A/N: My idea for this fic was a series of short snapshots that come together to tell a more involved story. Most chapters will probably be around only 500 words, but there should be many of them. Hopefully. Unless I get bored.
Summary: She says she wants to redeem herself. Then again, Azula always lies.
Pairings: Canon pairings (e.g., Zuko and Mai); possible implications of others later on
Rating: T for totally insane.
Warnings: The natures of mental illness and evil are discussed. Somewhat autobiographical.
~~Penmanship~~
Isn't it strange, how looking through a haze can make the world clearer?
The girl's brush made clean, meticulous strokes. She used no flourish, but she was steady.
Life is simple here.
The parchment, like the writing, was plain but neat – broad fibers, but cleanly and carefully cut. The girl wrote quickly, with an educated and practiced hand.
I am learning how to make
The girl paused, considered.
mistakes.
Her brush was purposeful and her breath steady, but one vertical line in the character for mistakes was skewed fifteen degrees diagonal. A horizontal line wobbled, though the girl's focus seemed impeccable.
Oops. As you can see, I am learning every day.
She held up her non-writing hand to the fading afternoon light. The wrist and forearm were atrophied, white-pink scars wrapping like serpents around the wrist. The girl reflected upon her fingers with disgust, then stuck the cleanest in her mouth.
She touched her now-dripping ring finger to the page, letting the saliva pool and dry near mistakes. It looked, for all the world, tearstained.
Her eyes were gold and dry.
It is hard. This is the first letter I am able to write.
She paused to work the stringy muscle of her writing arm, dirty fingernails scraping against the smooth scar tissue at her wrist.
Rest your worries, for the men here do their jobs impeccably. Your nation's criminals are well contained.
The breeze that fluttered her plain black robe entered between bars.
And your insane are nearly well-treated.
The room was stone, bare but for a kneeling cushion and low table, and a blanket so neatly folded it looked machine-done.
I hope you are well, and I also hope that you will keep me up-to-date. The library here is small and I have already exhausted it.
The girl's hair was cropped unevenly to her shoulders and wind-ruffled, but even its poor cut and messiness could not detract from her striking face.
One of your letters should give me reading material for a month. Oh, refrain from pouting; you know how you go on and on.
Her lip twitched into a half-smile, but it was somehow grim.
Love, your sister,
She carefully skewed the box in sister larger at the top than the bottom.
Azula