She had been born lucky. It was written all over the records. It was passed as a message of glory between the courtesans. Ursa heard her second child's cry right at the Eve of the Summer Solstice. It was an omen – she'd be the most powerful firebender of all times. History would remember her name – nations would crumble at her feet. His father hadn't been prouder, they said. Azula believed it for years; had no reason not to. She had been proud, too.
Azula was kissed by the sun. Blessed by fire. A prophecy ready to fulfill.
She is not as sure as before. Not anymore.
They stripped her of her bending. It had hurt. Princess Azula had expected it to be smooth. Something that could not bother her physically, after all, she had endured worse. She was wrong. It did hurt. It felt as if she was on fire – she could only scream, flames running through her body. And then, it was nothing. She was empty. Her dreams of glory and her accomplishments all banished from Earth. As if she had been nothing. As if that had always been her destiny. As if she was never even a player.
She had been born lucky.
They put her in an asylum. Said she was mad, mad, mad. She would show them mad. She would. But she can't. She's too weak. Too tired. Too proud. Her brother – traitor, coward, Zuko – did not spare a second glance at her. (She didn't listen to the weak 'make sure she's alright' he muttered to the guards – she didn't need to. She didn't need anything from him).
Chains coffined her hands – icy and piercing, as if they were still afraid of what she was capable of. They better be, she thought. Her lips curved into a bitter smile, but she didn't feel better at all. Her spark was gone. She was useless. No longer a threat. No longer a promise. No longer something.
She had been born lucky.
There were no curtsies – they reserved it for her brother. Traitor, coward, Zuko. The former princess was dragged out of her home without ceremony. A decent attire was not granted to her – her armor had been taken, too. Azula doubted they would take care of it as she pleased. Was right in believing it so. They dressed her in peasant fashion –material as itchy against her skin she felt sick. Long, beautiful hair now a mess, why would they bother trying to fix it? It was what she deserved. 'Let them see her as the monster she is'.
She. Had. Been. Born. Lucky.
Azula caught them smirking at her, heard their excited whispers, their cruel jokes. Their looks of joy. They seemed like wolves eyeing their prey – she didn't grant them a show of it. Azula was never known for mercy, after all. She might have lost, but she would still demand respect. Nobody listened now.
She had been born a royal.
Azula only allowed herself to look back once she was on the carriage – the palace stood proud, even in its loss. Rain washed away any trace of her empire, of the things she had lost just as she had won them. A nation brought to its knees. A century of power thrown away by the hands of scum. The former princess muffed a sob that sounded more like a growl.
Where was her luck now?