I've discovered something recently; I really don't like silk sheets.

The material is far too smooth; almost unnaturally so, and I hate the way it slithers over my legs and arms like a snake coiling around its unsuspecting prey. Almost like some sort of liquid; like water, really. Whenever I lay within them, I feel like I am drowning in a sea of flowing red waves. It's terrifying, and I'm ashamed to admit that I've suffered many a nightmare about being submerged in a scarlet ocean, slowly sinking to the bottom, with tendrils of liquid wrapping themselves around my limbs and neck.

That's when I awake with a start, thrashing around on the floor, the crimson sheets tangled tightly around my heaving body, still damp with the cold sweat that accompanies nightmares. That's when I realise where I am, and I breathe a sigh of relief, before ripping the loathsome material off my neck, my arms, and hurling it away from me, into a desolate corner of my room. I then sleep, blanket less, on the cold, welcoming floor, my nightgown my only protection against the frigid stone. But I don't care; the hard stone is better than drowning in the sheets.

I am sure tonight will be no different; even though I have requested numerous times to have my sheets changed to normal linen ones, but all we seem to have aboard, apart from the soldiers bed-linen (I refuse to use sheets that have already accompanied the dirty, smelly bodies of my men) is infuriating silk. I'm stuck with sleeping in water, constantly flowing water. The Waterbenders invented silk, I'm damned sure of it. It's their material, their filthy, disgusting material, and my body rejects it accordingly by tormenting me with horrifying images of my own demise into a liquid grave.

But what's worse is the colour. I could have endured any other colour but the one that stares back up at me from the bed. The royal colour of the Fire Nation. The colour of blood. I'm sleeping in a sea of blood; and every night I drown in it. I drown in blood. I die every night in my dreams to awake and discover that my reality is once again distorting itself, as if to punish me for some sin that I am unaware I committed. I refuse to flee, however. I will not sleep anywhere else, no matter how badly my sanity is affected. I have my pride. I will not let some pieces of cloth scare me out of my own bed. I am the Princess of the Fire Nation, rightful heir to the throne. I fear nothing.

So I will lay my head against the pillow and wait for sleep to overcome me, and wait for the battle to begin. I have examined my dreams in great depth, and I can conclude that the main reason they affect me so is because of my lack of swimming prowess. If there's one place I have never felt confident, it's in the water, the territory of those primitive, canoe loving ingrates that love to live on ice blocks and ride penguins all day.

And people wonder why we are winning the war.

Even taking a bath unnerves me somewhat, but I will never let it show on my face. I hate the feeling of being surrounded, engulfed by liquid. I hate the feeling of losing control, and in water (and other aqueous substances), I am forced to relinquish it. My dreams torment me, my bed-linen teases and taunts me, and all the while my control is slowly dissipating. That's the problem with sleep; you can't control what happens during it. You surrender yourself completely for a period of time until it releases you; you are like a captive. Yet, it is a necessary evil which, to me, is the ultimate irony. Like nature wants us to lose control sometimes.

I don't know where dreams come from, and this frustrates me. I realise they are a product of my mind, but I hate the fact that I can't control what I am seeing, what I am experiencing. Venturing into the deepest corners of my being unnerves me somewhat, and I feel like I am being dragged down into them every time I close my eyes to rest. I hate dreaming; even when I see myself seated on the throne of the Fire Nation, like a vision of the future, I can't help feeling slightly uncomfortable, like my mind is playing games with me, wanting to measure my reactions to the scenes it plays before me. A battle is raging within me; a war between my conscious mind and my subconscious. A war triggered by these damned sheets. I never used to dream so vividly before I slept on them. No, my dreams were bland and unremarkable. But as soon as I slipped between the silk…something in my mind was triggered, a gate opened, and reality became fused with fantasy inside my head.

So tonight I'll sleep once again in my bed, with my blood red sheets, waiting for sleep to overcome me, to see what my mind has in store for me tonight. Waiting to see if I will rise or drown in my sea of blood.

Waiting.