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She would never understand humans.
The river of Jang Hui ran red, bodies drifting in the water. The village burned, smouldering wood breaking apart under its own weight as the fire ate away at it, falling into the water regardless of if it wanted to or not.
The Painted Lady wept.
She had once been like them. Life flashing before her eyes, mortality eroding her away like the rocks of cliffs in the face of the ocean. It had been so long ago, the human faces of that time blurred, swelling like spirals of dust and hovering dirty bone.
Yet she remembered the fear.
The fear had been overwhelming.
Then there'd been such light.
She'd watched the man who had in that moment been Bushi be cut down by fire, his corpse becoming a flaming pyre that set alight the dock ways of the village, swallowing up the stilted house and sending them crashing into the river below.
The soldiers cut down more and more civilians. It didn't matter if they defended themselves or not. Even questions got an ill-response.
"Why?" cried a woman, a mother called Yulai, as her child Lee cowered behind her. She had been sickly, but she had been improving when the river had been freed of contaminants.
The soldier skewered her with his spear, with a garbled yell, amber eyes frenzied and popped open, the blood on his armour brighter than its muddy red.
Her question had been offensive.
The fear and rage in the soldier's heart was palpable. He could not, or would not, consider any other answer but his orders.
A new factory was standing dark on the cliffs overlooking the burning river village. It was proud of its work as waste spilled out from its pipes.
Dirty hands, contaminated with things that would only bring and give death and sickness, worked with diligent, brisk duty even now, making metal that would go into war ships that spewed death into the air and dragged it across the water, along with tanks and other human war machines.
It didn't care that the river was dead again, slick with oil and rotting beings. It didn't care that the people of Jang Hui were being slaughtered.
Something cold entered the river, making the Painted Lady pause.
"How unfortunate," a voice said smoothly. It was light, gentle, yet it coldly echoed off the surface of the water. "Aren't you going to do... anything?"
Another spirit was before her, in the shape of a woman. Its veil of white silk seemed to mock the Painted Lady, a curtain over its face, as the ends of its robes hovered above the water like fluttering wings.
"There is nothing I can do," the Painted Lady explained mournfully, as the village burned between them and the screams grew quiet in the whispering wind.
The river bubbled beneath them lifelessly, muddy and polluted and wrong with the slick smell of oil and something mockingly sweet and pervading. Even the stench sapped her strength.
"Oh yes. I remember!" the other spirit said. "You relied on that waterbender girl to help them last time. I hear she's friends with the Moon Spirit and the Avatar. Isn't that something?"
The Painted Lady observed it. "You're a water spirit." Yet not...
"Am I?" Its eyes gleamed pale through the veil, flicking over the carnage with well-practiced precision.
The Painted Lady grew very still. "No..."
"I thought I'd come and scavenge a little. Eat a few brains, maybe? It's not like they ever use them," the other replied. Its lips were triangular.
In the water underneath, slivers of white shimmered, hisses starting to bubble up and permeate the air between them.
"No," the Painted Lady said firmly, the dirty river rippling beneath them warningly.
Yet she was weak.
"So this is where you take a stand. Curious," it replied, teeth glinting.
"Their spirits will pass on," the Painted Lady decreed. "It is the least they deserve."
"Very well. I suppose you've protected them finally," the other said sweetly. "Will you also safeguard the spirits of the soldiers after they've finished up?"
The Painted Lady was quiet. A soldier, one called Gu-Jeong, had just killed an elderly man called Daiyu, who had been trying to defend his granddaughter, Jun. Another, called Fuzun, was doing unspeakable things behind the four wood walls of what was the Rao family home.
Long ago, the Painted Lady had cherished all life. As a human, she had been thought strange for it, she just about remembered. Her love of the water, of nature, of the natural order of life that ebbed and flowed as living, breathing organism of the universe.
In many ways, the soldiers and the villagers were one.
Yet the Painted Lady didn't say anything. She only managed an almost imperceptible shaking on her head, one far too subtle for a human to pick up.
"I see," the other said, red smile so pointed it cut into where its eyes should be. "Then I do hope you understand. Wherever they're reborn next, I will find them, regardless."
The Painted Lady watched the other leave as Jang Hui village burned.
One day there might be another village. If Ozai didn't burn that one down too.