Dirty Dishwater
Life is like doing the dishes; when you take away everything else, the only thing left is the dirty dishwater. And that's where you find out what you had for dinner.
—Unknown
"Imagine the flame, the rage," the old woman said, eyes half lidded from her heavily drugged state. Katara drew in her breath sharply. "—him," the crone whispered.
"Remove the layers you see, and tune out your hatred, and for once," she said in a rattling exhalation, "see him. Shut your eyes and see him, and you will understand. That he is not your enemy, nor your friend," she said sorrowfully, "but your lover; union of the warring states brings the fractured harmony the world craves."
Katara shook her head. "Never. He is no lover of mine," she spat.
"But you want him to be," the gypsy crooned in her harsh cracked voice.
"Never."
"Then why did you think of him when I spoke of his element? He penetrates your barricaded thoughts; you are fascinated."
"Fascinated. . ." she whispered.