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The artificial breeze moves her hair. It isn’t real.
The grass brushes her fingertips as she traces her hands over another juniberry petal. It isn’t real.
Her eyes are drawn to the sky, painted a brilliantly warm pink by the setting suns. It isn’t real.
But it was.
Allura smoothes her nightgown out and breathes in deep, some part of her still expecting to smell the sweet aroma of the Altean fields she grew up in. Instead all that greets her is a crushing sense of guilt and disappointment in her chest. Tears threaten to spill from her eyes as she recalls the events of the evening.
She had almost been responsible for the deaths of the five paladins. She had almost flown them straight into a godforsaken burning star! All to reach a home that no longer existed. They would tell her it wasn’t her fault, but really, how forgivable was a careless action like that?
Allura digs the palms of her heels into her eyes, hating the way they come away damp and glistening. How pathetic that she lay here, crying over a computer while others die to the hands of the Galra.
The world moves around her, the clouds forming shapes she used to point out to her mother when she was six. The bushes swaying in the false breeze, where she used to pick berries with her father when she was thirteen. Three years ago for her, 10,000 for the universe. She had run out of time. It feels like she had, but logic says otherwise. In the end, it doesn’t matter all that much. Her home is as long gone as the life she once knew.
What she wouldn’t give to see her father, her living, breathing father one last time. She feels so alone on the castleship.
“Princess?” A heavily accented voice calls from some distance behind her. Allura wipes her eyes and forces a cheery tone.
“Yes, Coran?” She tries, and turns to face the man. She hates the way she can see the exact moment his polite demeanour crumbles.
Coran approaches her how one would approach an injured animal- cautious and gentle, scared to startle them with a single gesture. Allura forces her gaze to the ground, the movement unintentionally allowing the tears to finally fall from her downcast eyes.
Arms find their way around her shoulders, a hand smoothes her hair down from where it had caught in the artificial prickles on the ground. And in her advisor’s embrace is where she finally breaks down. A sob tears from her throat before she can stop it and her forehead falls onto Coran’s shoulder.
“It’s not your fault, Allura,” he’s saying. Oh but it is. It is. It’s her fault.
“I was so- blinded, by hope that I couldn’t see the truth right in front of me, Coran!” She cries brokenly. “I was deceived so easily!”
“Princess, no-,” Coran tries.
“How can I even think of moving forward with Voltron in the war if I’m so stuck in the past? I miss him so much, I miss home so, so much,” Allura sobs before taking another breath in an attempt to calm herself.
“I know, Allura. I miss Altea every day, too,” Coran tells her. He extends his arms so he’s staring earnestly into her eyes, reaching and tucking her hair behind her ears as he gives her a sad smile. “But we must honour your fathers decision by moving forward. And that doesn’t mean we can’t look back sometimes, too. You’re strong, Allura, and grieving your home isn’t a weakness.”
“You’re the smartest, most capable young woman I have ever had the honour of knowing. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”
Allura lets her tears fall as she takes in his words. However much she misses Altea, her father chose her to do this for a reason. He believed in her, and she should start believing too.
“Thank you, Coran. I needed to hear that,” she says honestly, her voice hoarse. She doesn’t know where she would be without him. Dare she say he’s become family to her.
“Of course, Princess,” he says just as earnestly. In this time of grief, they have each other. “Now, you should get some rest, it’ll help ease your mind.”
The Princess readily agrees, and as she makes her way back to her bedroom, she allows herself one more glance over the Altean simulation before passing the threshold.
The feeling of guilt doesn’t go away. But it will become easier to manage with time.