I can never be you, Katara. I can never do the things you do. I could never weep so openly, so freely, smile without containment, restriction, wear my emotions blazing across my face like the play of moonlight upon water. I could never give "Impassioned" and "Powerful" speeches about hope, love (and pixie dust). I could never laugh and dance unreservedly, walk without the weight of guilt on my shoulders, wear no mask, let the world see me as I am.

I could never make him love me.

I could never be you, Katara.

I am not you

But let me ask you this…

Could you live like I do, with the glares and hatred of all the people of the world weighing down upon you for crimes long past?

Could you have the strength to slap Zuko and shove him into his bed, when he tries to work for peace yet is too sick to stand?

Could you head a council, run the fire nation while your husband pines away for another woman and busies himself with visiting the countries damaged by the fire nation (his little whore in tow)? Could you lead your country into posterity, bring it into its own little renaissance, whilst your heart was breaking?

Could you forgive your family for letting your nursemaids, when you were but a babe, slap your face and jab pins into your shoulders and lock you under the stairs whenever you misbehaved?

Could you have the strength to hide every emotion in you?

Could you have the determination to train and train and train until you cough up blood and your muscles scream at you to stop, if you knew you were your husband's last line of defence?

Could you bear to sleep in a cold and empty bed, and know that your husband was meeting his lover by the turtle duck pond?

Could you stay strong and proud when your heart was breaking, and the only way to stop the darkness and the guilt and the loneliness was to take your knives and slice away at your own skin, until the screaming in your head drew to a close?

If we traded places, Katara, and you were married to Zuko in my stead, and I was his whore in yours, would you be able to keep on loving him?

I do.

And, you know what, Katara?

I am not you.

And you, you little bitch… you are nothing like me.