Beauty Is the Beast

Chapter 2: The Transformation

The sun was slowly dipping down and meeting the horizon. And even though the sky was still alight, Katara could feel the looming, impending darkness in her core, like every year before. It made her skin tingle and her bones practically vibrate, making her uncomfortable and slightly agitated. She knew that it was a side-effect, a simple warning…and she hated it; hated what she had become over the past decade, hated what she had done to survive.

Sitting at the far end of her cavern with a small peephole as her only window to the outside world, Katara stewed and crossed her arms, perturbed with how rapidly the winter had passed. Never long enough…always too quick.

Blue eyes narrowed and she glared at the sliver of sun that remained, running her bare hand through her bushy, unkempt mane of matted, chocolate-colored hair. For now, she seemed normal; well, as normal as a feral-looking, Water Tribe girl could look. Admittedly, she hadn't had a decent bath in months, hadn't bothered to brush her hair in nearly as long, and hadn't seen another person who didn't want to immediately kill her in years. Why bother taking care of herself when she was locked away by her own hand, hidden in the glacier mountainside, away from her family, away from her home.

Home.

She squinted through the blinding, snow-laden ground and looked at the slightly glowing and raised mass. There, a good thirty miles away, was her home and the last remaining member of her family: Gran-Gran Kanna. A twinge of deep-seated sadness spurted through her heart when she remembered the family that she had lost. Mom, Dad, and even Sokka were all gone now, dead to the world and more than dead to her. Her face twisted into a cringe and she fought back tears, remembering their last few moments, different yet similar shades of blue eyes filled with varying levels of terror.

They never saw it coming…

The muscles in her left forearm twitched and she growled as she clutched her arm, running red scratches down the inside as she aggressively itched. Her skin was prickling and she stared at it. Coarse, white hair was starting to grow, lengthening dramatically as the sun descended. The first transformation was always slow and painful, and every nerve was on edge, squirming with the magic from her curse.

She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pain. But it was plucking dangerously through her muscles, another foul warning, telling her to get away from her loved ones…something that she hadn't known a few years ago until it was too late. If only she'd known then, maybe her family would still be alive.

Feeling slightly warm and more agitated than before, she scrambled closer to her makeshift window, opening up the glacial wall with a swift flick of her wrist. The water trickled down and Katara perched herself close to the edge, elbow resting on the small, freshly-made sill. One singular, somewhat contented sigh escaped her throat and she continued to lean there, watching the sun shift downward. Her hopes and dreams disappeared with the dimming light but her blue eyes unblinkingly gazed onward, forever searching. For what, she didn't know. But it always felt right.

A rough gale of arctic wind tore through her little cave, but it didn't bother her. The frigid temperature hadn't bothered her since she had been a small child and she often considered her tolerance the only positive side-effect of her usually inconvenient, cursed state. The fact that her skin was almost on fire, did bother her, however. So much so, that she was calmly peeling off layers of clothing, scraps of other parkas, tunics, and pants that she managed to mend together over the years; a mixture of red, blue, and green…material from all of the people that had tried—and failed—to capture or kill her over the years.

With carefree thumps, her parka, tunic, leggings, and boots landed on the floor. She thought about taking off her underthings—they'd be torn off in a matter of minutes, anyway—but she felt a little more human with them on, a little more normal. And right now, feeling the way she did, normal felt…good. Even though, she knew it wouldn't last long.

After waterbending her window back into its peephole form, Katara sat down on the fur-covered ledge that was her bed and stared at the icy wall, waiting for the agony of her transformation to finally take hold. Her reflection, pained and distorted, stared back at her and she winced at it, causing the mirrored image to jerk backward. A twisted tendril of hair fell in front of her face and she looked broken, cracked in half.

Funnily, though she may have only looked broken, she felt broken, too. She was torn between holing herself up further in the mountain and allowing her body to slowly starve to death rather than facing another cruel year of eternal darkness, of the horrid hunters sent by Chief Bato, a man she once called 'Uncle.'

With a guttural groan, she shook the thought off. Suicide never seemed like a good option; according to her tribe's heritage, it was the coward's way out, and she could only hope that Tui or La would let her die an honorable warrior's death, in cursed form or not.

Please, she thought, clasping her hands together and closing her eyes, please let this year be different. Please let them—

Mid-thought, the sun completely disappeared and darkness tore through her cave. It was about to happen…the transformation. Not the glittery, awe-inspiring sequence that princesses from her mother's stories had when they kissed frogs (just frogs and not frog-guppies, which she always thought odd), but the horrendously excruciating and twisting feeling of her body being forcibly altered to fit her cursed physique.

She started counting, trying to distract herself. One. In years past, she used to pray to Tui and La in her final few moments. Two. She stopped about four years ago when she realized that the Moon and Ocean Spirits never heard—or cared about—her pleas. Three. Instead, she asked more trivial questions, like…how many hunters would be out there this year? Four. Were they ready for her? Did they know what they were getting into? Five. Last year, one boy no older than fifteen had tried to kill her. He didn't last long and she still occasionally heard his screams in her dreams. They haunted her. Six. How many eyes would be green? Blue? Hazel? Seven. Twenty-two blue…fifty-eight green…seven hazel—that was her current kill count. Eight. How many more would she add to her tallies? Nin—

Without warning, a gripping pain seared through her bottom half and her legs twitched and slowly elongated before curling slightly backward. Her feet extended out and thick, black pads swelled from the bottom, cushioning her bare skin from the frozen ground. The white hair that had once prickled her skin burst out and bristled with magic, coating her tan flesh until it completely disappeared. Her arms straightened and her fingers shortened; though, her nails turned a sickly shade of black and protruded outward, lengthening and sharpening dramatically until talons deadlier than the sharpest blade pressed against the frozen ground. The underthings that she had decided to leave on a few moments ago shredded and fell to the floor in tattered pieces as her chest and waist expanded.

Her unkempt, chocolate locks changed to white and fell delicately on her shoulders, blending in with the hair throughout the rest of her body. Painfully, her face contorted, nose extending into a snout, teeth lengthening until they were sharpened fangs, meant to maim…meant to kill. Her ears extended out and up before flicking backward, suddenly able to hear for miles.

Besides the bodily anguish of her limbs being slowly manipulated, the intense, physical pains were slowly building, making Katara's human brain spin, making her want to pass out and lay in her own drool for a little while until everything was over. All five senses heightened and Katara squirmed restlessly, digging her palms—her paws—into the ground while she tried to dispel the sudden involuntary onslaught.

Eyes that could once see simple colors expanded and started seeing individual, vibrant waves; blues, greens, reds, pinks, hell…even a random shade of orange that should not have existed in her little cave clouded her vision and made her shake her head, trying to dissipate the strange visions. Like that helped. It hadn't in years' past.

Moving her head back and forth agitated her ears and made them flap against her skull. The sound was practically deafening and she stilled the very instant the experience became too painful. She wished for the dreary silence that she had while in her human form, but the spirits had more interesting ideas. Instead, her ears picked up sounds from a few miles away. An arctic hen clucking, an unknown male—probably the nearest hunter—breathing, a penguin squabbling over a lover, a prancing polar-bear-dog playing with her litter…everything was loudly bouncing around her skull and she tried to press her paw against her maw to dull the sounds, but it didn't help.

Unfamiliar scents wafted through the air; they were like little trails in the empty expanse of her cave. Like individual lines that she could follow when she tilted her head just so. To the right, the smell of a cooking rabbit caught her more bestial attention, but she tried her best to ignore the twitch in her stomach and focus on other things. Like the smell to the left, of the crumbling, winter blooms…the final smells of good weather slowly dissipating and dying. There. That was better. Not the savory, mouthwatering scent of winter—yes, most definitely winter and not a fuzzy lop—rabbit. Spirits, she could practically taste it.

And speaking of tastes, her jaws were aching after her teeth had punctured outward. She felt like a teething child and she craved soothing attention…alcohol, ice chips, a cold rubbery toy…meat to sink her ailing teeth into.

Mmmm, she thought, growling a little bit and licking her lengthened chops. The rabbit was starting to smell better. And it was slowly luring her to the edge of the room, to her porthole.

Her muscles jerked once more, throwing her involuntarily to the floor and practically crippling her. The feeling inside her form slowly stilled and she took a moment to clench her teeth and will the final moments of pain away. Trying to distract herself once more, Katara focused on her paws and allowed her small toes—on both her front and rear—to scratch into her icy floor. Her claws scraped against the ground and shavings peeled away with her frustrated concentration.

After a few contemplative minutes, the agony subsided and Katara allowed herself a moment to look in the dimmed, icy wall. Her mirror. Her cerulean eyes—the only piece of her body that remained visibly untouched—stared back at her and glistened. Tears that refused to fall. Always tears.

Even though the room was dark, she was able to see her wolfish form…her cursed form. And she absolutely hated it.

With a toothy snarl, she turned away and crawled through her small window. She pounced about the glacial peaks of her mountainous home and raised her newly-formed snout. Standing pensively still, she pouted, smelling a few new scents, most too far away to be bothersome. Hunters. And this year, she could tell that there were more than usual.

Great.

Tapping into her more human traits, she managed to roll her eyes and sit on her haunches as she tried to use her heightened, animal eyesight to her advantage. She peered out but couldn't see much else other than the ethereal glow from her former home, and she turned away, saddened. Looking between the empty, darkened expanse between her rightful home and her cave, she squinted. But in darkness like this, she knew that she'd have to use her nose to navigate her way through the tundra. It was a good thing she had many years of practice.

Snout raised, she took another inhale, evaluating how many hunters were close enough to be potentially dangerous. Only one scent permeated her air; the smell of citrusy fruits, cloves, and cinnamon, some sort of heavily-disguised, masculine cologne. It was an odd fragrance, something that she hadn't really sniffed before. Usually, when the hunters were out and about, all that she smelled was the stinky aroma of perspiration…and fear—once she made her presence known, of course. But this was something strangely…pleasing.

And she instantly wanted to ignore it. But the smell of cooking rabbit was swirling around that particular tendril, entwined. Whoever was giving off that pleasant aroma was the source of the delicious, meaty fragrance. And she didn't know if she could avoid running off in that direction for much longer. Animal instincts and curiosity were a bitch.

Her stomach growled and she wanted to turn back into her hole and nose through her belongings until she found her hidden foodstuffs; dried meat and shriveled sea prunes that she kept deep in her cave in case the summer darkness scared away most of her game, things that she kept concealed to consume during the few, fantastic days of the summer when the full moon forced her curse away. Those few days of the month where she was safe and sound, in her human form once more. Normal.

The smell was too much and all of her sources of distraction were dwindling away. Her bestial instincts took over and she found herself bounding down the mountainside, tumbling down the hill with skilled precision. Each footfall was soft and perfect, and she landed at the bottom with a stiff pounce before racing off in the direction of the charred rabbit…toward the human who smelled like oranges, cloves, and cinnamon.

Did he know that he'd be her first victim? Was he ready for her? Did he even stand a chance?

Probably not.

OoOoO

Zuko silently huffed. Agni, his luck was piss-poor at best. He gritted his teeth and silently wriggled in his sleeping bag. The fabric floor around him was wet, no doubt the dampness was because he had been unconsciously firebending while he was dreaming, trying to keep himself delightfully warm. But now that he was awake, it was rather disgusting. And more annoyingly, it was noisy. Slushy. Sure to keep the animal lurking outside his tent interested.

The fabric squelched under his rump as he rummaged for his boots, lacing them with quick and practiced fingers. When everything was appropriately tightened and tied, Zuko slowly and cautiously pulled the zippered flap of his tent up and open and crawled outside.

It was dangerously dark and he drew his dagger, one slit eye peering through the ever-present, drifting snow.

Fucking snow, he mentally cursed, moving into a deadly crouch, listening carefully for the hearty sniffs that had woken him. But after a few moments of hearing nothing but the soft snowfall, Zuko let out a deep exhale and lowered his knife. Nothing, he bitterly assumed. Nothing but my own paranoia.

He couldn't argue with his assumption; since he'd been horrifically burned and exiled by his father, he heard things while he slept. Untruthful things—murmurings, noises, incoherent babble in voices that he didn't want to remember. And going to sleep thinking that a wild beast could be walking about had probably put him on edge and awakened his hardly-used imagination.

The sniffing sounds were just a figment of his imagination. Nothing more.

With a perturbed growl, he collapsed to his knees and started turning, aiming blindly in the dark for the entrance to his tent. Reaching out an ungloved hand, Zuko felt the thick canvas and started crawling inside. But he only got two feet in before a threatening rumble pierced the otherwise silent night...somewhere in the darkness behind him.

OoOoO

The darkness was strangely blinding in her cursed, wolf form; it made Katara blink until she got used to the sight of glistening snow, some flakes interestingly colored with vivacious greens, blues, golds, and oranges. Speckled and beautiful, but blinding nonetheless. Subtly irritating and forcing her to look forward rather than down at the treacherous ground underfoot.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, warning her that she had steadily run a few miles without a decent break. But the scent—the rabbit and the cologne-wearing hunter—were getting nearer with every footfall and she couldn't stop. A piece of her was excited; tonight would just be one more kill, one more tally to add to her list. And she couldn't wait to see the unexpected terror within whatever colored eyes the man had. She secretly hoped they were blue. Northern Water Tribe blue. Spirits, she liked destroying Northerners.

Oh, how she looked forward to the sensation of the final few pulsations of blood trickling across her tongue as the life literally drained from a hunter's body. That'll teach them, she said with a callous snap of her jaws, never breaking her stride. That'll teach them to mess with me. As they had for several years already, annoyingly enough. Why can't they just let me be? Why make a game of it and lure her out, try to kill her when she hadn't been the one to start things.

Goddamned nobleman, she inwardly snarled, remembering that day…over a decade ago, now; the day when her promising, curse-free life had been maliciously stolen from her. That day, when she had—

Katara bristled and skidded to an abrupt stop. Another scent was filling the air, something earthy and familiar. Another animal. An undomesticated…polar-bear-dog? It was a guess, but she'd bet her life on it. She'd smelled if before, a few times, actually; though, the first time had been last year, when the polar-bear-dog was merely a young pup trying to survive on the brutal land.

Akiak, she'd named the pup after he blindly stumbled into a battle between her and last year's final hostile hunter, baring his naturally sharp puppy teeth and snarling at the human threat. The way he had snapped his jaws at the man, hatefully biting him on the ass, leaving deep, crimson gashes on his green parka. Making the human howl and unsheathe a poison-tipped blade—meant to kill and not immobilize—as a last resort. And even though the pup couldn't smell the tainted Shirshu venom, Katara could, and she nipped the dagger out of the man's hands while Akiak bit the soft flesh of his neck, killing their mutual threat instantaneously.

Admittedly, Katara had felt very grateful toward the pup; she hadn't been faring well during the battle—a full six months of tirelessly watching her back, alone and afraid, had taken its usual toll and she hadn't expected the man to be looming near her snowy, mountainous home, waiting for her to return so he could claim his prize. And while fighting, she had pathetically whined, not yet ready for death, but far too fatigued after killing so many others to properly avoid it.

But when Akiak sprang forward, the tides had changed in her—no, their—favor. The pup had killed the hunter and Katara had licked his wounds, healed him with her bending before he sauntered off into the night. And even though Katara never asked for it—she didn't really know how—occasionally, the pup would adventurously stroll around her mountain. Though, he always left her alone…especially when she wasn't in wolf form. Like he knew.

He kind of reminded her of Sokka, even though her brother had been nearly two years older than her; protective and adventurous, smart but knowing when to leave things alone. The idea guy; the man with the plan. Burly and boastful but always seeking a mothering and gentle, helpful hand, even though he'd never outright admit it—like Akiak even could since Katara still hadn't figured out how to communicate with him properly. All in all, the pup was just like Sokka. And it was a small comfort. It was why she had befriended him after that. Only him, curiously enough.

And, just like she had been with Sokka, she felt a little protective over him. Enough so, that when she realized that the human Akiak was presently facing was more troublesome than most, she whimpered. It was the way the man's heartbeat hadn't even fluttered while he was slowly circled by the wild dog, unaware which direction he'd be hit, but knowing that the hit was, indeed, coming. It was the slow and skillful way he was drawing his dagger and lowering into a springy crouch, ready for anything. It was unnerving to sense the human's utter lack of fear.

So, as a warning, she barked; just one, high pitched yelp that forced the pup's head to shoot up, ears alert. When she did it again, Akiak bounded in her direction, ignoring the hunter entirely so he could greet the friend that he had missed over the last few months.

And when Akiak was safely away from the hunter, Katara sighed and sat, waiting to see what the man would do…watching him with her intrigued, hyper-intensified, cerulean-tinted gaze.

But after cautiously waiting for a few moments, still in his crouch, the human ignited a small burst of flame in his hand and looked as far as he could. Katara's blue eyes widened when she saw the fire flicker with his breath and light up the frozen ground. And with the aid of the yellowish light, she noticed that he had bandages covering the left side of his face, thick wrappings protecting his maimed skin from the bitter cold. He was…hurt?

Still watching intently, she fought back a snarl while the firebender confidently disappeared between the flaps of his canvas dwelling like nothing had happened. Like he knew that he could take whatever threat had just cornered him. Like he wasn't afraid to die…or kill.

Katara pondered. A firebender…in the Southern Water Tribe. How rare; how…unique. Though, this new hunter certainly hadn't been the first firebender that she had encountered, and she was positive that he wouldn't be the last. But it was the attitude of the man that intimidated her. And while Akiak nuzzled into her neck, giving her a warm greeting that simply expressed how glad he was to see her, the cursed waterbender stewed over her new threat.

This particular hunter was already maimed, yet he was still out in the cold, his tent opening aimed toward her mountain and not toward the settlement. So…he was hunting for her, no doubt. And since he was doing so while injured, ignoring sound medical advice, she knew that he was extraordinarily motivated and treacherous. What right-minded human being would willingly batter their body so harshly in order to capture a mysterious beast without being guaranteed success?

What kind of hunter didn't properly dispose of their meals while bracing the cruelties of the wilderness? Bury their kill deep in the snow so scavengers wouldn't be intrigued by the smells. Was he…perhaps…inept at tracking and instead interested in luring her out, intriguing her bestial instincts to the point that she couldn't refuse?

What kind of hunter—what kind of person—was this, anyway?

It clicked faster than she dared admit. She knew the type: an unhinged, confident, and determined one.

And crazy, cocky, and desperate humans were the worst kind.

He'll have to be last, she thought, sniffing the air with unusual grace. That man is dangerous.

Akiak clicked his jaw, attempting to play, but Katara nosed him away from the firebending hunter's tent, away from potential danger. Always a little too naive, Akiak was, and it would get him in trouble one day.