It was five years before I was allowed out of hell.

Of course, they didn't refer to it as hell. Rather, an "institute."

Once I was out, though, I had no idea what to do. I had failed. And there was no use in trying again. You could call me crazy, insane, whatever, but I am not stupid. If I could not of succeeded before, then there was no reason that I would succeed now, when I was not even whole anymore.

I tried. I tried to start over and forget every single thing that'd happened in my damn life. But the voices echoed. I hated them all.

My brother—my stupid older brother—rising to the top and stealing my crown, my friends, my everything. My father... how even when I visited him in prison, when he was no longer whole as well, he looked at me in shame. My mother who knew I was a monster all along. The waterbender who had the brain, the skills, to take me down. The doctors whose voices never stopped.

I couldn't stop them then. And there was only one way to stop them now.

It was easy, really. For all of those years, they had made sure it was impossible. But now, with a familiar blue fire rising on my fingertips, as I held it towards my chest, it was easy.