Quick Note: 08/27/12 Just a little revision work, touching up grammar and whatnot, essentially nothing has been changed in this story, so if you're here because of a story/author alert but have already read this story, you don't have to suffer through it again, nothing major has changed, simply minor revisions and fixes to insignificant grammatical errors and such. If you just like reading this story though, well, who am I to say otherwise? Enjoy!
And if this is simply your first time then just go ahead and disregard all of that nonsense up there and dig in!
The steel of the cuffs bites deep into her wrists, forcing the warm, crimson liquid to come spilling out, gushing over her cold, numb hands and as her own blood branches out in an intricate, web-like pattern, it brings some strange relief to the young woman. Was the blood loss starting to affect her sense? It was a strong possibility. Perhaps it was the perverse fact that the very blood which should have been flowing into her hands and providing warmth and feeling to them from the inside was instead accomplishing half of it's duty from the outside, as some warmth, no matter how little, was better than cold, bitter, and numb after all. In all likelihood, however, the grim satisfaction that the girl received from seeing her blood spill from her body in this manner was that if enough of it managed to escape in time, she could die faster. Whatever the reason, at least she wasn't crying.
She shuffles forward weakly, the chains linking the shackles on her ankles allowing only the smallest of steps to be taken. To the guards who are escorting the young female prisoner, pikes in hand and trained onto her small, shackled form, it is nothing short of an absolute miracle to them that she could even walk at all. They had been down in the dungeon last night, they had heard things, seen things, done things, and in their minds those screams continued still. As their Lord wills it, so it shall be done.
The sky above reflects perfectly how she feels inside; cold, bleak and grey, utterly bereft of any color at all, or in her case, emotion. Almost none, anyways. What she did feel was a terrible, aching sense of loss. A hopeless guilt that tore a hole straight down to her very core. How had it come to this? she asks herself, desperately trying to think back to where it had all come crashing down around her. A loud, defeated sigh escapes her lips as she realizes it doesn't matter how or why, because here she was with nowhere to run, nobody to turn to, and nothing, not a single thing, that she could possibly do about it, except accept her ever nearing demise, one shuffling, shambling step at a time. Still, she did not cry.
Her bare feet scrape across the hard, unforgiving cobbled stone street. She winces as a soft part of her foot falls on a rock that is as sharp as it is small, then gasps painfully as another set of holes are torn into her back, courtesy the spear wielding guards behind her. It is a weak, raspy noise, like wind passing through a sandpaper flute, that escapes from her throat, the girl having all but screamed herself hoarse, perhaps even mute, during last night's terrors. Steeling her nerves, she finds a new resolve, pushing forward with a mysterious strength and vigor. It isn't much compared to what she used to be capable of, but considering her situation and everything else that has happened, she almost feels superhuman. It is with this new sense of power that the young woman finds the courage to raise her head and gaze upon her destination. Dirty, matted strands of hair stick to her equally as grimy face as she rests dull, half lidded eyes upon the stand ahead of her, perhaps 20 yards away now and slowly growing closer.
It is only seconds after she raises her head that someone in the crowd to the left decides to vent their own frustrations toward her, and there is no warning before the rock strikes her in the temple with enough force to generate a loud, sickening crack. Her head jerks violently to the side, and for a moment the world around spins in several directions as she sways, completely losing balance from the combination of disorientation and her feeble legs. She falls into the crowd on her right, but never reaches the ground as the onlookers are more than happy to grab her and set her back upon her path, just not before getting a few potshots in themselves and offering some rather crude words of "encouragement."
"Get walking you harlot!"
"Worthless scum!"
"This is the price you pay, traitor!"
A myriad other equally as creative insults follow from a number of voices, as different as they are the same. Had she been the woman she once was not more than a few days ago, she would have laughed at their attempts of cruelty, but laughing hurt too much and was a waste of precious strength. To think that anything they said could have been worse than what she had already endured.
The clatter and clang of iron on iron resounds throughout the dark, mildew infested dungeon as the newest prisoner is tossed violently into her overnight holding cell. Her execution won't be until tomorrow, and she already had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen to her overnight. Unfortunately for this poor young woman, she was as right as she was absolutely wrong. She had no idea what was about to happen. She had promised herself she wouldn't scream, or cry, or in any other way give them the satisfaction of knowing whether or not they had broken her. She was about to break those promises.
It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes after she had been tossed into her cell when the girl suddenly jerks her head up and hears footsteps approaching. Lots of them, all heavily clad in iron boots from the sound of it. A dim light grew rapidly at the far end of the corridor leading to her cell, and it was only now that she realized she was being held in an odd area of the palace dungeons. First of all, there wasn't a single other prisoner anywhere near her, quite odd considering there was always people being held down here. Knowing the dungeons as well as she did, having spent her fair share of time interrogating prisoners or bringing new ones down as those were two of her specialties, after all, and based on the directions she had been lead initially, she has to guess that she is somewhere in the eastern wing.
The eastern wing... Oh noshe gasps inside her own head at the epiphany. The eastern wing was more or less directly underneath the palace's private bed chambers. If the young woman could, she'd bet the cell they had tossed her into was underneath her brother's room, and even with all the earth, brick and mortar placed between them, if they succeeded in making her scream loud enough then her brother would certainly be able to hear her. She would just have to make sure she didn't scream for them, or at least not very loud if she could help it. The young woman was confident that knowing the torture methods they employed in this place as well as she did would be a big advantage, as knowing what pain to expect beforehand could help her in calming herself and steeling her nerves in preparation. She doesn't know it yet, but her captors have no intention of using standard torture. Not for her, not today.
The group of guards now approaches directly before the girl's cell, and she counts about a dozen in all, with every other one holding a fire in one of their upraised palms to serve as torches and light the way. A silent stare down ensues for a brief moment before the two guards leading the pack step to the side, revealing a tall, regal looking man with a long, flowing robe of dark crimson that was trimmed in golden lace and sporting rather ornate, multi-layered shoulders. This man sported hair of the blackest night that flowed down past his shoulders and was done up in a topknot, upon which rested a 5 point golden flame, denoting him as being the Fire Lord and ruler of their nation. Ozai was his name, and his sharp, focused eyes were the color of molten gold, fitting, some might say, as they appeared capable of burning a hole straight through a man with a simple glance. He strokes thoughtfully at his goatee, also black and extending straight down all the way to the top of his chiseled abs, which although hidden by his robes they were no secret to those who called him Lord. His look emanates pure malice, and it is focused 100% upon the small girl who sits opposite the bars from him.
"Azula." He spits his daughter's name out like a rotten vegetable, utterly sickened by his once adored prodigy of an offspring.
"Father." The girl replies plainly, an equal but well hidden amount of disdain infused within her words. She sits with a look of utter defiance on her face at this man who would have all others bow before him. The two exchange glares, frightening more than a few guards who realize that, in the way their looks mirrored each other, the father and daughter appear almost exactly alike.
"Who was it?" Ozai asked after some minutes of silent contemplation, and while his voice remained level it was not at all difficult for Azula to detect the absolutely seething fury that boiled inside of him, ready to burst at any moment.
"Really father, I'm insulted." The girl scoffs, sounding every bit the arrogant and snide princess despite her current state of affairs. "As if I, of all people, would ever need someone else to help plan something as pathetically simple as your assassination. Please." Azula waves her hand dismissively, clearly showing her enthusiasm (or lack thereof) for their conversation. That's when Ozai does something that wipes the smirk off of her face, something that actually sends a twinge of fear racing through the girl's body. He smiles. He doesn't scream, or punch a fireball at her, or snarl obscenities, or even come forward to start beating her. He just smiles wickedly, and turning his head he motions for one of the guards to open the cell door.
"That's alright, I didn't actually come down here to hear you talk." He replies matter of factually, a steady calmness to his voice that Azula can swear she's never heard in all her life, and that only frightens her more. "I came to hear you scream, and to watch you break."
The entire squad of a dozen guards rush into the cell all at once, some grabbing for her wrists, some for her ankles, all with a clear and deliberate objective. Her rags are torn savagely from her body, exposing her completely to her captors and Azula suddenly becomes very aware of just how cold it is down here. How very, very cold it is and also how very, very tight and stiff her own body is. She tries to relax as best she can, but there is only so much she can hope to accomplish. Her arms are raised high above her head, and she hears more than see's them being attached to a chain that is hanging down from the ceiling. Her ankles are pulled in separate directions from each other until they too are similarly shackled to some iron hooks in the dungeon floor off in the darkness.
When at last Azula thinks it can't get any worse, she is proven wrong by the unbelievably loud clatter of a chain being run through a metal pulley and as it just so happens, it's the very chain that has been attached to her hands so as it gave, dropping the prisoner almost face first onto the cold, hard concrete below, Azula has to react immediately and decisively, her hands flying down at the last moment to prevent a painful landing that would have broken something on her face. It is only after a quick recovery of her senses that she realizes her lower half is still suspended well into the air, and she finds herself now in a very compromising position.
Azula tries to relax again, knowing it to be the only prudent move left for her to make at this point, but even that would only accomplish so much. Against the onslaught she now faced, there would be no mercy, no reprieve, and certainly no pleasure. The first man begins without any warning or order from anyone, the Fire Lord included. He simply thrusts into her, fiercely, greedily, and without any concern nor care for how inexperienced and tender she still is. A terrible stretching agony burned into her thighs and Azula has to clench her jaw tightly to prevent the moans of pain from escaping, but as he pounds into her savagely, rocking her entire body with the reverberations of the impact, she soon finds it impossible to prevent the gasps that begin to rhythmically exude themselves from her throat. Gasps, she then thinks to question herself, or sobs? That's when Azula notices for the first time the burning sting in her eyes accompanied by the warm, salty dampness that softens her cheeks.
It was all too much for the young girl. The loss of her mother had been the start of it all, and now she had lost her position as princess, along with the fact she would never again be allowed to hold her brother whom she held dearest above all others in this world. Now even the sanctity of her own body was being torn away from her as she is ravaged unceremoniously by some nameless, faceless prison guard who probably hadn't even washed himself this morning. Azula draws sharp intakes of breath in timing with the crude and forceful thrusts that are still sending tremors throughout her entire body.
"Harder." Ozai's wicked voice commands from the other side of the bars, where he is now the only one who stands, watching with an irritated glint in his eyes. "I want her to scream, not merely cry like a child." Almost immediately the man obliges his Lord's will, forcing himself into the helpless young woman before him with a new purpose. This was for the Fire Lord's own sick and twisted pleasure, and Agni only help him should he fail. The poor girl cries out loud when he rams himself in as deep as he can possibly go, feeling the light resistance crumbling away in a place that has obviously never been reached before. As if to confirm what he already knows, as his thrusts continue he catches a glimpse of the blood that is soon covering his member and slowly leaking out to drip down the inside of the girl's thigh. Still she shrieks in terrified anguish and the guard offers a silent apology in his mind, he is no rapist after all, just an unfortunate sap who has been suckered into following his Fire Lord's plan of revenge. So the girl had plotted to kill him, but this? This was simply sadistic.
The guard could feel himself starting to lose it, and after squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to prevent what he knew was about to happen, with a twitching, jerking thrust that elicited as much pain from her as it did pleasure for him, he released deep inside of her, feeling a twinge of guilt as he regrettably enjoyed the sensation. Azula felt the hot juice being injected into her as well, and grimacing she came to terms with the fact that she had just been bedded by a man other than her brother, and although she had no choice in the matter she still couldn't shake off that unmistakable feeling of betrayal and self loathing. She felt so incredibly dirty, in a way that no bath could ever rid her of, and so the sudden relief of him pulling out of her was overshadowed by those terrible feelings of shame and self pity. I'm so sorry Zuko. Please, forgive me. If she could have risked whispering those words, even just slightly, she would have, but for now her apology would have to remain within her thoughts and prayers.
"I didn't hear any screams..." Growling from behind the bars, Ozai's anger begins to manifest in the form of smoke rising out of his ears. With an angry wave of his hand, another guard quickly steps forward to pick up where his fellow had left off. Azula gives another loud gasp as she feels the bastard forcing himself deep inside, just as roughly and painfully as the first had, before proceeding to pound into her viciously and with wild abandon. This one actually seems to be enjoying himself, which only causes the girl more pain as he tears the sensitive flesh inside of her, forcing an entirely new shriek of pain from Azula. She looks up just a few inches so she can see her father's face, and though her vision is blurring from the hot tears in her eyes, it isn't hard for her to make out the sneering smile that's plastered across his face while his sharp, golden eyes glare wickedly at her with something that could only be described as a delightfully vengeful, maliciously victorious look.
Azula can see it now, the look that held her defeat plain for her to see, and so with that she simply gives up. Gives up on everything, no longer even bothering to hold her head up off the ground, she lets her face drop to lay on the cold, unyielding concrete below, the momentum of the violent actions behind her causing her face to grind against the floor, harder and harder into the dirt and grime that liberally coated everything around her. Her eyes began to visibly glaze over until they have completely lost the beautiful shimmering quality that had once defined them, and they turn flat and listless, her once vibrant gold reduced to a dull orange as she stares into a dark corner of the cell but see's nothing. Behind Azula, the punishing violations continue as they have, only now it seems to the guards that no matter how hard any of them try, they simply can't get anything more than a weak, high pitched but hollow sounding whimper out of her every time they tear into her most sacred of areas. It's as if she has simply shut down, which for all intents and purposes is exactly what she has done. Ozai is not pleased.
"Sir, we've tried everything, she just seems to have gone... catatonic, or something." One guard offers weakly, panting after the hour or so of arduous attempts as fear grips him. His Fire Lord is literally fuming, but once again he manages to both surprise and terrify the hapless fool before him with a grim smirk.
"Perhaps we have been going about this the wrong way." Ozai states simply, a curious lack of anger in his grating, ever more venomous voice. "Hammer!" He yells, and a guard who has thus far been content to await in the back of the dark cell steps forward after candidly awaiting his signal. Ozai's smile only deepens as he speaks again, "Open up the back door for us, if you would be so kind. Oh, and one last thing..." Every heart freezes and waits for him to finish, blood suddenly feeling icy cold in every vein. "Go nice and slow." As his Lord will's it, so it shall be done.
Hearing her father's voice, Azula brings herself somewhat back, if only to hear what he is saying. Hammer? She is unsure how one gets a nickname such as that, but quickly decides that it probably wasn't for any reason that could be pleasant. The larger than average man steps up behind her, and in what could more accurately be called an act of perverse pleasure than mercy, he grabs a cheek in each hand and squeezing, he spreads them as wide apart as possible. Realization hits her like a stampeding Komodo-Rhino, and her heart as well as mind begin to race in a wave of terror. It was going to hurt, she knew that for certain, but what she didn't know was that Hammer got his nickname because he was twice as big as most men, both in length and girth. The poor girl doesn't have a chance.
Which sound is more awful, it is hard to say, but what is certain is that both will go on to haunt the nightmares of almost all of the guards who are present for many, many years . The sound of flesh tearing apart becomes audible in the cell, like a thick, wet fabric being ripped, and it causes nearly every man present to cringe as the large guard pushes himself in, painstakingly slow to ensure that the small girl can horrifyingly feel as every inch of her backside rips apart. The man can feel perfectly every bit of soft flesh as it's torn and the warm, thick liquid that begins pouring in. Azula emits a scream that deafens the heavens, so hard it could shatter diamonds, so loud it causes every prisoner in the dungeon and every guard and servant in the palace to nearly jump out of their skins in fear, and so utterly, heart-wrenchingly painful that, behind their face masks, a handful of guards can't stop themselves from crying silently for the poor girl. The sick tearing noise of soft flesh being rent mixes with the splashing of blood that has begun pouring out in a solid stream and puddling about the floor at his feet as the sadistic guard continues his torturously slow and agonizing push inwards, all the meanwhile Azula gulps desperately for more air as her eyes bulge out of their sockets and her mouth is open so wide some of the onlookers can swear they see her lips splitting at the corners of her mouth.
Azula lets loose another scream, this time a wicked, grating noise that is broken only by powerful gasps for air, but otherwise she howls again and again as she feels the man pushing into her harder and deeper, stretching unmercifully at that most sensitive and inexperienced part of her body. Still he finds more and yet more supple flesh tight enough to savagely tear into, sending more and yet more violent, searing pain through her. Finally, still in an unbearable amount of anguish, Azula barely is able to look up at her father.
"P-p-please... D-d-daddy?" She begs, all sense of dignity, pride, even anger gone, replaced now only by a desperate need to end this relentlessly savage, searing pain, a pitifully weak plea from a helpless daughter to her father, the only person in the world who can spare her from this torture. He stares very hard and thoughtfully at his little girl, and she begs hopelessly, "Pl-please... d-daddy..." Ozai's eyes go wide in disbelief as his daughter loses all sense of herself and pleads his mercy. "It hurts... so bad please... just m-make it stop.. PLEASE DADDY-y-y-y!" She screams desperately, breaking down completely into a sobbing fit. The words reverberate throughout the entire dungeon, echoing back off the far wall of the corridor they had all passed down.
That is when Ozai finally enters the cell, and kneeling down before his daughter, he picks her up with one large, powerful hand about her dirty, blood and tear soaked cheeks and brings their heads level to each other. Strands of her raven black hair stick to her face at different angles and shapes and her wide, tear filled golden orbs shimmer with a pitiful weakness that radiates out of her face. She is utterly defeated, mind body and soul and she hopes beyond hope to find mercy in her father's powerful gaze. His face hardens angrily as his piercing eyes bore into the girl's fearful ones. It is then that he asks, "Who, was, it." In a voice too impossibly deep to be recognized as her father, and Azula gulps down her fear as she is pushed backwards with enough force to renew the tearing burn in her backside. Whimpering pitifully as the hurt encompasses more and more of her, while agonizing torment stretches itself across the poor girl's features slow enough for him to watch it spread until he could read with great detail the pain etched into her face.
Her eyes swell with more liquid and look about ready to burst, her brow furrows deeply into a pitiful expression as her mouth snarls and contorts and twists into something that conveys only one feeling; Pain. Torturous, unrelenting, agonizing, pain. A whimper grows in her throat, part of her hopelessly trying to protect her lover despite the consequences while another part desperately wants to be safe from the hurt. She feels her control slipping, knows she can't hold out any longer as the feeling of being ripped in half becomes too much for the helpless young woman to bear. With every insult she can think of perched on her tongue, ready to lash out and defy him for what she knows will be the last time, Ozai see's his one chance to find out slipping through his fingers and so he gives a final, forceful push that sends a new chorus of rending flesh and tearful misery exploding into the darkness of the dungeon.
With her last gasp of breath and still sobbing maniacally, Azula's will shatters into dust and she cries out "ZUKO-o-o-ooo!" sounding as hollow as a dead tree with the wind blowing through it as the tears explode again from her eyes and a miserable feeling of anguish floods her. Bawling openly and loudly in a very similar manner to a small child, Azula is little more than the wreckage of a person at this moment, her pathetic crying likely the result not of her punishment, but the knowledge of having betrayed her beloved despite her greatest attempts at remaining strong. She had failed him.
Staring at his daughter with a smug look of pleasure smeared across his face, Ozai sneers "That's my girl," mockingly, giving her one last satisfied look before dropping her head from his hand and standing. She drops immediately to the ground, hitting it with a loud, hard, bone jostling smack but not even caring enough to stop herself with her hands, the shame and guilt weighing her down far too much. Sobbing uncontrollably, Azula writhes on the ground for a moment and Ozai enjoys the sight before looking up to the guard who had long since stopped his thrusting, however still remained as he was. "I don't remember telling you to stop!" Roars the Fire Lord, snapping the man out of his daze and as realization sets in, he bows his head before preparing to get back to work. As his Lord will's it, so it shall be done.
Azula snaps her head up at her father's words, betrayal and disbelief warring across her features and twin tracks of moisture still flowing down her cheeks. "Wha-what? Bu-bu-but-but-t," She stammers, unable to form any coherent thoughts right then. "N-no-no... please, no you-dad, please no don't let them, it hurts too much, please, daddy No! NO!" Azula bawls, she can agonizingly feel as the man forces his way in deeper. "NOOO-!" The young woman tries to scream but the noise dies in her throat to become a violent gasp as an object that feels like an iron rod, a bigiron rod, tears through her backside and reignites the horrifying, intense ripping pain all throughout her bottom.
Paying no heed to his daughter's cries, Ozai swiftly goes to leave the cell, pausing only to whisper something to the guard standing by the door. The man's face turns paste white, but when his Fire Lord glares at him he gives a jerking nod to show he understands, and with that the regal man turns to look one last time upon the mess that was his daughter before replying in a voice bereft of any emotion. "I have no children." Turning, Ozai makes his way back down the corridor they had all passed through earlier and, taking the turn at the end of the passage he vanishes from sight.
"No, NO PLEASE! PLEEEEASE!" Screeching after him in howling despair, Azula throws a fit. Soon, however, the pain would become too great and force her voice into a hysterical pitch as her mouth no longer formed words. "OWWW, AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHWWWW!" Heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching cries of pure pain and terror race to echo down the corridor after the Fire Lord, and as they reach him, they are nothing more than music to his ears, a symphony of agony and torment while his little girl is torn apart mercilessly. She continues to scream deep into the night, until her voice can no longer carry, and even then she tries in vain to continue expressing her agony vocally, only to make the sound of hot air being forced over coarse, dry lips while violent sobs rack her small figure and her eyes feel as though they've been crying fire. The torturous pounding goes long into the night, until the guards have finished Ozai's final order; "Do not stop until she has but one hole." As their Lord will's it, so it shall be done. After merciful unconsciousness claims her, the guards agree secretly to do the only humane thing, and so with a knife, they finish the job.
Zuko laid awake in his bed throughout the entire night, and even after his sister's screams had finally stopped he could still hear them ringing in his head. He had a vague idea of what they were doing to her, but luckily, for both him and those involved, he didn't know the specifics, nor would he ever. Tomorrow would be harder, and that much he already knew for the truth it was. Just listening to her agonizing cries were one thing, but standing there and watching her be murdered... he just didn't know how he was ever going to manage it. What he didn't realize was that he would follow very soon after her. He tossed again to lay on his side, staring at the spot she usually occupied, and a rush of emotions swelled within him. Closing his eyes, he pictured her face, her soft laughter, and her voice, that beautiful, silken voice that could lure him away from reality with but a word. As these thoughts swirled inside the young prince's head, he felt a droplet escape from underneath his eyelids, and softly he cried himself to sleep.
She thankfully can't even feel the warm liquid that trickles down the inside of her legs anymore, and the dark maroon of her prison rags does admirably at concealing it, but it doesn't take a detective to notice the small trail of crimson that follows in the wake of the condemned, like a trail leading from the scene of the crime to the victim. Yet even with all she has endured, those pains are nothing compared to the torture she feels in her heart. Had she not cried herself dry last night, it would probably be a lot harder to prevent it from happening now, but still, as she walks with each agonizing, torturous step, she does not cry.
She had promised herself she wouldn't cry, at the very least she could deny them of that one victory. Yet as she draws nearer and nearer, she finds it harder and harder to fight back the feeling that her heart is being ripped in two. It doesn't help when she at last spots the one person in the crowd she has been dreading to see. He is facing the stage ahead of her, but even from behind it is obvious who he is. The crimson robes with their golden trim, the topknot upon his head sporting the twin pronged golden hair piece which immediately denoted his status. The reddened skin covering his ear, betraying the scarred face she knows is there.
It takes everything she knows, all the years of training in self discipline and control, to keep herself from breaking down right then and there at just the very thought of him. Her breath hitching in her throat as she fights back the lump that has formed there, while a hot, stinging sensation assaults her eyes from within. Please, she begs silently, forgive me. The apology is as silent as it is inadequate. It is for the one who holds her heart, and who's heart she holds in return, yet she had betrayed him, stabbed his very heart and ripped it in half. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, being ripped in half, she should know.
She loves him so much that it hurts, and it hurt worse knowing what he was about to be put through because of her. Her weakness, her ineptitude in planning, everything it was all her fault! She longed for the warmth of their embraces, a passion that rivaled even the heat of great wildfires, and she misses gazing into each other's eyes with what was nothing short of pure, unadulterated adoration for one another that their orbs always shimmered with. Never had he judged her, only ever loved her, and no matter what she did she knew that at the end of the day, when she came running into his open arms there would be an "I love you" waiting on his lips, just for her. Never again were they to hold each other, and her heart ached, and Azula knew pain. Insufferable, inconsolable, aching, pain.
After what feels like hours, the small cadre finally reaches the head of the crowd, and turning to the right, they angle for the steps on the side of the large, wooden stage before them. This brings her walking right in front of the man she wishes so badly wasn't there, yet with every fiber of her being wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around him. To hold him at least one last time, to tell him it would be alright, but she couldn't, because it would be a lie. She can't even bring her gaze up to meet his, which she could feel upon her, burning into the side of her face. The young woman, broken and despondent, skulks solemnly past her brother in the front row and continues towards the stairs that would take her to her fate. If she so much as looks at him that would be it, she would fall apart and she would cry, cry like the little girl that deep down, was all she had ever really been. And she will not cry, she remains adamant about that, it being the only thing she has any control over now. She does not cry.
Azula looks upon the stairs before her. Plain, simple wooden stairs, the likes of which she has encountered countless times before in her life, yet none of them led where these did. Tentatively now, she places a scraped and terribly sore foot upon the first plank, and with legs that feel like jelly she pushes herself up to the next one. Again and again she repeats this mundane yet excruciating process, until at last she is as high as the steps will take her. Thankfully her overzealous escorts have remained at the bottom of the platform, spreading out and facing the crowd before them like the good little dogs they are. With heavy, regretful footfalls she makes her way to the center of the platform and at last turns to face the crowd which has cheered her on so enthusiastically. It probably only made her look more guilty, the lack of remorse and whatnot, but still, she did not cry.
The young woman before them appears nothing like the princess they had all once adored and respected so much. This girl, of perhaps 16 or 17, is garbed in the standard deep maroon rags that the Fire Nation uses uniformly throughout their prisons, a small top with almost no sleeves that just covers her belly button and pants that went barely past the knees. This particular prisoner hadn't been deemed worthy of the cheap sandals that generally completed the outfit. The crotch of her pants are noticeably stained darker than the rest, a sure sign of moisture in the fabric and the stain spread out very, very far. Most took it as a sign she had urinated herself, as those awaiting execution were known to do and this elicited some pointing and laughing from the lowest common denominator of the crowd.
Azula's head is bowed towards the ground, her chin practically touching her neck, as it has remained ever since catching the rock (which she is certain has cracked her skull) on the walk up, and her downcast, red, puffy and slightly glazed over eyes speak volumes to the atrocities she has suffered. Her once enviably straight, glossy raven black hair is a visibly grimy mess, matted with filth and dark, foul liquids. Strands of it stick to her face permanently in those places where the goo has dried on her skin. She feels exactly the way she looks; disgusting, slimy, broken, ruined, destitute, terrified, weak, pitifully pathetic, but worst of all, hollow. She feels absolutely hollow, as if all of her insides have been drilled out of her and all that remains is nothing more than a shell of a person, waiting to die. Wanting to die.
A man steps forward who has been delegated thus far to waiting patiently on the stage, long robes of crimson and a large, ornate and somewhat conical hat of matching color denoting his position as a Fire Sage. Motioning with his hands, a wave of silence eventually falls over the mob before them and all eyes flick back and forth from the fallen princess to the man beside her as he begins to speak.
"Princess Azula of the Fire Nation..." His every word is saturated with a contempt that can be tasted as much as heard as he speaks her name, and he doesn't have to say all the things she knows he wants to in order for her to hear them. "You stand before us today to face the consequences of your actions." He pauses, for dramatic effect more than anything else though, before announcing said crimes to an angry crowd who, despite already knowing exactly what they are, seem to tremble with anticipation for what is to come. "For the crime of high treason against the crown, and for plotting to assassinate our Fire Lord himself, you shall hereby be put to death!"
Azula flinches as this declaration is met with a roaring cacophony of applause and cheers, along with many more projectiles from what was apparently a well armed crowd. Stones, rotten produce, even rancid meats find their way to her from the clustered and flailing arms of the people before her. Something wet and sticky explodes against her cheek and she jerks her head to the side, blinking quickly but in a failed attempt to prevent the foul ooze from getting in her eye. The thick goop trickles slowly down her face, but aside from the burning in her eye Azula is unfazed. Someone had prepared for this apparently. Filthy peasants, she would have screamed, if it would have made any difference and had she a voice to scream with in the first place.
"Have you any last words, before your sentence is carried out?" The Fire Sage's gravelly, weathered voice grabs her attention once he had again gained some semblance of control over the mob. Azula shudders, looking up for the first time since ascending the stairs and that's when she looks at him. Standing just there, slightly to her left and not more than 15 feet away, her lover, her brother, Zuko. Their golden eyes lock together and all of the sudden she finds her control completely slipping away. Looking into his stoic face, she can tell, can feel, how badly he wants to come to her, to hold her, save her, to do something, anything! He can't though, and she knows he can't, nor won't, just as she had begged him not to. I'm so sorry Zuko... Her eyes drop from her brother's in shame as she finds it impossible to hold his gaze. Shoulders slumping, she thinks very, very hard about what she wishes her final words to be.
She came rushing into his room without warning, as usual, and Zuko turns to greet his sister, an expectant smile on his face for this unexpected but as always most welcome visit. That smile quickly turns sour though as he see's the absolute seriousness in his lover's face.
"Zules? What's the matter, what's wrong?" Worry heavy in his voice, Zuko feels his heart fall in his chest when his little sister speaks next.
"There isn't much time Zuko. You have to listen to me, and listen well." The strict, prudent tone she employs is another cause for worry, but what truly grabs his attention is the use of his real name, so much so in fact that he simply shuts up and waits for her to continue. "He's found out about the plan." She says it so plainly, so matter of factually, but Zuko knows his sister is hiding her fear. His own eyes grow wide, even the one engulfed in a scar, which is really saying something.
"Oh my.. No, Azula we have to-"
"Zuko, please!" Cutting him off abruptly, Azula isn't wasting any time, as she knows they have precious little left and she is determined to tell her brother what he needs to hear. "Zuko," Agni how he wished she would stop using his real name, it frightened him so much, "he only knows that I'm involved, they don't know anything about my partner.. they don't know about you."
"Azula, No! Never, I-" Fuming, Zuko refuses to accept what he already knows his sister is suggesting.
"Zuko, please-"
"We have to go Azula! We have to go now, we can escape! We can escape and-and never come back. We'll-we'll go and, and.." Panic clouding his thoughts, the Prince is finding it harder and harder to breath, let alone formulate thoughts or a plan. She had always been better at that, after all.
"Shhh..." Shushing her brother, Azula steps closer to him and proceeds to wrap her arms around his middle, tenderly pulling him closer and nestling her head into his strong, warm chest. Zuko doesn't hesitate for even a second before wrapping his own arms around his sister's small, lithe form and losing himself in the warmth she always exuded. Her scent rose up to mingle in his nostrils, a curious cross between cherry blossoms and hot spices, and he found it as intriguing as it was delicious. "Zuzu," Whispering his familiar appellation into her brother's chest, Azula can feel him losing tension in her arms. This is a good thing, as she needs him calm for what he is about to hear. "Zuzu, I love you, but-"
"Azula, please no..." Zuko pleads in a meek, tiny voice that sounds more like it should belong to some small rodent than a human as a single line of moisture begins streaming down the right side of his face. Pulling her face back so she can look up at her brother, Azula offers him a feeble smile.
"Only you can beat him now, Zuzu. Only you can save the Fire Nation." Opening his mouth to argue, Azula quickly and regretfully shakes her head then continues, "We both knew the risks, and we both decided it was worth it. People can't be controlled by fear and violence forever, and sooner or later they will, they will revolt, and if we let it get that far than they'll wipe us all out. You have to stop him, Zuzu, stop him and stop the oppression. It was always your destiny." Inhaling deeply, Azula pauses to absorb his powerful musk, something like a mid-summer night's bonfire with a dash of cinnamon. It always did have a way of making her feel so calm inside. Basking in each other's tantalizing essences, Zuko considers her words more deeply and soon finds the truth in them, but that fails to quell his concerns any.
"But, Azula, you.. they'll.." Failing to form the words he wants so desperately to, Zuko takes a calming breath before letting his heart speak for him. "I can't do this without you, Zules. I can't lose you-" Choking as sudden realization hits him harder than any blow ever could and the tears renew their ferocity, now flowing down his cheek in waves. "They're going to kill you Azula!" She shudders hard at hearing out loud what she has already known deep down to be the truth. Zuko stares in disbelief, at first not even wanting to entertain the idea but now he is simply terrified of it.
"I'm so sorry Zuko, I really am." After a moment of silence settles, she decides to speak, and she chooses to apologize of all things! Sniffling, she goes on but as she does so, her voice begins to crack and grow shaky, the sound becoming more unbearably heartbreaking with each and every word. "You have no idea how badly I want to be there with you, Zuzu. When they place that crown on your head, when you liberate the world, when you- when you..." Squeezing him harder, only now is Zuko aware that his sister is crying, the sad, soft sound of her diamond tear drops patting against his silk robe causing a lump to form in his throat. "Oh Zuko, I just want to be with you." She whispers in a voice so quiet that it could almost be said not to have existed at all.
Her body twitching and shaking violently from the sobs that now suddenly rack her body, it was clearly Zuko's turn to comfort her. Raising her chin with a firm but gentle hand, in the glow of the torchlight he could see the bright reflection against the twin tracks of moisture on his lover's cheeks, her small but perfectly ruby red lips bent down in a pleading frown that forced a heavy weight onto his heart. The two siblings found themselves gazing deeply into twin sets of burning golden eyes, almost perfect mirrors of each other, both with a shared look of tragic desperation and twinkling from built up tears. He wants so badly that it hurts to tell her it will be alright, to wipe those tears from her eyes and not have to see them ever return; she wants nothing else in the world but to find the comfort and safety in his eyes that has always been there for her in days past, to lose herself in them and forget all else. Neither can have what they want most, but then their hearts both cry out to one another and the pair quickly respond to their unvoiced desires.
Leaning forward and closing their eyes, their lips meet and all else is forgotten, if only for the moment. The bitter, salty taste of tears is easily overpowered by the sweet succulence of their warm and luscious desires. Plush, supple lips press against firm, rough yet yielding ones in the tenderest kiss the moon ever did witness. Azula's hands caress both his cheeks, the fair and the scarred alike, as Zuko sends one hand to snugly wrap itself about the tender nape of her neck. In their minds, they are reliving every romantic, passionate moment that has ever passed between them, every physical desire fulfilled, every aching need satisfied, and every possible ecstasy achieved. Within the short span of their final kiss, brother and sister meet, for the last time, as lovers, and the moment is savored enthusiastically by each.
Reluctantly concluding their kiss, the pair pull back to stare once more into each other's eyes for a spell before Azula speaks at long last. "You have to be strong tomorrow Zuzu, you can't show any signs of affection for me. Father will be watching you especially close."
"I know." Zuko sighs in return, still somewhat reluctant to accept what he is going to have to do.
"Promise me, Zuko. Promise me you'll make it through this." Pleading in a voice just over a whisper, Azula begs her big brother into doing what is necessary.
"I-I'll-I'll..." Stammering to say the right thing, Zuko finally surrenders, "Okay, I promise." Renewing their embrace, Azula holds onto her brother as if clinging for dear life, burying her face in his chest and basking in the feeling of comfort and security that her favorite sanctuary afforded her. In turn, Zuko was soaking up her incredible warmth and that mind-numbing fragrance that emanated off of the sweet girl for what he knows to be the last time.
All too quickly their final embrace as brother, sister, and lovers is brought to an unpleasant end by the sound of footsteps clattering down the halls outside. "Check the Prince's room!" was shouted out, and could be heard echoing down the empty corridors outside of the room the pair occupied.
"You have to go Zuko, please you have to hide now!" Voice cracking, Azula fails to hide the shaking in her voice nor her body, and it is only then that Zuko becomes truly aware of what he is seeing for the first time ever in his little sister; fear. Her eyes are ripe and her actions flooded with it. Zuko can literally feel his heart being torn in half at the sight of it; this is it, this is the end for his baby sister. She will be tortured overnight and slain in the morning, and she has held herself together long enough to come and warn him of what he needs to do. He can't stand to see her this way, and so he makes one final, pleading effort to convince her to reconsider.
"Azula, please, there's still time, we can still escape together and go-"
"Zuko, no!" She snaps, cutting him off with a harsh and urgent tone. "You have to go Zuko, please you have to go now. Go, Zuko go!" Azula commands in a way that tells Zuko she has already made up her mind. Her words are forceful, bitter, desperate, and terrified all at once. Zuko rushes to the secret door hidden behind a tapestry in his room, and as he is slipping behind it he gives one final, forlorn and longing glance back to his beloved little sister. As if sensing what he was waiting to hear, she whispers solemnly after him, "I'll always love you, Zuko," as a fresh, lone tear slides down her cheek.
"I love you with every last part of me, Azula." Zuko whispers back as he replaces the wall only seconds before the crash of his bedroom doors signals the guards entering his room.
"Where is the Prince!" One demands as he looks around, only to find no sign of Zuko.
"I was hoping you could tell me," Came Azula's haughty, disinterested reply, "I was hoping to at least take out that pitiful weakling if I couldn't get my father."
"No sign of him anywhere in here sir, he must be elsewhere in the palace. Remember what Fire Lord Ozai said, waste no time for words with the Princess, simply take her."
"Oh, I don't know if I'd call it that simple of a thing to do, really." Azula's drawling taunt sends a wave of palpable tension into the room, but the guards, having her outnumbered and surrounded, don't let their trepidation show outwardly.
Zuko cringes as he hears the battle ensuing from the other side of his trick wall. The unmistakeable bursts of Firebending tell him Azula isn't holding back, but having no idea how many there are he can't be sure how well his sister can handle them. A piercing, bloodcurdling cry that turns harsh and grating as it dies tears through Zuko's soul and his eyes stretch painfully wide. Daring to peek at the situation in his room, he cracks the wall ever so slightly and see's a guard pinning her to the ground by her calf with a pike he has managed to impale her with. Instantly and instinctively he slaps a hand to his mouth, both in an effort to stifle the cry of anger he feels swelling up in his throat as well as to hold back the vomit he can feel churning in his stomach. The guards waste no time in placing metal cuffs and shackles onto their new prisoner and then hauling her away down the dark corridor they had emerged from just moments ago.
Zuko feels sick, absolutely nauseous and hollow and weak, as he tries desperately to hold himself together. Only after the sounds of the guard's footsteps have disappeared completely does he allow himself to fully experience the raging turmoil of his emotions. Bawling pathetically and cursing everything and everyone that he can think of, Prince Zuko suffers a complete and total emotional breakdown in the dark, musty confines of his secret escape tunnel.
The roaring of the crowd brings her back to reality, and Azula remembers what the Fire Sage has just asked her. Somehow, from somewhere, she miraculously finds her voice and manages to croak out her last word.
"I.."
She never see's it coming, but the crowd goes into a frenzy after the hit. Azula hadn't even noticed the other man draw up to her left side, but just as she begins to speak, the faceless executioner decides she doesn't deserve any last words and so he strikes her, just as absolutely hard as he possibly can. In her broken and decrepit state, she doesn't stand a chance. The fist lands squarely on the left side of her face, connecting with a bone shattering impact that sends a shock-wave through her entire body, violently jerking and twisting her head to the right and the petit young woman collapses helplessly on the wooden floor beneath, crumpling like an empty sack as the blood trickles from her lips. Even a few audience members fall silent and shake their heads in disdain at the spectacle they have just witnessed.
Zuko has been doing everything in his power to remain like a statue thus far, but when he watches his little sister get struck like a grown man he feels a fire explode inside of his gut. Whereas he had been on the verge of tears, now he is simply pissed. Absolute, unbridled, seething fury has become him. If someone were to ask him something right then, if he had been forced to open his mouth for any reason at all at that moment, all that would have escaped him would be a savage scream and fire; lots and lots of fire. Trembling from the barely constrained rage, Zuko has to remind himself of his promise to his beloved sister to keep from losing it. For her. He has to do it for her.
Just as expected, Fire Lord Ozai is keeping a scrutinizing glare on his only son, intently watching for any signs, anything at all, that might betray his feelings. Not that he needed to, but he was curious at this point just how far his children's affections for each other went. Zuko was already dead, the young man just didn't know it, and if Ozai could torture them, just a little bit more with their love for each other, well then, this little episode would be made all the sweeter in his mind. All that he needed to make this whole sick show complete was a little display of emotion from his weakling son. It couldn't be that hard, especially with Azula on display as she was, beaten, battered and abused. Brow creasing and frown deepening, the anger begins to swell within Ozai as his son remains stoic and unflinching, as if he is a statue.
Slowly and painfully, Azula gets her bearings, pushing with all her might, but it is only with the constant affirmation to herself that this is the last time she will ever need to use her legs that the tormented creature is able to make it, albeit unsteadily, to her feet, constantly fighting the throbbing ache in the side of her head.
"Now, may your sentence be carried out. Executioner, if you will."
At this decree, the burly, hooded man who had sent her to the ground grabs Azula by her neck with one large, powerful hand, squeezing as he drags her around like a rag doll to the opposite side of the stone meant for beheading. A dark, ominous stain radiates out from the center, boldly foretelling the fate of all who look upon it.
As her lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen, she feels a blunt, smashing pain explode into the side of her face as she is thrown savagely into the stone before her, so as breath relieves the ache in her lungs a new, dull throbbing settles into the side of her face opposite the side she had taken the punch. She hardly has time to adjust to this new pain, however, before she feels a tug at her hair and finds herself being pulled, the side of her face scraping across the pitiless rock surface and leaving some skin behind as it went. Her eyes sting with the pain of a thousand needles, but she somehow manages not to cry.
When she is finally able to focus on the world again, it is only to find her head hanging just off the side of the stone, her neck securely set in the indent beneath and a curtain of her own black hair hanging before her eyes. Her heart hammering in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, terrified and nervous gasps as her eyes clench shut, Azula realizes that this is finally it. No quick, clever tricks, no last minute hero, no cosmic twist of fate, no stupid plot twist for the simple sake of a happy ending like in the stories she remembers from when she was a child. Just her neck, pressing down against a cold, hard and jagged slab of rock that still holds the faint, coppery reek of blood as though it were ingrained into the very stone itself and a very large, vicious axe being held by an equally ruthless man who stands just off to her side where she can't see, but know him to be there nonetheless. So close is the end now, she isn't certain whether to despair or rejoice.
There is a sudden commotion in the crowd as several guards grab Zuko and pull him out into the middle of the street. "What is the meaning of this!" The Prince demands, bewilderment and outrage etching into his features as the guards force him to his knees. Azula can't bring herself to open her eyes, already knowing this would happen. It takes every last ounce of strength left inside of her to not cry.
"And for aiding in her plot to assassinate our Fire Lord, you, Prince Zuko, are found guilty as well, and shall share in your sister's sentence!" The Fire Sage bellows this decree to the delight and uproar of the gathered crowd. It is a grand performance indeed, and as the understanding of what has happened dawns on Zuko's face, Ozai smiles in wicked delight. Thinking back to all the screams last night, the young Prince looks up to his baby sister as he tries with great difficulty but little success not to picture what horrifying things must have been done to her. That's when he looks down to the ground underneath him and notices the dark, still wet crimson trail that goes on, almost unbroken, up the street until it disappears to the right. Looking up at his sister, that is when Prince Zuko begins to cry.
"Oh no, Azula..." He groans painfully as a pit grows within his stomach, dismay and horror engraving themselves into his face. Suddenly, as if hearing him call her name, the girl turns her head so that their eyes can meet. Though her black strands hang like a curtain before her face, there are enough gaps for her gaze to pierce through to his. I'm so sorry, Zuko she tries to say, but all that emerges from her throat is a harsh, mangled sob when she opens her mouth. Looking up at her, he feels not anger for her betraying him, nor even hatred towards their father who is the cause of this all. He feels only pity for his poor, hurting sister before him who has suffered more than he will ever know. Pity, and love. A boundless, unconditional love that will carry far, far into the next life. He offers her a heartfelt smile so that she may know.
Azula saw it. She saw the genuine smile that played across his lips as well as that glinting light that she had just caught in her brother's eyes at that moment. It was that same tragic, desperate longing that had been there when last they met in his room. A look that wanted nothing more than to hold her tight and comfort her, and whisper in her ear all the things she wanted and needed to hear. It is then and only then that Azula allows one, beautifully tragic tear to slip, that lone, liquid diamond streaking down her face, leaving a cold and bitter trail against her skin before it falls, unceremoniously, and without even a single beam of sunlight to glitter off of it as it shatters on the wood below, to become nothing more than another wet stain in the wood.
The unsheathing of a sword rings out from one of the guards standing next to Zuko, and Azula watches as he raises it high above her brother's head just as Zuko watches in helpless terror as an axe is lifted high above hers. A sound of deafening silence settles across the entire city, as not even the wind dares to whisper.
"I love-" She manages to choke out in a whisper, before it all goes dark.