Chapter Text
Azula was tired.
A simple, short sentence. One lacking vivid imagery, metaphors, alliteration or any other literary devices to illustrate the girl’s feelings. One that an author clearly hasn’t revised one, two, three times to find grammatical errors, to find better ways or similes to capture the scene in all its glory. One that clearly shows that the author didn’t google synonyms for a particular word and selected the one that looked the most sumptuous or grandiose. Yet sometimes there is no need for further detail.
Because that simple sentence fully encompassed Azula’s entire experience thus far. That’s what everything boiled down to anyway. What the crux of the princess’ life was.
Tired is an interesting word - with two different meanings. One, in need of rest or sleep - the other, bored or impatient with. And she felt both with such intensity, such vigour - that this parasite of a sensation devoured all her other emotions - happiness, excitement, empathy with glutinous satisfaction. Until only a few remained and solidified themselves into her personality.
Anger.
Sadness.
Contempt.
Fear.
Apathy.
Each day, the hollowness inside her consumed and consumed and consumed in its never-ending hunger, and she feared whatever control she thought she had had vanished completely. What exactly was this sensation? She didn’t know. Azula prided herself on her arsenal of knowledge - in history, literature, firebending and reading others like children’s books. Yet she couldn’t read this hollowness despite her fevering desperation. It had been her eager companion ever since she realised her father loved ‘Azula the puppet’ more than ‘Azula the person’. Ever since her mother began her blatant favouritism of her brother, the subtle narrowing of eyes and shivers as she tried to play cute like Zuko to get attention. Ever since whispers travelled like the plague amongst the palace staff, calling her a ‘little monster’ and ‘tyrant’.
What was so wrong with her to deserve this isolation?
This loneliness?
How was it, in a palatial building, filled with servants and cooks and the remnants of her family, she couldn’t feel more abandoned?
The only family she ever really cared about - who truly loved her, acknowledging her flaws, quirks and embraced her regardless, was gone. And she didn’t know if he was ever going back. Azula got a singular chance to say goodbye. To say something, anything while her brother fought for his life against infection and disease on a bed she wouldn’t wish upon her least favourite servant. Yet all she did was spit out cruel words and make everything worse.
Typical Azula. That’s all she ever did.
Poking and prodding until she pushed everyone away.
Once with Zuko, now with Ty Lee and Mai.
Now, she was getting what she deserved: a self-constructed prison of her own design. Barred behind a mask of the ‘Firelord’s perfect monstrous daughter’. Clinging with whitening fingertips to her last string of sanity proved to be getting harder and harder, but who was she fooling? At this point, she was grasping at thin air. That minute thread had long since lost itself in the winds of despair and hopelessness.
How pathetic.
“P-princess Azula? This is the time that you are supposed to meet with Lady Ty and Lady Mai at the palace gardens.”
Of course.
With what limited free reign she possessed over her own life, this was the only period of the day she could meet with her friends. Was friends the right word to describe one who screams and yells insults at those who are trying to help? Unless it was, Azula wouldn’t use that word to describe her relationship with those two girls. Ty Lee and Mai were nice. Truly good people at heart who don’t deserve to be with a corrupting influence who would only drag them down to the abyss with her. The sooner she scares them off, the sooner their lives will improve. At least they can escape.
Ζuko never got that chance.
“Fine.”
Slamming the door open with enough force that it ricocheted off the body of the maid, the princess promptly made her way over to the garden. Switching into the role of the tyrant with disturbing ease. Was it just a role, or was this just part of her now? Had the mask she donned since birth become too ingrained into her skin, too latched onto her soul like a blood-sucking leech to take off? Immediately, the show began. Barely registering the crude insults leaving her poisonous lips until Ty Lee’s face was wet with tears and Mai’s usual resting bitch face sharply contorted into a disgusted grimace. Yes, that was the right reaction.
Go away. Go away and never come back.
Eventually, the one sided assault transformed into a raging battle between her and Mai, infernos flaring with malice and abuse burning scars on both sides.
“Silent bitch who never contributes until it’s too late!”
“Psychotic traitor who kicks turtleducks to feel something!”
“No wonder your own mother ignores you and dreams for a son!”
“No wonder your mum left you!”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Ty Lee howled from the sidelines, clutching something to her chest. “This wasn’t the plan.”
“Well, screw the plan Ty Lee!” Mai snarled. Snatching the envelope from the crumpled girl, she stomped over to the crown princess. Shoving it into her chest with all her soaring rage, hatred, sorrow. “If you want to be alone Azula, be alone for all I care! Αll we came here to do was talk and give you this.”
“We’re leaving.”
Azula watched the two walk off, a mixture of relief and sorrow settling in her stomach. This was what she wanted. She won. Hadn’t she? Would a winner feel shattered if their opponents didn’t even turn back, to catch a glimpse of her as they disappeared from view?
Did she even mean anything to them? Was their entire friendship just one lonely monster clinging to two girls who just wanted to get away from her the first real chance they got?
Clenching the letter with a vice grip, her eyes roamed over its crumpled surface. Going over the faded crown in the corner three times before it registered. Before it clicked.
At that moment, the hollowness felt generous, and graced her with emotions.
Hope.
Happiness.
Carefully folding it into her sleeve, Azula walked to her room with as much restraint as she could. Refusing to make eye-contact with the help, to hear whatever filth and dirty gossip about her they used to make up for the monotony in their pathetic lives. Only when the door was closed and locked, then checked a reasonable four times, did the young girl bounce on her bed, ripping the envelope open with a pearl dagger.
Scanning over the letter with uncomfortably warm hands, the young girl took in her brother’s words. His messages. His partial truths and lies. Because Azula had known Zuko for long enough to be able to discern his tells, even in writing. Only after she had fully taken it all in did she set the letter down, crinkling the fragile paper with her grip and staring at the candle that illuminated her experience. An unwilling participant in this uncertain event - when the future could vary from screaming to destroying the candle to a pile of wax. It was the usual Azula stare, a clear blankness in her eyes that almost no one could read. Hiding whatever happiness, sadness, anger hid behind that rigid mask. Nothing but the lone flame on the candle moved, nervously jerking from side to side. Trembling in trepidation, fear, anxiety and dread, then violently started when the girl’s eyes became glassy with tears. Yet no water cascaded down her cheek, all contained in a sheen that blurred her vision like rain on a window pane. Blood trickled from where a canine punctured her lip, but even the stinging didn’t stop the water starting to stream. A trickle became a river and then a tumultuous ocean of relief, frustration, happiness and relief. Eyes roamed over a serene picture of a surprisingly well drawn temple perched on a mountain top. Carefully, she peeled back a poster of Firelord Azulon to slot the drawing behind it. Azula couldn’t believe it.
She wasn’t forgotten. She wasn’t completely alone.
Her brother may be keeping secrets from her, the bastard, but she had secrets of her own. Pinching the letter containing light and air from a world so different to hers, Azula held onto it like a buoy in a storm.
Then, in one quick motion, she fed the letter to the candle’s flame - surprised by the sudden food source but happily gorged on the oh-so flammable paper. Τhe princess watched as the scribbling was quickly consumed and turned to ash in mere seconds.
While art can be viewed by many, not all letters are meant to be read.