This is a pre-Halloween fanfic that may or may not get a few more chapters depending on whether or not I have time and/or ideas for them.
Her world went dark days before the whole world did.
The Agni Kai was going all wrong. It had been from the start, it shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did when her lightning flashes back at her. Maybe it hasn't left her fingertips at all. Whatever the case, she can't see anymore and wondered if she ever would again. Her hearing fades and she crumples, with a final realization that she has done this to herself.
She doesn't wake up often and when she does, it is in short spurts. The first time she wakes, her vision is blurry. Blurry but, comfortingly, there. She can make out people, probably nurses and maybe Zuko. But she fades out again before she can truly form any theories. She awakens a second time a day later. Her vision is clearer, but not as sharp as it had been. She can clearly make out people, there were less of them, but to her surprise there were flowers on near her bedside and a stuffed dragon is tucked under her arms. Her belly tickles and tears mist her eyes at the hope that maybe people still do care for her. It brings her a more pleasant fading.
The third time she wakes might be a week later. The flowers have been replaced, this time they are more fragrant. With them are a couple of letters. She can't make out the lettering, clearly, her vision hasn't improved and she is under the impression that it will never do so. She is thankful to have her sight at all. Someone holds her hand, she doesn't need to look up to know that it is Zuko. She turns her head anyways. He's talking to her, but she is dizzy and disoriented. She wonders just how much damage she has done herself.
The next time she wakes the world seems almost frantic, she hears shouting and the quick scampering of feet. She wonders if she is okay? Has she sent them into this frenzy? She tries to let them know that she is fine, that they can stop running. But her voice is so soft and so weak, it is lost under the more chaotic noises. She'll just have to wait. She notices for the first time a faint sign of neglect, her stomach aches slightly and she gets the sense that she hasn't been fed yet. There are no new objects on the nightstand. She peers at the flowers, they haven't been swapped out.
They aren't swapped the next time she wakes. And they are wilted the time after that.
She hears shuffling in the hallway and thinks that they have finally given up on her or simply don't care any longer.
She supposed that she hasn't done anything to deserve their care anyhow.
She knows that she is alone when she wakes up for good. She doesn't need to look around, the air seems stale somehow, sparkles of dust dance in sunrays. She doesn't know where they have gone. She doesn't know why, but she is alone. How alone, is up in the air.
A very thick layer of dust makes a home of the night stand and bedposts. It coats the flower petals that have long since dropped. Most alarmingly, it clings to her own skin and makes a decent mess of her hair. It has been a while. She knows it because her stomach aches terribly, she doesn't think she has been fed in days.
Of course not, there wasn't anyone around to feed her.
Something has happened and Azula doesn't know if everyone is dead or if they had simply forgotten…abandoned her in their haste.
She rises on legs that are shaky with both fear and a lack of use. She runs her finger over the nightstand's surface leaving a clean smear. Her finger tip has been painted a dirty deep brown. The palace has been abandoned for a while. She clutches her middle and makes her way to the kitchen, hoping that they have left her with at least a little bit to eat.
The smell that meets her nose when she gets to the kitchen is absolutely rancid. There is plenty of food set on the elongated table. A feast from the looks of it; probably a victory feast in light of the war ending and her father's defeat. The kind of splendid meal that looks like it took careful planning and execution. Yet, not a bite has been eaten and most of it is rotting. The fruits are more of a sticky, black goop than actual food. They are probably responsible for the smell. It doesn't register to her in her foggy state, but no insects swirl about the sticky mess.
Not all of the food is decaying though. This is what capture her attention. She hopes that it is still good. The bread is moldy so she passes on that. But there are some nuts and some dried vegetables. They would have to suffice. They hold her over until she comes upon the spices and flours used for making her own meal. Finally the dread has a chance to truly set in.
They have left all of the cooking supply. Not most, all. In fact, they seem to have taken nothing at all in their departure. Azula too abandons her meal, in search of confirmation. She finds it in the throne room where the ceremonial robes have been tossed haphazardly to the floor and the Fire Lord's crown glints on the floor collecting dust.
She is breathing heavily and shakily. She doesn't try to conceal it, because there is no one to hide it from. She backs out of the throne room, feeling nauseas. Her elbows collide with the wall on the opposite end of the hall. One would think that she'd seen a corpse.
And maybe she has. The skeleton of what was once a lively throne room.
Had whatever it was really been so terrifying that they'd leave the crown on the floor? It must have been, because she did too.
A sense that she needs to leave urgently is becoming overbearing. She isn't supposed to be here. How dreadful was this thing, that they had looked at her and decided that she was dead weight that needed to be left behind? She can't exactly picture Zuko taking up that mentality. She likes to think that he would have carried her.
She decides to herself that she actually wants him around. She actually wants Mai and TyLee too. Exploring the skeleton of what was once a splendid palace, now run down and cluttered, she realizes that she might just want her mother too.
Wandering the streets, she comes to decide that a perfect stranger would be okay by her. The outside world is so forebodingly quiet. There is no clamor of carts, not arguing peasants, not even a bird call. It is a ghost town. More than that.
At least stray animals scampered in ghost towns.
Even spirits didn't seem to dwell in the Capital.
She can see signs of looting, broken windows and burn marks. Shutters lay in discarded heaps on the cobblestone pavement. Statues are missing limbs that are found feet away. Broken spears and hilts of swords litter the ground creating a very metallic carpet of debris.
The worst of it is in the coronation hall. Where, only a few weeks earlier, she brought upon her own defeat, was the husk of a celebration that never was. Very, very slightly, the part of her that was touched by insanity is happy that they hadn't the chance to celebrate her downfall. But more of her, the rational part of herself is chilled to the core. Chairs are overturned banners have come down. Some torn and shredded, some simply taken by the wind. A string of paper lanterns cascade to the floor, every bit as torn as the banners.
A gust of wind sends them rustling together. Come to think of it, it is the first sound Azula has heard since waking, save for her own isolated footsteps. She wraps her arms around herself and shudders.
She wonders if it is just the Capital in such a desolate state. Perhaps the entirety of the Fire Nation. Somewhere within herself—perhaps the part of her soul that is most closely tethered to the Spirit World—she knows that it is the whole world.
And she is at a loss.
She doesn't know what to do.
Even if she wanted to, for the first time in her life, cry for help, there is no one to answer her. All at once she is afraid to cry. Not on account of pride, but because she is afraid she will attract the attention of…
Of…?
She doesn't know.
It occurs to her suddenly that maybe the bought of paranoia that had claimed her prior to the comet wasn't so irrational after all. Perhaps she wasn't crazy. It dawns on her that she might have seen this coming before anyone, but couldn't properly articulate nor explain it and so it came out in a series of intangible shouts and cackles.
She shivers again because that somehow scares her more than the notion that she might be completely out of her mind. At least insanity could be somewhat explained.
Azula finds herself the least dusty looking chair and seats herself. She tries to come up with a game plan but her mind only seems to come up with questions and startling notions. She wonders why she is still here when everyone else has vanished. Maybe she had looked so dead that even the spirit world has forgotten her.
Rather absurdly, it occurs to her that she doesn't actually know how she looks. She can imagine that she is thinner and that her hair is abundantly tangled, probably longer. She can guess that her skin is pale beneath her coating of soot and dust. But her eyes? What do they look like? Are they clouded by the lightning that stole a good portion of her vision. She touches her face, and finds that her skin is rougher in some places. She knows that she has scared herself.
She knows that it doesn't matter because no one is around to mock her for it or gawk at her.
And it isn't for the best. She wants to hear taunts and laughs. At least that would mean that there are people around.
She looks down at her palms.
She has always been a bit of a loner, forming friendships and bonding never came easy to her. But at least in those days there was a chance for it, should she ever find the will power to put herself out there.
Azula has missed her opportunity.
The world is gone and she is the last to leave it.