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Is this what she always wanted?
No.
But it's what Adora left her to work with.
The rage burns and flares hot as it consumes her jealousy, her hurt. The world goes dark at the edges, narrowing until it's just Adora, just Adora's face and the steel of her voice, and Catra hates. her. One hand clenches into the crate, the scrape of Catra's claws piercing the air loudly as they scratch deep grooves into the metal. The other flies for their cheek, her fingers curled to dig deep and tear through that perfectly replicated face in fury.