Many moons will lighten the way
And sure this night will follow a day
And everything you once loved remains
Unbroken, Birdy
Anna does not remember much of her pervious life. Sometimes it comes in flashes, a flash of green and a woman's scream, a hall with the night sky as it's ceiling, a golden ball fluttering before her face, a faceless man with red eyes. There is warmth in her memories but it warps into a darkness so deep she can no longer find herself. The clearest of memories is a wand snapping in two, a stone falling to the ground, a silver cloak wrapped around her shoulders that shines like the stars.
Anna Zoeller grows up in Shu Jing, 500 miles east of Caldera City, in a cliffside estate with her father. Shu Jing is a painter's paradise, an author's muse, and a nobleman's retreat. Hills and cliffs are covered in glittering emerald grass. Tiny houses made of white stone that glimmer like pillars of marble, bright red flags hanging like nooses from lampposts, a shadow growing up above as death's hands seize the mountain top.
The estate she lives in smells of jasmine, the outer wall are made of gleaming marble with shiny red shingles line the rooftop. Books are strewn throughout the house, on top of tables and trunks and floors. Anna's dolls stand silent on the kitchen table still dressed in rags of tattered lace.
Her earliest memories are the sparest. Lines stretching from church doors to the road outside of town, windows boarded up, men brawling over the last loaf of bread, which sells for two gold coins. Flu enters every house in winter, death following soon after. Meat comes only from the men hunting in the forests. Milk is a memory. On the worst days, her mother boils potato peels and they eat the broth. Her father always gives her half.
None of this matters to Anna. Her eyes and heart are hungry for the world. She devours it whole. Every morning her mother wakes her up to say goodbye to her father. Her eyes blink wearily through sleep, her thin blue blanket hanging around her shoulders like a cape, her father kneeling in front of her. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, a strong hand guiding her into a warm hug.
"What will it be today?"
"A pink one, please, daddy." He laughs. He pulls her close, lips resting on her forehead, eyes shining bright. He whispers for only her to hear, "For you, the world and nothing less." He sends her off promises of another smooth pebble that gleams like glass in his eyes.
Afterwards, when he's gone to ask for a day's work, when he's busy hunting down her meaningless treasures, she sits with her mother in the garden beneath the sweet summer breeze. Sometimes she draws. She saves a single piece of charcoal to draw on scraps ripped from the backs of books. She dreams of fog filled mornings, of buildings pressed against one another to fend off the cold, of iron rising in the skyline. She does not tell her mother of the fires she's seen burning through Ba Sing Se and Omashu. She draws the cities whole, bridges connecting on the over walls, people drinking tea in the afternoon sun.
Other days, she spends hiding in the trees. Worms crawling over her toes as she digs her feet into the soft dirt. Fireflies coming out at dusk, dancing around her head. Anna doesn't know how it happens. She's lying on the ground, the sun in her eyes, her mother humming a tune near her. There's a pleasant buzzing beneath her skin, fire crawling up her arms, a whisper in the air and then it's in her hand. It waves in the wind, ebbing with life immeasurable. Her mother stutters, a yell escaping her mouth as she rushes forward. On her knees in front of Anna, she looks on as Anna builds the flame higher and lets it float out in front of her. Her mother's face is full of childish excitement, eyes wide, lips pulled into a grin so big her face aches.
"Again, do it again," her mother watches in awe as Anna lights all the lanterns in the garden before putting them out. There's a shriek of laughter as her warm arms encompass Anna holding her tightly. Anna leans into the embrace, smelling the cherry blossom that lingers on her mother's skin.
"I love you so much," she whispers in the dark. Warmth blossoms in Anna's chest and a knot grows threatening to make her cry. The faceless woman is back, flowering behind her eyes but Anna pushes her away. This is real and warm and alive.
"I love you too, mom."
At night she dreams of the other world. The women's hair is a brilliant red, less flame and more burning lava. There's a girl with dark skin and wild hair whose eyes go bright as she gestures towards a book, the redhead next to her laughs heartily at something she says. Anna doesn't know how it's possible but her heart aches for these strangers. She wakes up gasping when the girl falls towards the ground, a burning castle behind her.
Another nights it's a man with shaggy hair and a brilliant, taunting grin. Lights hit the back walls and a woman with coiled hair piled atop her head chases after her. A shadowy veil stands in front of her, whispers leaking out in a jumbled mess. The man falls; grin fading before he's gone. Anna screams.
In the evenings she shows her father how easy it is to make light from fire. She burns crisp white paper, watching as it rises in the air slightly before falling. She sits watching her father's steady hands mold new life into steel as they listen to her mother read the paper. Her father prefers the rich stories of generals and soldiers fighting in the Earth Nation. Anna likes listening to her mother's soothing voice transform as she read plays. A man writes rapt with wonder, containing a strength that Anna has never heard from another person. "Is it possible," he asks, "that the people of the Fire Nation are rising anew? Courage and conviction and loyalty grow in the hearts of everyone. Is it not time that we stand together, aided by faith in the Fire Lord, to rid ourselves of foreign enemies?"
Anna sees the newfound faith in the Fire Nation. Her father comes home earlier, happier. Unemployment drops as the war effort grows anew, her neighbors get a dog and come home wearing robes of silk. There are men that come in fancy carriages, polished gold. They buy homes; their children swim in the lakes before they disappear back into the city. Duck and chicken and goose- things Anna hardly remembers appear on the table. Father buys her new dresses made of blue silk, pearls lining the collar.
One day, her mother wakes her up early, before the sun has streaked the sky with light. There's a new dress on her bed, pale pink silk that floats like a cloud. She dresses her as she struggles to stay awake. Dress, stockings, coat. Anne does not question her mother as she fixes her hair into a neat braid. Her father wanders around the house, suitcase in hand as he pulls pictures off the wall. He carries her half asleep into a carriage. Her eyes are closed before it starts to move, rumbling like a giant beast breathing in night air. When she wakes, her father's coat is wrapped around her smelling like pine trees and smoke. Her father sits beside her, a glass full of amber in one hand and his voice a soothing rasp. Her mother's head rests on his shoulder, her hair fanning out behind her like rich honey.
There's a man dressed in a sharp suit, a red that seems to suck the light out of the room, a black band is tied around his arm.
"Daddy?" she questions, her voice cracking sharply. The man turns, black hair gleaming in the light. Fresh ashes and coal and the stones around a volcano. A shadow is the only thing she can think of.
"I am here."
"Where are we?" Her father's hand strokes through her hair, undoing her braid. Anna struggles to keep her eyes open.
"We're going to the Capital. I've gotten a new job."
"Will we be there soon?" she mumbles, slipping quietly into the black abyss of sleep. She doesn't hear her father's reply.
She is nine when she meets the Prince. It is a blurry memory, more dream than remembrance. His eyes are a warm gold that crinkle when he smiles, his hand tugging at hers. Anna is entranced when he makes a wisp of fire in his palm before gently pushing it into her hands. It's hot and angry in her tiny hands. Magic but, stronger. It is alive with power, nothing like the flames she makes. Hers are a gentle, summer breeze, the sun in spring. The Prince is winter winds, harsh and bitingly cold, a fire eating wood and melting stone. He smiles and Anna smiles back, a wide toothy grin. She doesn't know what to name this feeling.
Full.
She feels full.