Drabble drabble, that's all I can do lately. Le sigh, oh well hope it's enjoyable.

Disclaimer: I don't own ATLA, cause, come on, if I did, it wouldn't be a kids show anymore.

The constant drip drip of the dank water was a sore reminder to her bruised pride that she could no longer bend. A horrible drug he whispered in a voice hoarse from torture when she awoke screaming to the dark dark room where the black was every place and the space limitless and confining. A drug, he had continued despite the coughs ripped from his throat, even her naïve ears could detect the bone deep pain, one designed to separate the spirit from the body and suspend it. They kept the spirit, he said, tears choking his abused throat, to experiment. But the body did not go unpunished.

She stretched a trembling finger to where she knew the water dribbled down the rough stone. No more bending he had said brokenly, a hitch of breath gave away his hope. "No more bending my ass." She hissed. Once, they had heard an exchange of words and whipped her from noon till night, the only indication of time the shaft of sunlight that peeked through the covered window. When she was returned, he had patched her with weak hands and a closed mouth. He hadn't spoken since then, and the cruel silence echoed loudly in her ears. The grimy liquid slunk coolly from her finger tip to palm, from her wrist to elbow, leaving a clean path of lacerations long healed, finally to the packed earth below.

And when she cried, it wasn't because her back hurt with phantom pain, or the silence he'd left her in, but when the water splashed on the floor she couldn't make it come up again.