After battle, she often dreams of the agni kai.
She stands at the front of the waiting crowd and watches her brother as he kneels on the narrow ledge, bare shoulders taut with youth and adrenaline. Every line of his form is brilliant and sharp in her eyes, as though he were framed by the moon. She cannot see his face, but oh... his thoughts burn as clearly as his body. She knows his reckless excitement, his expectation, the dreams of victory that fill his eyes.
In her sleep, her lips curl upward into a sneer.
And then come the footsteps, bare feet ringing like bells on the platform. Her father emerges from his shadowy curtain and her sleeping brow relaxes in awe of this man whose very skin shines to her like the sun. He radiates power, and she can feel the crowd behind her shrink in shame before his magnificence.
Her brother turns to face him, and she licks her lips...
But it changes in a heartbeat, and it is she who stands on the raised stone, she who faces a gaze full of hatred and disgust. The footsteps die, but the golden eyes seem to burn straight into her soul. Flames come alive around her, black flames that drown her screams.
Azula, he says, and the heat of his voice blisters her skin. You have disgraced me.
No, she whispers. No...
Coward.
And he turns his back as that old, undying fear rears again, and tears spill down her blackening cheeks. She drags herself through the flames with horrendous effort, falling to her knees as she weeps in terror. Father, she gasps...
The man turns his head.
Her heart stops as she gazes upon the face-- the branded face, the eyes she knew to be seared with shame. The gaze that now burns with a stolen pride in the shimmering hell around her. Azula, her brother whispers, the Nation has no place for fear.
Morning rarely brings her memory of these dreams. But she often, in the morning after battle, finds herself vowing unconsciously not to become like her brother.