(1/12) It’s not the first time Allura has been lied to. She thinks of her father—his hazy A.I. flickering in and out as one half taunted her, the other pleading, both ripping her heart in two—and she thinks of Shiro, kind, caring Shiro and knows, somewhere in her gut, that the man who looks like him is Not Him. His gentleness has been replaced by careful calculated concern, of what he knows he should seem to feel, instead of what he actually does, and her stomach twists, because she wants her Shiro back. The Shiro who could make her heart skip a beat even if she didn’t realize it until his heartbeat was gone, whose, she now knows, continued absence weighs on her as heavily as her people’s—on Altea, we wear this colour to honour our fallen warriors—and wishes, desperately, that this imposter could be him. But he’s not, and she knows, knows that Shiro has always understood, that there is a job to do, and that someone must do it. It’s the first time since she met him, however, that she has to do it alone.