Some see the world in grayscale–but they can still see. Their perception is limited, but whole.
Everyone else's world is defined, in stark clarity. The present holds significance to them. The future holds something more.
She wants to envy them.
Ozai sees the world in black and white. There is no middle ground–no tentative grays and certainly no color. There's only dominance and those predestined to subordination.
A long time ago, Azula would've agreed with him.
Her perspective of the world is blurred; she sees their lips move, but their voices are absent. Everything is hazy, surreal, as though she's submerged underwater and that around her is distant, above the surface, where all is distinct and precise. Where the colors don't run and mix in a gaudy disarray, where there are neat lines segregating every stage.
The present is the daze between daylight and insomnia. The future is intangible. The past is slipping, despite her fervent efforts, and it presents itself only at the glimpse of dawn–where it binds to her, and sleep is unsolicited.
She should envy them.
But envy is something beyond her.
It's something much too vivid, much too dynamic; something much too zealous, far exceeding her capacity.
No, she doesn't envy them.
