Thank you very much to my followers and favoriters, Charlotte Night 007, The Challenge Master, In-Love-With-Paul-Get-Over-It, Jack's sword, and mareandfoal. Of course a big thanks goes to my reviewers, but I am not putting their names here. The theory is that you will be so moved by curiosity to see the amazing reviews that you will go there, read the reviews, and then write your own!
Disclaimer: I confess, I do not own this word, powers, and the majority of the characters in this world that I mess with.
"You really need to stop doing that!"
The harsh whisper directed at Jet did not seem to deride him. Instead, he chuckled.
"You don't like me walking up behind you?" He asked in his most innocent voice possible.
"No, I do not."
"Don't worry, i'm a friend."
"Sure."
Jet had been showing up the last few days as soon as Camellia rolled out her cart, and only leaving when she shoved him away. He kept insisting he wanted to help, but the girl could not help but think their was something else in his insistence at following her. He had the aura of a predator, of a hunter. Come on, Camellia, you're just suspicious of everyone. Shaking her head, Camellia banished the thought.
The sun beat down on her as she pushed back her black hair. Soon, it would be time to go. The sun was steadily approaching the horizon. Camellia had always waited until sunfall to leave, as she hated being crammed with thousands of others on the earth bending train. Why does Jet stay here with me? She had begun to suspect that the boy had no life, or at least one with no responsibilities. At first, she was uncomfortable with him so close, intruding in her life. But something about him was exciting and new. It didn't take long for his presence next to her to be natural. It was getting harder and harder to remember her vow to hate him.
Leaning with his back against the cart, Jet gestured to the flowers she was arranging.
"What are those for?"
Brushing her hair back, she studied the arrangement, not replying for a while. The arrangement sat in a narrow necked black vase. The inside of the vase was silver, giving the appearance of a light mist under the flowers.
"A funeral." Came the detached whisper.
"Such a pretty flower for such a sad event."
Pulling out a sprig of Forget-me-nots, the girl let out a small, bitter smile.
"Cyclamen flowers mean resignation and goodbye. The forget-me-nots signify the memories shared. They seem rather fitting to me."
The flower was beautiful, almost breathtaking. A dark green stalk rose high into the air, only to point to the ground, as if turning away. Just as the arms of a crying child reach for its mother, the petals reached up to the sky. The colors of the pale purple Cyclamen and the blue of the Forget-Me-Nots complemented each other perfectly.
"It makes sense that this flower means goodbye." She continued, completely wrapped up in what she was saying. She was so wrapped up that Camellia did not notes that Jet was no longer looking at the flowers, but studying her. "Look at how the flower turns away, but the petals reach out to you. It's as if the flower doesn't want to go, but must."
Finally, Camellia looked up from her arrangement, catching his eyes. They were such a beautiful brown.
"You seem familiar with goodbyes."
Shrugging, the girl tucked the small Forget-Me-Nots around the cyclamen in the black vase. Jet didn't seem to mind her noncommittal reply. Silence again, and Camellia turned back to her flowers. This flower should be on the other side. . .
"I have."
His voice was so mellow as he uttered the words that Camellia's eyes darted away from her flowers to his face. He was looking away, glaring at the ground. Every line in his chiseled face spoke such intense anger that Camellia was left breathless. Without her consent, her hand reached out to touch him. What are you doing? she scolded herself. You have no reason to comfert him. None!
"I hope i'm not interrupting anything." Whipping her head around, the girl caught sight of General Iroh. Once again he was clad in the green of the Earth Kingdom. His eyes twinkled at catching the two teenagers in such an intimate position, but he said not a word on the scene.
"Of course not, Mushi." She whispered, blushing at his stare. "How may I help you today?"
The general smiled. "I wanted to see if you were still up for tonight."
"I wouldn't miss a good game of Pai Sho."
Politely, the old man nodded, rocking on his feet. Despite the fact she knew the old man would never hurt her, she still was a little apprehensive of him. It was strange to her, to be so close to someone. Someone knowing as much as the old man did about her had been dangerous in the past. Unconsciously, her hand reached out to Jet's, hanging right beside hers. Her hand met empty air.
"Is there something else?"
As soon as the whisper left Camellia, General Iroh grinned.
"You have seen through me." He replied sheepishly. "My nephew has a date with a lady friend tonight, and he should come to this stand. I wanted to, well, warn you." He chuckled a little at Camellia's raised eyebrow. "My nephew is a little hard to handle."
"Do not worry. I sell flowers to help people become close, and to make people smile. Lee is no exception."
Reassured, the general thanked her and left. Soft padding footsteps behind her alerted Camellia to Jet's approach. Camellia whipped around again, just in time to see the surprised look on Jet's face.
"You heard me?"
Camellia scoffed. "Do not be so proud. I have always known when you appear behind me."
"Hmmm."
His smile disappeared, melting into a face of grim determination.
"Do not meet with that man."
Camellia blinked. Perhaps she had heard wrong.
"What?"
"Do not meet with that man."
There was no way she could mistake the look in his eyes. The deep, pearcing stare ate into her, freezing her to the spot.
"W-why not?"
The question seemed to throw him off. His eyes grew wide, adapting a crazed look.
"Can't you see?" He yelled. "He's Fire Nation!"
Camellia's heart hammered. He knew. The world seemed to shrink in on her, pulling with it the lies. He knew. Fear swapped her mind, and she could feel her frail composer slipping away. He Knew. Those two small words swapped her. He knew. If he could tell General Iroh was from the Fire Nation. . . Before she could finish the thought, Jet's voice cracked into her mind. With a voice so soft, he could deliver such painful lines.
"But you already knew that, didn't you."
Panic, in its pure form, flooded her veins. Her hands clenched in the effort of keeping her in place, keeping her from lashing out at him. She could feel the fire in her stomach, just waiting for her to unleash it.
Snarling, jet stepped towards her. "Has he hurt you?" Taking several deep breaths, Camellia attempted to process what he was saying. "I saw a piece of your hair," He continued, advancing on the girl. Her heart hammered. Knowing the cart was behind her, she stepped to the side to get away. "When I took you to Smellerbee to get it cut, It had been burned. Signed at the ends by that evil fire."
She had to get away. Camellia turned to run, But his arm flew out, slamming into the tree behind her with a thud. Trapped. His tan arms on either side, and firm eyes boring into her skull, she couldn't move. The branches swayed around her, completely unknowing of the fear that made her mind stop. The bark of the tree digged into her back. Behind them, the sun was going down, painting the sky in orange, pink and red. A small, wispy cloud hung near the sun, red as fire. Jet leaned close, staring her in the eyes.
"Has he attacked you?"
"Why would he ever-"
"He's Fire nation scum!" His yell made her jump. The look in his eyes was completely foreign. This was not the way she knew Jet. This was wrong. "They kill children and women! No one is safe from them, no one!"
Voice ringing in her ears, Camellia blanked. Her mind stopped. Deciding it was too much to deal with, her mind abandoned her, replaced with the one thing she could always count on. Anger.
"Never." She bit out, words laced in fire. "Never insult him."
Had it not been for the white fire filling her mind, Camellia might have found Jet's surprised expression amusing. Shoving him away with more force than strictly necessary, she stalked off.
Jet could not stop himself from landing on the ground. Once again, that crazed look came into his eyes. Every line in his face, every strand of gently blowing hair, every rustling strip of fabric, revealed the intense hatred he felt. His voice, with the soft quality of one speaking to a child, belittled the intensity of his being.
"That scum will pay."
o0o o0o o0o
Breath. Breath. Breath. The silent command came again and again. Breath. Suck in gasps of air. Steady. Do not think. Breath. Release a shuddering gasp. Breath. Again.
Keep going. Do not think. Breath. Somehow, she was home. Sinking to the floor. Breath. The stone cold against her flesh. Breath. Eyes squeezed shut. Fingernails digging into her palm. Pain. Time passed as only time can, without her knowing. She breathed.
Crumpled up on the floor, she let out a rasping breath. When she moved, all her bones ached. The fear had not gone away. It nestled within her like a hot snake, wrapping around her heart, squeezing tight. But she could breath. Slowly, her eyes cracked open. There would be blood. She was sure of it. Red blood spilling onto the floor, staining the stone. All red. That red blood haunted her. But there was no blood. A pool of clear liquid. What is it? A trembling hand touched her face. Tears.
The last time she had cried like this felt so far away. The stone was cold then as well. Cold seeping into her flesh. She let the memories sink into her.
The stone bit into her. She could not forget the pleased look her father gave her.
"Jiàn hào, you have done well."
And she had smiled. Smiled as the tears ran down her face. Smiled as the blood dripped from her dagger. Smiled as the man writhed in pain before her. Smiled as she screamed inside. She had killed a man. Her small body trembled with sobs, hidden behind the tapestry. She had killed a man. Was this normal? She asked herself, Did other eight year olds do this?
She had had to wait for her father to leave the room before she could collapse. By that time, the man had stopped twitching. She had reached one small, pale hand forward, and shaken his shoulder. In her mind, she knew he was dead. But she hoped. He rolled over from her trembling touch. Glassy eyes stared into hers. She screamed.
Rocking back and forth in the hallway, hidden behind a tapestry, Jiàn hào tried to wipe the blood from her hands. It was everywhere. Smeared on her black robe, clotted in her long hair, staining her hands. Red. Bright, vivid, Fire Nation red.
"H-hello?"
Jumping at the voice, Jiàn hào coward further into her corner. A sob broke out, revealing her position. The voice was so innocent, not yet plagued by the pain she felt. And yet it's innocence terrified her.
"Helloo?"
Footsteps came close, clacking against the stone. The tapestry was thrown back. It was him. Prince Zuko, clad in a deep red nightgown. The prince. Her father's voice came back to her, floating into her mind as cold and merciless as the stones beneath her.
"Jiàn hào, the prince is never to see you. You are not like him. You are a tool, a weapon, a Jiàn hào. If you ever see him you must not let him know who you are, and do not speak to him."
The prince was standing in front of her now, curiosity etched into his small face.
"Why are you hiding?" Shaking her head, Jiàn hào coward in on herself, trying to hide the blood.
"What's that?" apprehension colored his voice, Prince Zuko took a step back. "Is that. . . blood?"
Camellia shook herself, shaking the memories from her. "No." She whispered. "I am not Jiàn hào anymore. I am not."
Jumping up, she rushed to her bathroom, filling the tub with water. The cold water covered her body like a blanket, wrapping her up in a numbness that hid the pain. Grabbing a brush, she scrubbed at herself, scratching away the blood. Red, shining, sticky blood covered her sense the day she had first killed to the day she would die. Blood she had never escaped. Blood she never would escape.
By the way, Jiàn hào means dagger according to google translate in Chinese. I don't really know what dialect it is, though. Anyhoo, I hope y'all have not gotten tired of Camellia's mental breakdowns. She seems to do that a lot. What do y'all think of her flashback? Any ideas as to who she is? Any questions? Of course, if I deem it a spoiler, I won't tell you. Despite what it may seem like, this story is wrapping up a little. See ya next time!