Chapter II: New Light
She is awoken with a sharp slap to the face. Above her, six or seven guards loom, leering at her from where they stand; far above her. Cold, iron cuffs are placed around her wrists, and a heavy collar is placed on her shoulders. The cuffs link to the collar by long chains, and whisper with every slight movement.
She is forced from her iron cage, and shoved down the corridor by four heavy hands. She stumbles, and one catches her by the back of her shirt, hauling her upright and choking her in the process.
They force her path down the hallway, until they reach the iron door. One guard pushes the door open with a heavy hand, and Azula is sent stumbling into blinding light. She hears words, yet doesn't see anything. Her eyes are burning from the sudden ambush of sunlight.
"What are you doing? Don't handle her like that." It's the Avatar's voice, and Azula is a little shocked that he is standing in her defense. She hears the guards apologize, though there is no concealing the contempt in their voices, and they proceed to shove her about anyway.
Aang follows alongside, a worried expression on his childlike face as he sends quick glances towards Azula every few seconds, to see if she's okay. A kind thought, the former princess thinks with a cynical sneer.
A hard shove lands on her back, and she is sent flying forward. She lands at the base of the gates of the palace, and memories come shooting back to her.
She stood at the gates; the doors having been thrown wide open in the midst of the storm, and stared at the silent path that extended before her. Where had she gone? Why did she leave? Azula pondered the reasons for her mother's absence. She hadn't said goodbye to her. It hurt her. Bitter resentment welled up inside the young girl, released in the form of a strangled, pained cry. She vowed to see her mother writhe with guilt, and pain, for leaving her. One day. She promised that she would see her mother cry with anguish akin to her own.
"Get up!" A harsh hand grabs her shoulder, hauling her from the ground and throwing her forward. "Move!" She's thrown forward another few feet, before stumbling once again, and kneeling to break the fall.
As she stares down at the ground, her own skin comes into view, and she marvels with sick amusement at how pale it's gone. It's ghostly, sickly, and depraved of its once regal pallor. A lock of dark hair hangs loose, falling in front of her face. She's reminded of how her bangs haven't quite grown even yet, longer, but still askew. A voice claims her attention, and she directs her gaze upward. Zuko stands on the platform, in the same place she sat, waiting to be crowned Fire Lord.
Her eyes narrow slightly, and she suppresses a sneer.
"Azula, of the Fire Nation, today is your first chance at freedom. I expect you to use it wisely, do not abuse it." Zuko looks down at his sister, a cold resolve settled in his eyes, similar to her own.
"Of course not, brother," She hisses the last word with ugly resentment, and bows her head again. "I'm assuming you're going to tell me what I must do?"
"When spring comes, you will be sent off on a journey of your own. Think of it as a spiritual reformation, if you will." Zuko motions for another to come forward, his gaze never leaving Azula's bowing form. From the shadows of the palace emerges a person she never thought to see again. Her brow lowers, and her eyes darken to a dangerous degree.
Ursa stands, half shadowed by the overhang of the platform that she and Zuko stand upon. Something in Azula snaps suddenly, and she lunges forward, a quick burst of adrenaline pushing her slowly weakening muscles.
"You! You left me, for nine years! How dare you come back here! Do you think you can just waltz back into my life?" Blue begins to form around Azula, and the air heats suddenly.
The guards are ready though, and spring forward, restraining the struggling girl with lances and brute strength. She struggles half-heartedly, knowing that no matter how hard she fights, she will never win, not in this state of mind or body, anyway. She slackens, allowing her aching body to ease.
"Control yourself!" Zuko's rage is evident in the small bursts of fire that spew from his mouth as he shouts. He narrows his eyes, focusing them on Azula, who matches his glare with her own.
"You expect me to what? Protect her? Reconcile with her?" Azula snarls at the man she calls brother, and feels her heart constrict when she looks at her mother.
"I want you to reconcile with her." It's so simple, yet so flawed. There is no guarantee that this little excursion will bring about peace between her and her mother.
"I don't want anything to do with her." Azula mutters softly, averting her gaze. She's lying to herself, and she knows it. But it's what she does best, lie.
"You will reconcile her and you will report on your progress. If you don't, I will not hesitate to have your bending stripped." Zuko's rage is growing again, and clouding his judgement. Azula can see Ursa's shock at how her favorite child is acting. Let her see that Zuko isn't the angel she thought him to be, the young woman thinks with a cruel smirk as she bows her head, hiding her malice.
"Now go, rest. Tomorrow you will be fitted with a new wardrobe, and given a set of guidelines." The Fire Lord turns and strides through the doors, fading into the shadowed corridor.
Ursa remains behind, however, and looks down at Azula, still kneeling on the ground, head bowed, and inhaling deeply. Azula slowly looks up, her golden gaze locking with Ursa's own, and something strange happens.
This connection flickers to life, weak, but there. Azula can't deny that there's something between them, and all she can do is ignore it, and pretend it's not there. She snarls at the woman so similar to her, and turns away. She doesn't see Ursa's sad smile, and melancholic, gold eyes look at her.
~ATLA~
She is escorted to her room by the Avatar and the waterbender, instead of the guards, upon Aang's insistence. She doesn't question why the young airbender is helping her, deciding to not forfeit any chance of a quiet life. Instead, she remains silent, her eyes focused on the ground as she walks.
"We're here…I hope you don't mind, the mirror hasn't been replaced." Aang says with a slight uncertainty in his voice. Azula shakes her head, saying that it doesn't matter before sliding inside and shutting the door curtly.
Everything is the same, and yet it doesn't feel right. Nothing is the same; everything's changed. She sees the mirror, and sure enough it's still broken, but the large chunks of glass have been long removed.
She trudges over, eyes still trained on the floor. She doesn't dare look into the mirror; she fears what she'll see if she does. What will she see if she looks? A disgusting traitor? A broken shell of a disgusting, traitorous girl. She's a wreck of the girl she once knew, so powerful, and strong, and healthy…but now what?
Azula sees herself as a sordid reflection of her mother; everything fits, except for the sallow and ashen pale face, dark contrasting marks beneath her eyes. No, the only thing that really fits is the gold of her irises, alight with determination. Just like her mother.
Her focus is drawn from the mirror by a soft rapping on the door. She scowls, turning and ready to open it, but her visitor is already inside. She turns back, facing the mirror, not daring to look at her mother.
"And what do you want?" Her voice is quiet, lacking that strong will from before. She sees her mother sigh, averting her eyes with solemnity.
"I just came to see how you were. Is it so wrong to see my daughter?" Ursa questions the wavering girl, her voice so much like it was that night.
"You lost those rights to call me your daughter when you left us." Azula whips around to face the woman, a snarl contorting her face and her amber eyes alight with rage. "You have no right…" She whispers, her eyes sliding shut and a scowl forming on her face.