Disclaimer: I don't own the ATLA characters, only the OCs and the plot.
ooo
Hollow wails and ragged breathing haunted the dimly lit room of four, beige walls. The chamber, a kitchen to be exact with one, sole opening in the place of a rectangular door, housed kitchenware and selves and an assembly of timber tables and chairs of dull, earthy shades of green, yellow, and brown. A lonesome, murky shadow of a trembling body was present on the floor, the heavy, nervous steps generating a creaking sound on the palm wood.
The owner of that trembling body whose heavy, nervous steps generated a creaking sound on the palm wood, was a woman. From her rear profile, she seemed young, very young indeed: thick, midnight tresses combed in a complex braid by trembling fingers, cascaded her slender body.
Across her, on top of the kitchen island, she had situated a fine china with designs of pristine, blue blossoms to brew tea. Beside it, three, green cups awaited to be filled with the golden, scorching substance the china carried in its interior.
The paleness of two, very feminine-looking palms touched the porcelain and guided it to the three, green cups, the steamy tea flooding their emptiness.
Setting the teapot back, the woman pressed her hands firmly on the island, her posture crumbling and the echo of muffled sobs daring to escape her throat nestling in the silence.
Her eyelids were sealed closed, dark, thick lashes resting with pressure against the burnt skin of her high cheekbones. Her lips, which under any other, less mournful circumstances would have been stained a mellow, rosy tone, were pressed together in a thin line.
Her scalp hunched, dark, midnight strands covering her eyes, as the sight of streaming, crystal-like tears followed beneath.
A pair of heavy steps entered the room that belonged to a tall, tanned, muscular man with saddened, cerulean eyes. A low breath left his chapped lips, as he stopped to a halt behind her form. His right arm circled her lithe waist around her stomach, the left wrapping her around the shoulders, his nose and mouth brushing the exposed skin of her neck in a comforting manner.
Instantly, the woman abandoned any urge to resist the sobs any embraced in return the man, her head nestling against his muscular chest, her tears sullying shamelessly the chartreuse fabric of his robes.
"I-I can't do this! I'm not, no, not ready yet!" her words resembled a lament, as the man pressed his chin on the crown of her head, whispering in hushing tone.
"It'll be alright, it'll be alright..." he repeated in a mantra.
The mourning woman continued her lamentation, the man continuing comforting her and kissing her softly, all in total silence.
"Lara..." a hoarse voice of an elder person called from a different room, the woman wiping her tears and taking the tray of two cups -the third belonging to the man beside her- and rushed to the caller.
She had emerald eyes, pouring melancholy.
Her feet ached, knees threatening to collapse. As she walked past the living room, which was occupied by the youth and her adolescent son and nieces, the corners of her vision caught a glimpse of her niece, a girl so full of fire and passion, attempting to inquire information from her eldest brother.
"Zona, where are mama and papa? I heard Aunt Lara crying in the kitchen! Why was Aunt Lara crying?" questioned the toddler with such innocence, her garnet irises glimmering and augmenting in size, the dark-haired woman thought they might burst out of their sockets.
"Why was aunt Lara crying?" the words that stemmed from a mouth so pure, naive, and youthful repeated themselves in her mind, as she sensed her heart skipping a handful of beats.
Lara's soul couldn't bear it any longer; for months, she has been awake and away from her children, investing her everything in taking care of her beloved parent, and when it seemed the spirits were on their side, his health declined once more.
Her mother had died a year ago and now, she had to prepare herself and the rest of the world for her father's perishment, Avatar Aang, His grace.
She stood right before the entrance of his room, a warm, welcoming flash of an orange light escaping from underneath the door. Her nostrils dilated as oxygen penetrated her nose and filled her lungs. Her teeth bared and bit her lips, to suffocate the upcoming cry, and they mildly bit the mole above her upper lip. Her brows arched, almost reaching the roots of her hair, as emerald orbs rolled back to hold back the tears. With a hoisted chin and a long exhale, she decided it was time.
The hinges of an old, oak door creaked open, her form stepping in a bedchamber of yellow-dyed walls, adorned with ink paintings of a grinning man and a smiling woman, in all the stages of life.
In the middle, a bed was located, where the caller, an elderly man was lying with his head tucked on the white pillows. He wasn't young anymore, but not very old either: he was in his mid-sixties, sixty-six actually, and yet he was capable -amongst other talents and skills- to preserve a mirthful façade, an effort to keep his children calm.
The woman, Lara, set the platter on the nightstand nearby and sat on her father's deathbed. Her hands, not ceasing their shaking, adjusted her father's stance and offered him a cup of his favourite tea.
Dimming grey observed the fatigue in the person near him; as if every small movement caused her immense pain. And he was the reason behind it all.
"Lara..." he whispered softly, in a fashion as if to comfort his child, "you can cry if you want to. I'd never stop you!" he encouraged, words sounding so foul at the very moment.
"Oh, papa... I could never!" she admitted in dismay, the cries lingering on her lips, as a pair of calloused, ageing palms embraced hers. Crestfallen emerald gazed somberly the contrast of their skins; his a wrinkled, fading lurid tone, and hers a tanned flesh of mild gold.
Abruptly, a knock echoed against the half-locked door, and two new figures invited themselves in.
A male and a female, both possessing similar characteristics of mellow, grey eyes, sable hair, and curvy dimples carved on their cheeks. Needless to say, the pair were twin brother and sister; Bumi and Melia, and the younger siblings of Lara, as just like her, they had a dark, beauty mark above their lip.
"Father..." exhaled the man and rushed to the elder, his twin following behind him.
"Papa!" exclaimed she, tears blurring her eyes, as the four leaned for a familial embrace.
The door creaked again.
A tall, boy with brown hair and cold, green eyes entered, his arms protecting the fragile infant on his chest. Instantly, his father appeared behind him, Lara's muscular husband, holding two young children by each hand.
"Mama! Mama!" cried the toddlers, their garnet irises glimmering with joy as they made haste to their mother. She, although grieving, she accepted the youth within her arms, her head nestling the vacancy between their necks.
The girl cuddled the crown of her head against the woman's collarbone, trying to envelop herself in her mother's scent of fire lilies. Oh, how she missed them! Back at her home at the Fire Nation, Lava and Zona would often visit their mother's garden, while their parents supervised them.
Time had passed by painfully since their mother had left their little cottage of warmth to return to her roots, back to the Earth Kingdom, for reasons, nor Lava nor Zona knew of. One day, while they were thanking Agni before pouncing on their meal, a messaging hawk grazed the front door of their house, a white letter with a crimson sealing wax wrapped neatly around the bird's tarsus. Melia in her letter, inquired they are coming to Ba Sing Se rapidly "for the kids to bid farewell to their grandfather".
Recalling her mother's peculiar instructions, the girl shot her head upwards, but not too suddenly as to not startle the parent. She faced her uncle holding her aunt as she cried soundlessly to his chest. In confusion, she tilted her head slightly to her grandfather's direction, meeting with his tired, dull eyes her mother possessed as well.
The elder man chuckled towards her and extended his arm, the toddled stretching her small, chubby palm his way. Both lifted their pinky fingers and they let out a giggle when their fingers swirled around each other.
But mellow giggles of glee weren't so easy anymore.
Avatar Aang coughed and he coughed and he coughed. His children proceeded to aide him, an offer he denied with a wave of his wrinkled hand.
"You can't leave us... no, no, you can't..." lamented the young daughter, her palms folded together in front of her lips, as her brother gripped softly her shoulder and rested his forehead on her temple.
"Melia..." whispered Bumi, as if to reassure his twin that everything would be alright in the end.
Her own young children looked up to her, their twin garnet eyes glowing wide as if trying to comprehend their adult world. She offered them a smile, the corners of her lips curling upwards in a design of grief. She beckoned her arms and called them "lovelies" as she always would, and the youth obliged and motioned to her, burying their sable heads to her stomach.
Behind them, the elder Avatar, the saviour of the world and all Four Nations, smiled.
Outside their house, masses of people clad in green and yellow stood and were all separated in groups, yet their union had one common cause. Tall men with toned arms and thick, brown hair hoisted ablaze torches, their searing flames of crimson, vermillion, and citron setting each and every narrow alley alight. Young children, some with bony, slender fingers and others with more aristocratic features, held in the nest within their palms aromatic candles, them too, attempting to invest in the grieving.
Eyes, some a dull green, others a pale grey or even a melting brown, gazed in apprehension the square window of a yellow-dyed house. Upon the windowsill were laid burning candles of different sizes, some taller and slimmer and others smaller and stout.
The air didn't blow; it was a scorching summer night, after all.
And yet, all the candles on the windowsill had their fire distinguished by the swift snap of someone's fingers.*
Heavy eyelids blinked in fatigue, exposing grey irises that had gained their life again. The action was repeated several times; once, twice, three times, until their owner had finally adjusted to the blinding shafts of sunlight.
Tall trees laid before him. Huge and long they were, with colourful trunks and playful stripes. Lush, pink and blue blossoms were painted on their spiral branches, giving the scenery a tint of unique beauty.
The grass where he lied was bright and fresh and wet with crystal drops of summer rain. The soil was fertile as well, he detected, as a no longer wrinkled hand approached one of the numerous brilliant-coloured flowers. A butterbee's daisy, he had chosen and twirled around his finger, as he recalled the said flower was his wife's favourite. Like the wings of the dainty insect, its petals were soft and fragile, white with spots of purple and yellow, while its centre had brown and ochre stripes, resembling the ones of a butterbee.
The man continued lying on his back, his mind lost in between his reverie of a beautiful lady from the Earth Kingdom and his newfound dream of reaching the endless, turquoise skies above him.
A rustle echoed from behind the shrubbery as ceasing steps followed.
His chapped lips heaved a loud gasp, while his dull, grey eyes brimmed with droplets of joy.
The two bodies collided with each other, melting and becoming one single entity.
"Oh, Aang..." cried the woman, her tears streaming down the curvy wrinkles of her rosy cheeks.
The man removed the stray strand of raven from her eyes, these lovely emerald irises he had missed waking up to, and whispered, "I love you, Tea. Please, don't ever leave me again."
A/N: So... Hi! This is my first ATLA story and I hope you'll like it! Also, in case you've read it from Wattpad, this fic has been republished under the title 'Disenchanted'.
*Inspired by the finale of 'Evita'.