Azula's Early Life.

It would be impossible to say how many butterflies I'd caught that summer.

Oh, forgive me, dear readers. I really didn't know how to begin. But it is true. As I grew old enough to crawl about outside—under the watchful eye of my nurses—I liked to catch things. Father spent a lot of time with me, considering he had a country to run, and loved watching. Sometimes Zuko would be there, but he preferred sitting by the duck pond with Mother.

"Tuttle-ducks, mama! Wanna frow bread for the tuttle-ducks!" he'd whine, and Mother would hold his hand cautiously as he haphazardly threw chunks of bread at the ducks. Half of the bread never even reached the water, but he was giggling too hard to care. Keep in mind, this behavior didn't change at all until he was about thirteen.

Anyway, Father liked to point out butterflies to me as they flew nearby and whisper, "Catch it, Zulie! Quick like a cat-owl!"

I'd lie in the tall grass, like a hunting cat, watching the hapless butterfly flap around. I'd wait, holding in my breath, trying to make my little babyish body blend in with the surrounding foliage… then I'd soar across the field like an owl and SNAP! The butterfly was writhing in my palm.

"That's my girl," praised Father. "You must always hunt like a cat-owl. Now, what will you do with it?"

I wasn't sure.

"You're very powerful right now, to that butterfly," said Father. "You could kill it right now if you wanted, but you could also let it go free."

Zuko looked at my palm with widening eyes.

"If you kill it, there's no chance of it ever bothering you anymore, but the other butterflies might get mad. If you let it go free, he might come and bother you, but the other butterflies won't notice a thing. Kill it, and maybe the other butterflies might take a hint and leave you alone. That's how it is with power. You must do what you think is best at the moment, Zulie. And don't hesitate once you've made your choice." He smiled and tapped my palm. "And it's best to make the decision quickly. Others will see how confident you are and think that you are right, often times no matter what. It's up to you."

Zuko's eyes were sad as he watched the butterfly flapping desperately in my hand. I made my decision quickly and clenched my fist, feeling a small life expiring against my skin.

Father smiled. "You certainly didn't hold back. Very confident, Zulie. But what if those other butterflies get mad?"

I wiped my palm on the grass. "I'll squash them too."

Father's chuckle as he ruffled my short, wispy hair is one of my earliest memories.

I feel the need to describe myself as a little girl. Sometimes I let people see my old pictures, and they are surprised by how little I have changed. My eyes have been the same since birth, and often that is all that really defines a person. Naturally, I was chubby and had cheeks like a puffin-seal, and my hair, too short to tie in a bun, was nonchalantly tied with—of all things—a large hair bow. To complete the pathetically girly picture, I often had to wear a large apron over my clothes. Mother called me "her little white dove-bear", much to my babyish chagrin.

I did everything I could to be anything BUT a little dove-bear. When I was bored, I ran. I loved to run, and still do. I needed speed, the rush of adrenaline, the wind whistling in my ears. I started at the beginning of a hallway—being raised in a palace, there were great long ones—and just ran!

"Don't trip and fall!" cried Mother, and so I promptly fell down hard onto the stone floor, smashed my head, and lay screaming as my horrified nurses hustled over with sweets and soothing words. I spent the rest of the day in bed with a head shaped like a strange melon, seeing double and throwing up all over my bedclothes. I had a terrible concussion, and a sympathetic Father amused me with puppets, the same puppets sometimes used at Fire Nation Cultural Festivals. When I wasn't regurgitating over the side of the bed, I was laughing as my puppet father lit a puppet Earthbender on fire.

While I'm humiliating myself, I think a story about my idiot cousin getting the best of me is in order.

It was a warm day in summer. This is how every disaster story begins. I was looking for an ant colony to destroy with my pail of water, and Lu Ten was sitting, obviously bored, by the duck lake.

"Hey Zulie!" he called over. "You look bored. Wanna fly?"

I was confused. "I can't bend the air," I said with simple logic. "I can't fly."

Lu Ten laughed with the air of a person amazed by another's ignorance. "Yes, you can. Come here. I can help you fly."

I stood there, my pail in my fist, debating whether or not "flying" was a good idea.

"Come on, don't be a spoil-sport. It's fun!" urged Lu Ten.

My childish curiosity overcame my skepticism, and I walked over. If I had known then what I know now, my answer would have been an emphatic no, followed by a complementary kick to his manhood.

Lu Ten lifted me easily off of the ground and swung me around. It was fun.

Until he accidentally let go.

I flew just like he said, with the grace of a bird, into the lake. Water filled my lungs and stung in my eyes, and it took all of my strength to keep me afloat.

"Daddy!" I screamed. "Daddy! Help!" I went under, then forced my way back up, and screamed. My little dress was soaked with water and was pulling me down.

The next thing I knew, I was looking at the sky, and I heard my Mother's frightened babbling, "Oh Ozai! Is she alright? Oh, Azula, my baby, are you alright?"

I realized that I was in my father's arms. Father looked visibly upset, and he was soaked to the skin.

"Yes," he said in an unusually high voice. "She's fine. I'm just glad I happened to be passing the lake. So glad. I'll be a fool if she didn't nearly drown."

I coughed hard and snuggled into his chest. Through my half-closed eyes, I could see Lu Ten's horrified face as Uncle Iroh urged my father to tell him what happened.

Dear Reader, I wish you could have been there when Father told him who was responsible for nearly killing me. I don't lightly use the phrase "went insane", but that's what Uncle did. For a man who was four inches shorter than his grown-up son, he did an amazing job screaming at him until he nearly reduced him to tears.

I couldn't understand much of what Uncle had screamed, but it seemed to have had a profound impact on Lu Ten, who spent the rest of the day pale-faced, reflecting on his father's tirade.

Me? Mother and Father let me eat ice-cream for dinner, and eventually a shame-faced Uncle came and apologized to me for the whole fiasco. He gave me a small doll, which was an apology present from Lu Ten. Ugly little thing ended up in my socks drawer.

That's quite enough for now. I'll tell you more later.