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Azula rises with the sun. As a firebender it is in her nature, the power of the sun flows through her veins. It imbues her with the power to do many things– to take, to kill, to conquer, to consume. It allows her to be her true self, the ruthless, dangerous Crown Princess of the Fire Nation. Without the sun, just like all things on Earth, she would be nothing, merely a shriveled up corpse resembling the charred remains of those who get in her way.
Azula rose with the sun not because she was like the endless supply of firebenders at her father’s fingers but instead she was not like them. She was a firebender, perhaps the firebender of her generation. She was much more than the drones in her father’s army and even more than Fire Lord Ozai himself, as treasonous as that may sound.
(Azula was startled at the constant appearance of treason in her mind. She put the blame on her horrid mother and her pathetic brother, poisoning her mind with their “moods” as she referred to them as.)
Azula was more than them because of her firebending and because of that she was less. She was forever less herself and more her abilities. Her life forever revolved around the gaseous giant just like the very rock she was standing on. She supposed it was natural for one's bending to be connected to something, whether it be the sun, the moon, the earth, or whatever evil magic the air nomads of the past abused. She did not on the other hand find it natural for one’s self, one’s very essence and worth to be tied to a very hot pile of rocks. Azula did not want to be tied so fundamentally to something entirely out of her control and yet fate is cruel and here she sits because of it.
Her brother always figured her the lucky one. She was the golden child, father’s favorite, the firebending prodigy and heir to the throne (despite Zuko’s actual status as Crown Prince before his banishment.) Azula was far from lucky. Her bending prowess was not the blessing others may believe it to be, and her father’s attention and love was not a gift but a curse that brought hours, days, months, years of torment and training and where was the rest, the air, she couldn’t breath, the very oxygen in her lungs being ignited in her father’s combustion engine of power and control and she couldn’t breath, her lifeforce ablaze with the rest of her meaningless existence.
Azula was a weapon. She was not a person. She had no ties to blood or humanity or the common good. Her only loyalty was to her MASTER, her EMPEROR, her GOD. Ozai was not her father, neither was he a human, he was THE FIRE LORD. Azula was not a child, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover, she was THE CROWN PRINCESS. She was not held down by emotions or loyalties, she was free to be used for her true purpose, her fire’s true purpose– to destroy.
Her fire was her, in a deeper sense that no one would truly understand. She followed the sun the way one would follow their heart. In a way it was her heart. Without the sun she would have no fire. Without fire she would have no life. Without fire she would have no purpose.
She obeyed her father not because of some ridiculous familial loyalty (her ancestors had made it clear family is not to be trusted with the neverending cycle of familicide to take the throne,) but because he was THE FIRE LORD. She did not love her father. She did not even know what the word love meant. She was simply following the natural hierarchy of the sun. He was above her so she was below him. She was more yet less. It was the way of the sun, however nonsensical that may be. She is always less, this her father made clear.
Zuko is more less than her. She is less but he is more less. It is the way of the sun. He is weak. He is human. He feels. He cries. He is loved. Her mother had loved him and not her and for that Azula is grateful. To be loved is to be less. It is the way of the sun. The sun gives life and is harsh in ways incomprehensible. It is its way.
She feels a drop of perspiration fall down her face. Odd, as she had only just begun the most basic katas she had perfected before the age of 5. She was beyond dwelling on simple fluid, whether it be her own or not. She continued the katas as she watched the sun slowly escape the cage of the Caldera. It was beautiful the way the orange light of the rising sun shone on the red roofing throughout the city, reminding her of her flames when she was just a child, a simpler time before the raging anger and destruction that now consumed her.
As she finished the last kata, the perspiration from earlier now joined by kin from the intense vigor of the most difficult parts of her morning exercises, she watched the sun slowly crest in the endless blue of the cloudless Fire Nation sky. She thought of the day ahead and what meaningless tasks and endless foolery from her father’s pathetic underlings she would have to deal with. She never knew why her father made her put up with the utter imbeciles at his fingertips.
She decided to put the idiots at the back of her mind until she had to physically deal with them and instead headed to her desk. On top of the grand mahogany desk that she really felt was too regal even for nobility like her sat two pieces of parchment. Well really there were too many pieces of stationary to count, as she was not an organized woman, but these two were the only ones that were relevant. She had read both of the letters several times since they had arrived, but she found herself returning to them often. They grounded her in a way she was not allowed to even think about.
She first picked up the *she scoffed* pink one. (Really where does she manage to find pink ink and pink ribbons and it’s just so her that Azula wants to cry out of loneliness.)
Dear Zula,
(It’s written in the most beautiful swirly type and of course she uses that stupid nickname.)
I hope my letter finds you well as always, my little firefly.
(Her smile is for her alone to know, and even then she does not grasp its meaning.)
The circus is still treating me well, as disappointing as that may be for you, my dear. This is the most free I’ve ever felt, away from the world as I know it, even if that includes you. I need to be my own person, to separate myself from my sisters, and the circus is a path to the uniqueness I need.
The circus is treating me well, yet I can never seem to close out my days satisfied. I am missing something. I am missing you. I can’t return home yet, Azula, but always remember that you are home. You give me something to return to, so don’t forget to keep the bed warm for me.
Forever yours, Ty Lee.
Ty Lee was never one to write long rambling letters, dispute her demeanor in person. Azula was not a fan of this. She needed more. Ty Lee made her feel more. Ty Lee made her feel. She missed her like the sun misses its fellow stars. She needs the acrobat back with her and not in some smelly circus tent in some faraway shithole town not worthy of the majesty that was Ty Lee. These thoughts swallow her mind every time she sees the color pink.
She supposed that Mai was purple to match her red and Ty Lee’s pink. The other piece of parchment was much more plain, more simple, yet not less.
Dear Azula,
The days can’t seem to drag on any longer in this dirt hole. I know, very formal and lady-like, but it truly is nothing but dirt here. I’m starting to do something I never thought I would do, miss the Caldera. Although I always dreamt of escaping that place, I can now only look back fondly on my time there. I need escape from this land of dirt and grime. My father does not know how to rule this decrepit city and I do not wish for him to learn. The more he screws up the better chance an opportunity to leave emerges.
If you couldn’t tell this is a desperate plea for you to sweep me away Azula. I know it may not be obvious from my words or actions but I truly do care for you, as selfish and obnoxious as you may be. I long for your company again, for your hair, for your schemes, and for your eyes, as golden as the morning sun.
I am praying for a return to you, to Ty, not to the Caldera, but to wherever the winds may take us. All I know is that I grow restless and I am sure you do too. I strongly urge you to take any opportunity you may get to escape from that golden cage of your father’s and to come home– to me, to us.
With much hope and care, Mai.
Azula was not loved by her parents, by her people, or maybe even her brother. But she was loved by these girls. The world may hate her, but she will know these two girls will be forever behind her. She was not a human, unless she was with them. Maybe Mai was right, she needed to return home.
Her ship was already waiting in the harbour. Her loves waited in the wings. She was departing the palace and returning home. She was becoming human, departing from her reliance on her abilities. She may not be loved by fate, but she was not far from love. She would set sail on this life, her father be damned.
She whispered to herself. “I am coming home, my loves.”