As I looked into the mirror, it was like the world shook. The heat of flame on flame, the image of my Mother, the realization that my Father actually didn't give two fucks if I lived, as long as he did. All of it, crashed down on me. I never did realized how much I looked like that Bastard. Same face, pointy and angular, same nose, same hair, the one thing that was different was the smile. I had my Mother's smile, but I had learned to twist it in the same viscous evil compulsive smile that my Father wore so often. I was him, same looks, same personality, and same person. I look in the mirror, and see a body and smile so much like my Mothers', a face that resembles my Father; the Mother who never loved me, the Father who has only exploited me.
The way the dish burned my hand, and I knew she thought I deserved it. I had dropped it, therefore I must pick it up, the look in her eyes as the dish falls say everything I knew she had thought of me, the look that said "you're fucking useless. You can't even take a dish from the oven. Worthless". I knew she thought it. I knew she did. Why we were using the kitchen when the staff could have been working, I'll never be sure, but I think it was a way to test me. I was only pretending that she could ever love me. Her love was so wrapped around Zuko and his preciousness. How could she even look at me like I matter? I know she filled his head with "Azula is crazy Zuko, do not listen to her." And "Azula always lies. Do not trust her." How could I, the crazy daughter she accidentally brought into this world, ever compare to her precious son? The golden child, the perfect creation, her only son could never do wrong, ever. To her, I was a disgrace, an accident, and someone she never wanted to even look at. Isn't it a Mother's job to protect her young, no matter how mentally unstable they are? Isn't there supposed to be equality in the love you give your children? Isn't a Mother supposed to love you? I wouldn't ever know.
I was "brilliant", a fire bending "prodigy" as my masters told him so long ago when I was just a mere child, and I was a good "academic student" too. As I became a young lady there was many words of praise given to my Father over my "looks". In my Father's eyes, there was a problem; Uncle Iroh and his son, seeing as they were in line to the throne. Though, Father did not have to do much to ruin their happiness, after Lu-ten's sudden and "shocking", my uncle became weak at heart, as though a blade had been ran through him not his son. That sent my Father into a rage "The Fire Lord should never be weak." My Father was convinced he and I were more suitable to be the next rulers, he was sure. My Father struck up the deal between his Father and himself. He never did tell what the deal was, but I knew it had to do with eliminating Zuko. "Dad's going to kill you, Zu-Zu" It was a real warning, I did not want to see my Brother dead, no matter how annoying he can be. The Idiot did not take my warning. Within the next month, Mother had run out, and the boy had been scared and exiled. Things only became more twisted as I became older, first it was the mental abuse, and I could handle that, then it was physical abuse, fights that left marks, screaming at each other. Nothing he could do would make my life any worse, so I took it all. Wasn't a man supposed to love his wife, not want her to run out on him the first chance she got? Wasn't a Father supposed to be proud when his son started to form his own ideals? Wasn't a Father supposed to protect his daughter, not abuse her? I wouldn't ever know.
I stare into this mirror, wondering all this. Never once do my eyes leave my refection, because now I see it. Now I see it, I see the pointed glare, I see the twisted smile, and I hate what I have become. When did I become this monster? Who do I even have left? My Mother? She never loved me. My Father? It was only about him the whole time. My Brother? He's coming to kill me. My Best Friends? Were they ever really my friends? I wouldn't know. My hand finds a comb, not knowing what to do with myself, and somewhere in the back of my mind the memory of the look my Mother had given me all those years ago when I had dropped the hot dish, resurfaced. That's when the world shook. "SHUT UP. YOU MADE ME LIKE THIS. IT'S YOUR FAULT" The words ring through my head as I throw the comb at the mirror. The image of my Mother leaves me, the loudness of silence consuming everything after the shatter of the glass is louder than I ever could have imagined. I am thrown into an insane rage and nothing will ever bring me out of it.
A/n: Sorry its depressing (and poorly written, it's 3:10 AM over here). Happy New Year