All Imperfect Things
Love, for what it is, means nothing to her. Love, for what it should have been, is overshadowed by things and ideas she believed it was supposed to give her. Twisted, dyed, stained and wrung out to dry – love is just a tattered cloth Azula ties to the end of her banner.
But she tilts her head upward, notices the sea breeze that catches the edge of the fabric, and hopes - with her vacant eyes, that something will ripple within her too.