Fires
Azula's eyes are like fire. Cold and sharp and hateful when she looks at anyone or anything. I always thought that that was what fire was, what I saw in Azula's eyes when she looked at other people—cold and waiting to burn. A threat to the living, a doorway to death and pain and suffering.
But I soon found out that there were two kinds of fire. The other kind I discovered when I stared into her eyes when she was watching me. This fire is warm and inviting and wanting. Wanting to be fed and happy to feed, a playful hunger like a puppy waiting for a treat. When she noticed I was watching her back her eyes turned cold again and she looked away as if it was some terrible crime she had committed—ashamed that I had caught her. But from then on I noticed her warmth and love in her eyes. I just hoped she didn't notice it in mine when I gazed back.