Azula
Most saw her for what she wanted them to see, which was a cold, manipulative, war ravaged, monster. And honestly that's how she liked it. When one was feared, people were to afraid not to listen and they obeyed like puppets. It was only on rare occasions when her eyes would find her reflection, did she ever dare to truly look at herself. Seeing what she was so desperate to conceal. Underneath it all was loneliness, anger, low self-esteem, and girl who needed to know if anybody, anybody at all loved her.
It'd be strange if the outside world knew the real her. For instance when she was barking orders, she was simply, making sure everyone around her remained at an emotional distance. When she insulted her friends she was looking for reassurance for her own short-comings. When she scowled making her face inhumanly hard, she was really hoping that someone would see through the façade Azula had created. See past everything they thought was her.
Maybe then someone could save her from the hell that had life become.
But this was the thinking of a foolish person, she reminded herself. Azula knew it was pathetic holding out for something that would never happen. Or at least that was how she was taught. She was an enigma, an utter mystery to the rest of humanity and would remain as such; or risk the alternative which she thought to be weakness. Yet sometimes the idea of allowing herself to be vulnerable, open and docile seems more alluring than it should. And it is because of these moments Azula feels she has utterly failed.