One hair out of place. It was always one hair out of place.
Recently it was more than one hair, it was a mess of strands that always seemed to become tangled and disheveled despite her efforts to tame them. It would seem that the harder she tried to control her hair, the more tangled it seemed to become.
Just like how her life had become. A mess she couldn't tame no matter how much effort she put forth.
That strand of hair became a physical manifestation of her state. It was and has always been an irritating imperfection, tainting the image she fought to build. Each battle she fought only ravaged it more. She fought to keep it in place as she let the lightning sizzle off of her fingers.
Time and time again. After each battle she'd tidy herself to perfection.
Try to hide even the slightest blemish.
She'd run through her stances, lightning creeping up and down her arms, ready to hit its target. She'd fire it off at the Avatar and then at the water peasants. Again that one strand of hair fell would into her eyes. She'd hiss and quickly tuck it back into place.
And she'd press on with her fighting.
Over and over she couldn't seem to get it right; that one piece of hair betraying her efforts. Defying her wishes, making her feel awful and flawed.
The fact that her hair even dared to fall out of place was embarrassing.
Shameful.
.oOo.
Her last resort to keep up the perfection quickly slipping through her fingers.
Azula stood in front of her makeshift mirror and tugged off her dark cloak. With it, fell a curtain of dark hair.
She tossed it over her shoulder as she searched for a ribbon to tie it up with. Her fingers found a ribbon. With more ease than usual she fixed her hair into a top knot.
Azula glanced at her reflection and brushed her fingers through her bangs. Satisfied with her work she lightly dabbed some lipstick onto her lips and looked up again. With the motion, she felt a certain strand of hair fall from its place.
Azula sighed, wondering how it was that she could so very well control people, but not get that one strand of hair to stay where she told it to.
Clearly it had a mind of its own.
It seemed so hellbent on reminding her that she was flawed. That strand of hair was right, she was flawed.
She was flawed and she knew it.
She was flawed and she accepted it.
Embraced it.
And so Azula let that strand of hair slip out of place, realizing that her appearance was more than good enough for her.
Of course that strand could very well could be tucked back neatly to where she once had it. But it could also stay where it was.
It afterall, was merely a strand of loose hair. A strand of loose hair that never seemed to want to stay in place no matter what she tired. It, she came to decide, was such a trivial thing to stress herself with. And so she would leave it there.
One hair out of place.