This is very tragic and angsty, even for me. But I though I'd try my hand at a non-Taang story, and hey, what's wrong with a little Maiko?
Disclaimer: I don't really want to stop the show, but I thought you might like to know that I don't own Avatar.
An old house sat atop a steep hill, isolated from the rest of the world. The house had been abandoned long ago and left to rot. The sharp cliffs below it kept people away, and the house itself wasn't very inviting anyhow. It creaked and moaned in the wind, most of the windows were stuck permanently shut, and the old, moldy curtains were always pulled closed. There was nothing welcoming about the old house; it was for someone who was both brave, and wanted desperately to be alone. That is what drew a cheerless young woman with shining black hair and long flowing robes to it in the first place. The decrepit old building was bleak and dreary, but the quiet solitude was what the girl had always wanted.
One dark and gloomy night, as a light drizzle drenched the house, the woman sat inside at a table. A small lamp was the only source of light as she poured her heart out into a journal.
It is raining as I write this. A very light rain, but it still manages to soak the world around it. It's quite depressing actually. The house is freezing. I feel very alone. Nights like these almost make me wish I were back in the fire nation among others. But I'm not. I'm here. I chose to isolate myself from the rest of the world, and I have to live with that decision. Or do I? If I were to return home, would the accept me? And I've been away for so long…would they even be the same people I knew before? I have no idea what they're like now. Is Ty Lee still bubbly and irritating? Is Princess Azula still the same sociopathic perfectionist? These are the people I grew up with, who I called my friends. The only friends I ever had, actually. I suppose I frightened people away with my coldness. I heard many times that my eyes were austere and heartless. But I didn't really care. I always found people to be rather dull anyway.
Except for one person.
The young man who could coax a smile out of me when we were children, who would try to comfort me when Azula bullied me. He once held my hand and wiped my tears away when I had cried. A warm smile and a gentle hug was enough to set my heart racing; someone to listen to me and to everything I had to say was all I needed. I can clearly remember the disgust and hatred I felt when I saw how horribly his father treated him. I had to leave. Sitting in the crowd, surrounded by people cheering for the suffering of their own prince. A prince who had a kind heart, and refused to strike his own father. What kind of people are we? Azula was laughing at her own brother as he was swallowed by the flames. The next time I saw him, he wore the scar. And he was different. I feel that somewhere, the benevolent youth who I fell in love with is still there. But he is hidden behind the scar.
Outside, footsteps were slowly approaching the house.
The woman sighed and flipped the cover of the journal shut. She leaned back in her chair and laid a pale hand across her forehead. "I'm…exhausted…" she murmured. A sudden noise outside turned her attention to the dark window. She narrowed her eyes at it suspiciously and slowly began to draw a knife inside of her sleeve. She could see a faint shadow moving through the thin curtain.
The window creaked open. She flung her dagger, simultaneously drawing another in her other hand. But there was no need. The satisfying thud of a blade meeting flesh reached her ears. There was a tiny groan and a few drops of dark blood fell to the floor.
She waited patiently, not moving from her spot, until the labored breathing stopped, and all motion ceased behind the drapes. Then she stood and moved towards the lifeless silhouette, a sly smirk plastered across her face. But it was quickly replaced with a look of horror when she pulled back the curtains and saw him.
Her prince was dead.
Bitter tears began to fall as the woman dropped to her knees. She buried her face in her hands, averting her gaze from the corpse hanging through her window. The only sound was the steady dripping of blood from his chest, because the woman was completely silent. She looked up and pulled him in. he hit the floor roughly and stayed there, completely still. She found herself stroking his hair, his face, his scar…
"What have I done?"
That was all she could manage to choke out, in a hoarse whisper.
She reached forward and pulled the knife out of his chest. She held it up, allowing the flickering lamp to illuminate the crimson blood falling off of it. And then, with a tiny gasp, she drove it into her breast.
The woman fell to the floor, taking her own life with the same blade that had taken her prince.
Ah...lovely...
What do you think?