I don't know how to begin this letter, Toph wrote.
She was sitting at her desk, eyelids shut, arms crossed. It hadn't been easy to learn to write. She'd been learning Braille since she was eight, but writing was a different matter. Occasionally she would take out a book written in Braille and brush her fingers across the page, just to make sure she was getting the letters right.
I want to get the words right, I really do, but I'm not that articulate, never have been I guess.
How can I ask you for something this big? Surely it's out of the question? I just keep thinking, if I ask, you could look into it...
She paused, not sure how to go on. She dropped her pencil and brushed her hand over the figures on the page, looking for an 'I' again.
I've wanted this since I was old enough to think, my parents had always pushed the thought into my brain. I had said I was fine, she searched for 'n', never needed sight.
I could earth-bend from an early age, everything was ok... but I want to see. I want to be able to see the colour of the eyes of the boy I love, I want to be able to see the faces of the idiots I beat up with ease, I want to be able to see the clouds as we fly through them on Appa.
Again, she paused, but not to look for a letter, just because this was a hard letter to write.
I heard you help people, she wrote slowly, I hear people ask you anything, and confide in you, and you can help them. Sometimes.
I don't know if other people have asked you for a similar favour, but I was wondering if you could help me anyway. A tear trickled down her cheek. She searched for her final few letters and continued hesitantly.
Please, God, give me sight.