The lonely moon goddess shakes out her wide sleeves, in the vast infinite emptiness she dances for the faithful souls. - Mao Zedong
The girl who became the moon spirit.
Yue did not know where she ended and the moon began. In her lifetime, she died twice, but which of those deaths were really hers? She could not die now, but she was not Yue anymore. Not really. It was strange, being incorporeal, being the metaphysical mumbo-jumbo her father always talked about. If she was a spirit, was she obliged to believe in herself?
As a child, Yue thought all fish were spirits. She talked to them, sometimes. Snippets of conversation, snatches of emotions, or was she over-analyzing the bubble. She knew Ling and Ping and Bing and the other girls she played with giggled behind her back. Sure, they held their silence when she passed by, she was their princess, after all.
Was.
Was she still?
It had only been two full moons since the siege. No - it was longer. It had to be longer. But how long?
Yue removed the veil from the sky, and peered down.
"Aang," she whispered, "hello."
There was no smile on Aang's bronze lips.