She's like a dark spirit under my hands. I know that I could never try to trap her. If I'd given her a royal decree to marry me, she'd have laughed in my face. No, she stays with me because that's what she wants, and she will serve no master but herself. Too many people undervalue her because she is quiet, reserved. An anomaly in the Fire Nation. She's let me see behind that icy exterior, and I know that I've never met a woman who could be her equal. In the early days, I'd had trouble truly trusting that she'd chosen me. Instead of being confident that I knew where the relationship was going, I constantly questioned what she wanted, what she saw in me, whether she even wanted this between us.
It was one sleepless night when I heard the doors of my bedchamber swing quietly open and sat up to see her there, walking silently across the floor. She paused at the edge of the bed to untie her sash, and the questions all died on my lips as the silk gown slid from bare shoulders to pool at her feet. Still only half-believing that this was real, I opened my arms and she slipped gracefully into them. I was almost afraid to touch her for fear she'd evaporate into the night air. Only her warmth beneath my hands convinced me that she was real and more than a spirit.
No matter how much she trusts me, I know I can never try to control her. Because she trusts me. If I truly wanted, I could build a gilded cage around her and trap her for myself. I won't. She would not have come to me if she was not certain that that was what she wanted. She's far too independent to serve anyone but herself. As long as she wants me, my arms will be open to her. Every day, she could fly for freedom if she wanted, but she returns to me. That gift is more than any song that a trapped bird could sing.