Chapter Text
Even if you aren't completely healed, Asami writes, even if you can't walk, ever again, the paper scars under the ink, please.
She retraces the word until the page wrinkles around the curls of the letters.
Please, please, she writes and struggles and flails and drowns in the river of her emotions.
A drop of ink splashes on the last words, don't give in, I know you think yourself useless, but I don't want the next Avatar, I want you. Don't give in.
The blare of a faraway siren pierces the stillness of her office
Asami tries to breath, I can be strong enough for both of us, I can hope for both of us she lies and even if I can't, I can be strong for you. Maybe not for me, but I will give up all of my strength for you.
A log sparks in the hearth, cleaves in two.
Until there's nothing left for me she tries to figure out how to stop the life bleeding out from her beating heart I know what it feels to be broken, in shards and splinters, I can rebuild myself, I already did, I know what to do to feel whole again.
I'm a builder she writes I replaced that mirror you broke at the Air Temple, her little finger itches, the puckered line of new tissue itching, but I'm not brave enough to face its reflection alone.
Asami's vision swims, and the letter seems endless. A rattle of thorn and teeth, a desire. I love you the words plunge in the space beneath her ribs I love you. Please come back to me. Please
There is a twitch of movement at the edge of her spotted vision. A flicker.
Do you still have my brooch? her smile aches It was selfish of me, but I wanted you to have a piece of me she confesses and the shine in her eyes burns to unshed tears.
And if you don't like it, she bleeds, even if you don't know it's from me-
The thought flashes in her mind like the rotating blink of a lighthouse.
Toss it in the ocean. But please. Come back. Or I can come to the South Pole, it's just a matter of hours. I-
She crosses out everything thrice, then crumples up the paper.
Dear Korra, she writes again, and let the words spiral in a whirlwind of calm, undamaged sentences about her week I went to the park yesterday after lunch because my assistant insisted I was spending too much time holed up in my office. So I did some cloudgazing, feeling like a child again and I saw a big long cloud that definitely looked like Naga.
Her words are perfectly aligned, each letter curling upwards on the blank page in a way that makes Asami want to cry. Her voice is raw, her body broken.