Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters belong to Nickleodeon. I claim no ownership with this work.
Author's Note: This was inspired by the writing prompt "Freedom of the wholly mad". Thanks go out to Bittereloquence for helping poke me in the right direction while I was finishing this up. As always, coments and critique are always welcome.
The room was as silent as a crypt. Even the fire in the hearth burned in near total silence consuming the wood in a slow progressive rot. Azula lay sprawled in the center of a massive bed, the gentle rise and fall of her chest the only sign of life in her. The bed sheets twined around her body in a tangle of silken ropes and sweat; her dark hair sprayed across the pillow in a violent fan, proof of earlier activity. But now she was still as the grave.
I think you're confused
The low flames in the wall sconces flickered and danced, caught up in a phantom breeze as Azula let out a soft, almost pained moan. She never moved, remaining in the exact center of the bed as if bound there by some unseen force. Her breath quickened in her chest, and a quickening pulse seemed to beat at the hollow of her throat.
I guess you just don't know people as well as you think you think you do
Again, she moaned, more a whimper of fear than a cry of pleasure and her perfect features tensed. A furrow of doubt appeared between her brows and one hand grasped the bed sheets in a death grip.
You've miscalculated
The fire in the hearth began to dance and shiver wildly, rising up from the embers of the coals and consuming the remaining fuel hungrily. Azula arched in her sleep and cried out as her dreams consumed her just as readily as the fire had consumed the wood.
All your life you've used fear to control people
Azula sat up in the bed suddenly as if shot out by a trebuchet, nearly strangling herself with the sheets as she did. In the hearth and in the sconces, the flames leaped up, burning white-hot blue for a moment, before calming, and slowing dimming to glowing embers. Golden brown eyes peered into the dark corners where the candles' illumination didn't reach.
I think you're confused
After a moment there was a soft knock at the door, a supplicant scratching designed to alert her to a presence but not awaken her. Glaring at the door, Azula hastily rearranged her bedclothes and her hair; it wouldn't do for her to be seen disheveled. Not now, not ever. As far as anyone was concerned, she was always in control. Always perfect.
You've miscalculated
A young monk entered the room and looked at her with downward-cast eyes. He said not a word – they never did – as he set about bringing her a morning meal. As she watched he pulled out a vial and emptied the contents onto her food, stirring it in with precision. It had been like this for as long as she could remember. She had woken here after something had happened. Something had been taken from her; stolen from her. No matter how hard she tried she was never able to recall. Sometimes in the morning she would feel her mind start to clear and she could almost remember, could almost see the edges of the long forgotten life that had once been hers.
Power.
Control.
An empire at her feet.
But then the monk would come in with her meal and it would all become faded again. Faded and forgotten like a barely remembered dream. She clung to those fragments, those voices in her mind, but even when the hated healers came to speak with her, came to soothe her fevered mind, she was unable to recall the truth of what happened. All she knew was that something had been taken and someone had to be hated for it.
You will never rise from the ashes of your shame and humiliation ...
You miscalculated