Azula shifted in the luxurious pillows about her.
Defeating Zuzu, killing that water-tribe girl and disbanding the rest of the pathetic resistance forces had been easy.
The imprisonment of the Avatar was another triumph for her. Surely her father would be the most pleased now.
She'd been feeling rather dizzy and sleepy since the events though. Occasionally, her eyes would feel puffy and dry and her throat would taste of ashes and the sharp copper of blood. It must be the new responsibilities.
Reaching up, she frowned. It seemed her hair had slipped out of the strict topknot she forced it into. Yet, as she touched her hair, she didn't find the tangled mess she had felt just previously.
Stopping at a mirror, she examined her appearance.
Nothing was out of place.
Her eyes showed no sign of swelling or redness, her hair was immaculate, without a single strand out of the perfect coif. She reached up again and felt the topknot carefully.
Odd.
Her emotions felt muffled as well and she missed her sharp pangs of rage and excitement. To her relief, her blue flames still stayed true, as did her lightning.
Over the days, she never found that royal physician. Dully, she decided that she'd have him banished when the useless creature appeared.
Why did that sound so familiar? As the months passed, she slowly began to realize that she never did see any servants either. They must be about, spineless fools, the castle stayed spotless and meals would always appear on a dining room table which felt rougher than she remember it being.
Many things felt differently from what she recalled. Her robes would get caught on mysteriously smooth palace pillars, the bath scratched her even as the pristine porcelain stayed perfectly smooth.
Her days passed in a slow ache that somehow was hard to recall. What had she done the day before? What had she done this morning?
Somehow, her limbs always felt a little heavier and her thoughts crawled at a pace that should have concerned her.
She never knew how she got from once place to the next, sometimes finding herself in her room, the court plaza. She stopped questioning that, or why she never left the palace grounds.
She never knew what time it was, never saw people until sometime later- later? How much later? When?- when she saw Zuzu and Mai.
She could have sworn they were in prison at the Boiling Rock but glancing at her surroundings, she was standing in the prison cell. Curious, when had she made the trip to the prison? Dully, she decided she must have felt merciful and wanted to visit her brother and her old friend. Seeing the two sent an odd twinge through her chest. She really must go find that worm of a physician and speak to the old fool, it wouldn't do for the world if the Firelord fell ill without a viable heir in place.
Why were they in such finery?
Azula made a mental note to talk to the Warden again, the peasant was clearly out of line. Turning her focus back, she frowned at the bundle cradled in Zuko's arms and stiffened when Zuko knelt awkwardly before her.
Was that a child in his hands?
When did her seat become so uncomfortable? Shifting around, she realized that she must have moved to sit on one of the prison benches. She would have to have her clothes burnt when she returned to the palace.
She noticed the fist of the tiny infant waving in the air.
Zuko looked at her with steady eyes. Was that pity? Fool, she had everything: power, prestige and the fear of the world. She'd find a husband soon enough and the Fire Nation would be filled with royal heirs once again.
"Azula," he said gently. "I know that we are not on- on the best of terms, but I'd like to present you to my daughter."
She looked at the tiny, red face and for a moment, felt disoriented.
"My niece?"
Her voice sounded far away to her. She reached out a hand, noting Mai's change of stance and Zuko's stiffening with quiet amusement.
When had her hand become so ragged? She'd call a beautician after this trip, it didn't do for the Firelord to have broken nails.
Why were her hands so rough and dry?
Was that blood under her nails? Perhaps she pushed herself a bit far with her training.
Touching the incredibly soft cheek and tracing the gentle swell of the little one's nose, she tilted her head curiously. She had forgotten how delicate children were. However, this one looked healthy,
"I should have know that being born to royalty and nobility, disgraced or not, would product a fair child" she remarked when she found her voice. Her voice was curiously harsh, her throat once again tasting like blood, like she'd screamed her voice raw.
Zuko and Mai exchanged glances with each other.
"What's her name?" Azula asked, frowning over the state of her hands.
"Her name is-" Her world suddenly roared, flooding her scenes' with the rush of blood and darkness.
Zuko stepped out of the prison, holding his child close to him.
Azula had reeled back from him suddenly, howling like a wounded animal until the doctors had rushed in and hit her chi points, pacifying her.
Her moments of clarity these days were few and far between, reported to him from the asylum to the palace in weekly reports. Mai took their child from his arms as they talked away, neither wanting to talk about Azula's state.
He turned to his consort.
"Mai, I saw her for a moment."
Mai tilted her head up at him.
"For a moment, when we first walked in, when she first saw our child, I could see the old Azula, the intelligent prodigy in her eyes."
Mai placed her hand on his arm, sadness in her voice.
"Zuko, our old Azula isn't in control anymore. You know that. The doctors have been reporting that Azula's seemingly constructed her own world in her mind and spends most of her time pottering around as if she's going about her old royal duties."
Zuko could only shake his head. While Azula and him were never on the best of sibling terms, it was painful watching his once-meticulously well-presented and sharp little sister reduced to a wreck. The doctors had come up with all sorts of explanations for her state, citing coping methods to situations of shock among many theories.
Still, he'd known from the beginning what it was. He had always known.
After all...
Azula always lies. To anyone.
Even to herself.
She always lies.