Chapter Text
An emptiness echoed through the palace, but a fire raged and pulsed underneath her skin. It filled her with a humming static that both made it impossible to think yet impossible to stop thinking. It itched to be released, but now was not the time. Spies and assassins were everywhere, in the shadows of the palace, in the shadows of her mind. If she let her guard down, she would let Father down; she would let her nation down. Mai and Ty Lee proved she couldn’t trust anyone, not after they chose her traitorous brother over her.
But now was not the time to think about them. She had a coronation to prepare for. Father entrusted her with the Fire Nation, and she could not start her iron rule with anything less than perfection. Grabbing the silk ribbon, Azula tugged her hair back into the traditional topknot. A few strands slipped from her grasp, while others pulled too tightly against her scalp. Raising her gaze to the mirror, Azula glared at the offenders. It wouldn’t do.
In a single motion, she tugged out the top knot and grabbed the scissors. With her other hand, she clutched her bangs in front of her face.
“Alright hair,” she growled, “It’s time to face your doom.” Bringing down the sharp edges of the scissors, she grinned as the loose strands slipped from her hand. The smile pulled at her face all wrong, a mockery of joy that for some reason made her want to laugh, even though she couldn’t figure out what was so funny.
“What a shame, you always had such beautiful hair,” a soft voice echoed from behind Azula with a sadness she would recognize anywhere. It was the same tone of disappointment she heard every time she pushed Zuzu in the turtle-duck pond, or her fire burned too hot during a sparring session. Mother stood just beyond her shoulder. Azula’s smile fell.
“What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t want to miss my own daughter’s coronation,” Ursa replied, words hallow to Azula’s ears.
“Don’t pretend to act proud, I know what you really think of me,” Azula bit back a snarl, instead focusing on the truth of her mother’s affection. Always conditional. She was never enough compared to sweet, mold-able Zuzu, “You think I’m a monster.”
“I think you’re confused,” Ursa remained still, her words soft. Azula closed her eyes, lips pressed thin, “All your life you used fear to control people. Like your friends, Mai and Ty Lee.”
Mai and Ty Lee, of course. Of course, mother didn’t actually care about her. She would choose anyone over her actual daughter. Fists curling, Azula spun around. “Well, what choice do I have,” Azula shouted. The lightening in her veins cracked, burning her insides. It felt like her chest was folding in on itself, but if she stopped screaming, she would stumble, so she forced her rage outward, “Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way. Even you fear me,” she growled.
“No, I love you, Azula,” Ursa held her hands closer to her chest, her voice earnest, “I do.”
Azula felt her lips quake without her permission. Her body trembled. Clutching the hairbrush on the bureau, she pivoted and threw the brush at the mirror. It collided with glass, shattering it on contact. Shards of the mirror rained down. Collapsing to her knees, Azula clutched her stomach, trying to hold back the sob building in her throat as she sat there alone. Mother was gone, but she didn’t feel better. She won; she was supposed to feel better. Instead, all she could feel was the lump in her throat, the glass cutting into her legs, and a crushing weight upon her back. Her body was too small to contain the magnitude of flames that raged within her.
Inhaling, Azula forced herself to open her eyes, to take the pain and use it to bind the brokenness she felt inside. Father couldn’t see her like this. No one would fear a girl who cried at the sight of her mother. Gold eyes flickering open, Azula caught her reflection in a mirror shard. Her bangs hung unevenly across her forehead. Red blotches stained her cheeks, evidence of the tears she couldn’t hold back. Her lipstick had smeared, becoming uneven and shaky. Fists curling, her fingernails scrapped against the flooring. This wouldn’t do.
Taking another deep breath, Azula stood. The trembling of her body stilled as she raised her chin in the air and shook the uneven strands of hair out of her eyes. Slipping her hands into the sleeves of her robe in the practiced pose of a noble woman, Azula turned to the door. In all of Caldera, in all the nations, there was only one person Azula could count on. Only one person who couldn’t leave her, if only on the account of being a terrible liar and having a broken leg. Her hands steadied to a stilled calm, the storm within settling to a low and distant thunder. Setting her shoulders back, Azula left her chambers and headed out of her room. The guards stationed at her door snapped to attention, following behind her at the proper distance as she marched down the hall. If they had heard anything from her chambers or had any thoughts on her state of dress, they didn’t comment. Good. They knew better then.
The guards followed her down the dungeon stairs, into the deep underbelly of the palace. The torch lite corridor was damp, a sign of the coming rainy season. Azula grimaced. They were deep enough underground now that a weaker firebender would struggle to feel Agni’s blessed light. Two more guards stood stationed in front of the cell of the lone occupant. The Fire Lord preferred to permanently end those who failed him, that or put them to work in the mining camps. Keeping prisoners was a waste of resources. This one of course was special, with a knack for clawing his way to survival.
Azula waved off the guards. They glanced at each other for a moment. Raising a brow, Azula waited to see if they challenged her. Instead, they bowed deeply before marching out of the room with the other two palace guards. Smart. If they hesitated a moment longer, Azula would have been forced to remind them who was in charge.
Guards gone, Azula stepped toward the iron bars of the cell, a small, square room with a rock slab for a bed. The lone figure of the cell leaned against the back wall in the shadows. A long chain laid on the ground in front of him, attached to the thick manacles on the figure’s bony, pale wrists. The metal restraints left deep purple bruises, but it was difficult to tell them apart from the myriad of other bruises, burns, and cuts covering the rest of his dirt-stained body. He wore what would be called rags on a good day, but now was nothing more than torn strips of fabric. Azula watched as he took a shallow breath, his entire body shaking. Slowly, he raised his head. His golden eyes met hers. The hollowness of his face echoed the emptiness she felt inside as she looked at the boy who would too much like her and too much like their mother if not for the burn that long since devoured the left side of his face.
Azula did not turn away, instead a smile pulled on the corner of her lips as she spoke, “Hello, Zuzu.”