- To my friend Wannabe Pirate. Amazing writer, and even more amazing friend. I could never repay you.
Disclaimer: You just had to go and remind me that I don't own Avatar.
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If you've ever sat through a storm you would know.
You would know the incessant pounding of the rain, the ceaseless howling of the wind, the unbearable sound of the thunder that booms overhead and the crackle of lightning as it forks across the sky. You would understand that patter of raindrops on the foliage and the splash of water as it sloshes around in the puddles, lakes, streams that get disturbed during the outburst of weather.
She had never liked storms. To her they meant pain, ruthlessness, cold and uncaring. They barreled down upon you and tried to push you into the ground, screaming and writhing until you couldn't breathe. Until you gave up and it succeeded in making you a possession, and a memory that would soon be erased and forgotten in time.
Which was what she was afraid of. Being wiped out and burned into facts, which became stories, which became myths, which soon faded out of history and the memories of even the oldest that were living.
The storms represented that pain, all squeezed into one furious bout of weather that streamed over the edge. That pain and the knowledge of forever being lost made her avoid storms, to seek shelter while they screamed their rage.
She could never tell anyone though. She wasn't supposed to be weak. She was the one who had only strengths, could tear down anyone in her path, could make even the strongest man quake in their shoes with her icy glare.
But that just pushed her farther into herself. She couldn't be afraid so she wouldn't be afraid. She couldn't have any weaknesses so she wouldn't have any weaknesses. Which also included storms; she couldn't so she wouldn't.
Because of this, she had taken to going to her mirror during storms.
When she was little it had been a very tall, ornate mirror. Almost floor to ceiling it stood in the corner of her room, an imposing presence, even to her. But when the storms came she would approach it cautiously, gazing at the shining length and the golden fringe around the edge that almost looked like metal foam.
Phrases were engraved into the metal in a blazing red color. They yelled out words, words that scared her and made her timid. The clawed feet at the bottom dug long talons into the floor, rooting itself there, sharpened and ready to strike.
But the storms, with all their raining, moaning winds, and ear-splitting thunder and lightning forced her feet over to the far corner of her room, out from the comfort of under the silken covers that she tried to take refuge in.
But the urge was too strong to ignore, and she would obey it, shuffling over to where the impressive piece of furniture stood and slowly lifting her head, gazing into the depths at something that only she could see.
And that reflection… the one that always stared right back out at her and beat her into submission. She couldn't get away from it, the reflection that showed who she truly was.
Sometimes it was a fierce picture. A girl with glowing eyes and hard features that made her want to cower away in fear. She would stick her hand out and grab her around the neck, holding tighter and tighter until all the air and life was squeezed out of her, and she was nothing but a dull, empty husk.
Sometimes it was a scared, frail picture. She somehow slunk into the back of the frame and peered out from the shadows, eyes soft and with some brave streak of kindness that gleamed from the depths. That was the reflection that made her feel stronger, the one that made her stand up straighter. She was better than that, wasn't she?
But the picture that she saw most in that mirror was one of disgust and disapproval. It looked at her and told her just through eyes like ice chips and a stance of a fighter that there was no way she was going to get away with this.
And then she would listen.
And outside she would hear the thundering storm and she would try to hold steadfast, holder herself steady as she listened and, not sure what exactly she was looking for, but knowing that it was just beyond her grasp.
Courage? Hope? Knowledge?
But she couldn't find it, whatever it was. It evading her as easily as smoke escaped into the air.
So she would close her eyes tightly.
Put two hands on the mirror.
And open her eyes to stare straight into the reflected orbs that were her own.
And she wouldn't flinch away, talking to herself, repeating her own mantra over and over again, until she forced herself to believe it, until she convinced herself that it was true.
"I am not afraid."
She lost herself in her own eyes, sinking down slowly into the everlasting depths of them, hypnotizing herself, showing herself that what she said was true, and nothing was ever going to change that, no matter what.
Even now there was still a mirror in her room. It was no where near as grand as the one she had had when she was younger, but it was a mirror nonetheless, and when the storms brewed she would still slink over to it, feeling small and vulnerable again as she had when she was younger.
It was a whisper in the dark, a muttered chant and hypnotic phrase that caused her to spiral downward in a pattern that was slowly breaking her down, and yet afterwards she always felt stronger.
She had grown, yes. But nothing had really changed. She still felt powerful and in control. She was taller and had more influence than she had when she was younger, but she was the same.
And the storms still reminded her of pain and cold.
And she couldn't handle that.
She stared into those eyes, the ones that urged her to do what she did.
Slowly, the shirt sleeves came up. Slowly, the wrist bindings were unwrapped and let fall to the floor, exposing her relief and happiness, and the diversion that she created for herself every time one of those storms came.
"I am not afraid."
Relief.
"I am not afraid."
Relief.
"I am not afraid."
Relief.
She chanted until she was swaying on her feet, and the floor was littered with her sacrifice that distracted her from everything that was going on in her life. And distracted her from the storms outside that represented everything she was afraid of.
Her head pounded. Pain seared throughout her body. Her vision was blurry and she couldn't see much more than colors. She felt as though she was going to fall with all the swaying that was going on. She felt so faint.
But it was better. Oh, it was so much better.
If they noticed they didn't say anything. It was her business and hers alone. And if they happened to hear screams or crying or muttering they kept it to themselves. Who were they to intrude in on someone else's business? There was no need.
And she needed no saving.
But lying here in the cell, being so defeated was shoving her into a feeling that she had never felt before. It was new, and it made her stomach twist, her rage explode, her head scream and her heart die.
She listened as her two friends muttered in their own cells, or laughed insanely. She silently sat when her captors came down to feed her or talk to her and try to take information from her. She watched as the world continued on around her, everyone with their lives as she sat down there, rotting in her cell.
She wasn't eating. She barely drank any water, and she hadn't moved from the position they had thrown her into when she had been beaten and captured. She just sat, knees up to her chest and eyes staring out, like dead hollows that followed your every movement.
There was only one word for it.
Misery.
A raindrop hit her on the head.
She started around, the first time she had moved in a long while.
Moving creaking bones and aching muscles she slowly stood up and grasped the bars that separated her from the outside world. The sky was clouded over with gray and there was a heavy feeling in the air.
The sprinkle of water turned into a downpour almost instantly, soaking the world around her. The winds drove sheets into her cell and onto her face like sharp sticks stabbing her constantly. She closed her eyes and gripped the bars even tighter, until her knuckles turned white.
It was a true storm.
Thunder ripped open the sky and lightning lit it up, tearing a rift in between the clouds, striking the ground somewhere off in the distance. The vegetation was being battered mercilessly, and dripped onto the ground. They swayed with the weight and the harsh breezes that swept across the land.
Out of habit she rolled up her sleeves. She unwrapped her wrist bindings and let them drop to the floor, exposing her relief one more time.
Lifting her arms up, she turned her arms so that her inner forearms faced the outside. Rain pelted her relief, stinging it and feeling as though she was creating all new relief, like she should have been doing at this time.
Her wet face glistened and she forgot where she was, what was going on, and how she was surely going to die sometime soon. All she knew was the pain. The pain, the pain, the pain.
And that pain was her relief.
A word crossed her thoughts.
Misery.
As she stood there, wet, cold and being drenched with new waves of relief, Azula realized that maybe storms weren't so bad after all.
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Author's Notes:
Yes, I like this one. I really, really do. It feels so good to write some of my two favorite things- angst and Azula.
This originally started out to be Azula, then it turned into Ty Lee, then Mai, and stayed Mai up to the very end when I decided to make it Azula again. Huh. I wonder what it would have been like had it been Mai or Ty Lee? But let's not dwell on what if's.
Again, this is a dedication oneshot to mah ah-mazing friend Wannabe Pirate who needs more love for her stories, because her writing is just that good. Go read it now, I command you! XD
I think that's it for now... besides me being sorry about updating. I'm just really not happy with my writing right now, and I don't want to give you anything that sucks.
Please review, and tell me how I did!