Victria Rodrguez: Thank you. :) I plan on it so long as life doesn't get in the way lol.

Azula watched the smoke trail towards the ceiling. Once upon a time, it would have been the product of masterful bending. These days it was nothing more than a tired exhale. She ran her fingers through her hair, it was becoming embarrassingly matted. She stole a look out of the window, the sun was quite high. She had slept late, again. Another puff of smoke slid through the part of her lips. Days like such were the days when she would dwell. Dwell on everything that had gone wrong from start to finish. At first she thought that everything started coming undone the day Mai and TyLee had stabbed her in the back. She decided nexst that it was earlier on; when Zuko had decided to skip off and join the avatar. For a while she had genuinely thought that they had some kind of a bond, as far as that kind of thing went with her. But no, he had left and she was left at the lack of mercy of their father. The third time she mulled it over, she considered that it was even earlier than that. And then earlier, and then earlier still. Until she finally concluded that she had set herself up to fall as a mere child, in sparking the relationship between Mai and Zuko. Yes, she decided, she had doomed herself from the start without taking any notice of doing so. So it was that she discarded her first smoke and lit another.

She had only just woken up.

.oOo.

He had been alone for some time now. Katara and Aang having wandered off to a parade of some sort. Toph stayed behind with Zuko, having no interests in the fireworks that would follow when the sun fell. But she had retreated into the palace for a power nap. Zuko himself was wrapped up in the busywork of a Fire Lord. Sokka had the palace garden all to his lonesome, he figured that such was a good set up for another shot at his landscape portraits. He wanted to recapture his passions, the ones he had before losing Suki and this seemed like a golden time to do just that. But more he tried to do it, the less inspiration he had.

The scene truly was quite optimal really with the sun just starting to droop and the sky in pastel shades of pink, orange, and purple. From his position tiny rays filtered through gently fluttering leaves. If he watched long enough he would catching a few of them take flight and then softly drift down and into the pond sending a fresh rings about the surface. He should have enjoyed the moment, it was perfect.

It should have been perfect.

And Agni, did he try to force it to be so. He took his brush to the canvas and told himself that he was having a grade time, that this was going to be the best thing he would paint. He could only force it for so long and the energy he invested in pretending, was leaving him hollower than hours before. His brushstrokes were growing more careless as his boredom rose. Suddenly he hated trees, hated drawing them, hated the sight of them. But he continued working the brush anyhow, only faintly aware that he was doing so. He couldn't keep his attention on the canvas, even as he stared at it, his mind's eye had a different visual for him; Suki reaching out, her face contorted in anger and anguish. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was tired of painting trees and grasses, neither subject did anything to take his mind away from Suki. To keep him from reliving the moment everything began coming in shades of grey. He could clearly see that way her fingers curled around his shirt, her mouth poised in a scream that had yet to be released.

He blinked.

Hard.

Forgetting about the brush in his hand, ran it over his face—leaving an unnoticed trail of black paint from his chin to his hairline. He couldn't be assed to wipe it away, even if he did, it would only smear. He tore his unfinished piece from the canvas, having every urge to kick it over completely. The impulse only subsided at the sight of Zuko and a party of rather esteemed looking individuals trekking the length of the garden.

He looked towards the roof and blew out a forced exhale. He took another deep breath, hoping to expel whatever anger had just bubbled up. He needed something, anything to keep him going. He took to studying every spoke and spire of the palace. Maybe he should paint that? It wasn't a tree and the sun was reflecting quite well in the widows. He peered at the dragons accenting each corner of the tiered roof. Glanced at the golden trim around the window frames and gutters. He dwelled upon what little he could make of the interior from his place outside; a serving girl scrubbing at the window sill, Toph just rising from her nap with a drawn out yawn, Ursa and Iroh engaged in conversation over cups of tea, a young boy—likely the son of one of the staff members—teetering about the room. He opted to leave them out of the painting, they would be too hard to capture. Too frustrating, they were too active.

He was set to tear his gaze from the palace and retrieve his tools when he came to gaze upon a face he hadn't seen in ages. It was different, more sullen. More hollow, just about as empty as he felt. She stood at the window sill with her lips pressed in a thin line and her hands clasped behind her back. She stood in the light of the setting sun, but wasn't taking in any light at all. From such a distance he couldn't gauge one emotion or another, but whatever expression she was wearing, he couldn't imagine that it was a pleasant one. He watched her sweep a curtain of thick, dark hair over her shoulder. And with that lazy flick, her back was turned and she was retreating deeper into her bedroom.

Sokka wondered if she'd noticed him staring.

.oOo.

That night was a slight change of pace; from somewhere she'd found a small burst of energy and she supposed she'd make the most of it. Though it took some more preparation, she forced herself down the hallway and into the bathroom. She hadn't the motivation to beckon one of her servants over so she slipped out of her robe and arranged her own bath. Making small talk would have been tiresome anyhow, she couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken to anyone aside from herself and those who weren't actually in the room. At least her smokes seemed to dull them…mostly. When they didn't, the hallucinations came on stronger than they had been prior. Azula was content to let that detail remain under the carpet.

The princess scrubbed at her arms. Perhaps a little too hard, she assessed after noticing the pink hue to her skin. She tried to tell herself that she had only been trying to make up for the lack of baths she'd taken. But she couldn't lie to herself in the same way she lied to others. She wanted to cause herself discomfort, however slight the unease was. The pinker patch stood out noticeably. She held her arm in front of her face—when had she become so pale? She shuddered in spite of herself.

She had undeniably grown pale. Paler and thinner. Azula tried to brush it off but as she continued to drag the soap over her frame the truth made a point of flashing in her face. She took note of a slight dip as she ran the bar over her midsection. Fleetly she thought that she ought to start taking better care of herself again. How could she firebend if she were to become so frail, so breakable? She could very nearly seen each of her ribs. She drew her legs up to her chest, staring at her arms. They had become practically translucent. Alongside a generous meal, the woman decided that the bath she was sitting in wasn't the only one she needed; she could use a healthy dose of sunbathing. It was only right for a firebender to be out in the heat of a summer afternoon. Before then, she hadn't noticed any of it and the new insight left her feeling vaguely alarmed.

Startled, but not enough to get anywhere beyond simply contemplating a change. No, she had enough of change. Somehow, she came to conclude that she'd rather keep on this dangerous path than go through another dramatic transformation. Turning away from that which had rattled her, she wrapped her fingers around a large vial of shampoo and then around one of conditioner. She would have to act quick before the motivation left her. She was more than apprehensive about working with the weeks of knots in her hair. But she did so anyways, conjuring up some visage of the woman who had been willing to face down any obstacle regardless of height or strength. That willingness was slowly dispelling as the knots fought against her.

Eventually the task became too cumbersome but she continued scrubbing the shampoo into her hair. A task made infinitely more difficult by just how tightly wrought each lock of hair had become to the one next to it. She clenched her teeth, her frustration officially reaching peak levels. Why was it so hard to do something so simple? She needed a drink. Badly. It hadn't occurred to her just how hard her nails were scratching at her scalp until a few sharp pangs erupted. Shivering lightly, she let her arms fall back into the now dirty water. For a moment she sat rigid, breathing, just breathing. Long and shuddering breaths. But the frustration didn't subside whatsoever.

Before Azula realized what she was doing, she was on her feet, edging menacingly towards the mirror. With an almost feral snarl, she took a pair of scissors into her grasp. With her chest heaving quite rapidly, she made the first few slashes.

At least, she wouldn't have to worry about her hair getting matted again.

Doing nothing to cloth nor cover herself in the slightest, the princess stormed back into her room. That oughta have people talking. With the door shut behind her she doubled over in a burst of uncanny laughter. It was hilarious, she didn't know why, but it just was. It took some time for the laughing fit to pass and by the time it did the princess was on her back, feeling number than before.

And her chuckles turned to dry sobs.

Azula absolutely needed something to take the edge off. On all fours she scrambled to her bedside to reach for another light and she hated herself for it.

Agni, she hated herself.

.oOo.

The courtyard was dressed in moonlight. All those hours gone by and Sokka only managed the outline of half of the palace. Now it was too dark for him to finish even if he wanted to. He hadn't the expertise to paint the palace from memory alone. Even so, he decided that he hated painting the palace just as much as the trees in front of it. He groaned to himself. It was all bullshit, it was all bullshit. How had something he loved turned so sour? It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't about how his old favorite hobby made him feel.

No, it was what it no longer made him feel.

It was the absence of Suki's hands on his shoulders as he made final touches. The lack of the suggestions she whispered in his ears. The critiques that led to heated arguments that led to the bedroom…

Sokka gulped and looked back at his canvas. He needed to find a way to enjoy it again. But it seemed like nothing was worth painting these days. He shifted his eyes from the canvas to the palace again. Through the window he could see the silhouettes of Aang and Katara getting ready for bed, Zuko wrapping up his work and blowing his candle out, the servants hustling to ready his bed. The palace was alive and with all the energy it ever had. He then himself inexplicably obliged to give Azula's window some attention. Maybe he was just curious. Perhaps he was looking to see someone in as much or more distress than he. Or it could have been that he didn't expect to see anything at all so it didn't matter.

But he did see something. An unfamiliar figure peering through the glass. Her nightgown was disheveled and loosely tied with little interest. Her hair, reaching just below her ears, was fell in a similar state of care. Between her fingers she held an elaborate kiseru, from which rose a lazy trail of smoke. Sokka wondered who she was and what she was doing in Azula's bedroom. It took him a considerable span of time to gather that this woman was the princess. Even from such a distance he could tell that her gaze was sharp, even though she was staring at nothing in particular.

Sokka considered then, that Azula wasn't well. Not by any means. He couldn't place it, but there was something about her sudden alteration in appearance that unsettled him. This only left him more ashamed to admit that his first thought was that he had found a subject to paint.