Chapter 4
AN: Sorry for the pause in the updating... I haven't given up the story! College is just very hectic at times. Enjoy this next installment! Thank you to all the reviewers so far!
It's light in here. I can see the walls, the floor, and, via the mirror, my face. But I can't stop hearing things. Faint voices, like a buzz in my ear, won't leave me alone. Not even for a few brief minutes. And I don't like to dwell on the mirror, but the image haunts me. The wretch, the monster in front of me is mesmerizing. Hideous. Sick.
Monster. I am a monster.
Some kind of faint memory stirs in my mind. Something I said long ago... on a beach... somewhere...
I don't have sob stories like all of you. My own mother... thought I was a monster...
She was right of course, but it still hurt.
I have lived up to expectations. And not just in the way she thought. I hardly remember my mother. For the better, I guess.
But there was something else hidden in that memory. Something about a-
dear. brother.
"I don't love him more than you, you know." The voice came out of nowhere. But it had to come from somewhere. I check the mirror. My mother is standing behind me, standing proud in Firenation royal garments. This has happened before.
"What are you doing here?" I've said this before. No. No. No! I don't want this. I shut my eyes tightly, blocking the image. She can't see me. She can't see me.
"I love you Azula."
"Shut up!" I scream at the mirror. There's nothing to throw this time. No way to break the glass, to shatter the image.
"I love you..." The image is distorted, faded, wrong. It contradicts my every belief. My mother is long dead, the traitor. And there is no love in her heart for me. There was never any love.
"I love you-"
"Stop!" Stop. Stop echoing, stop talking. I will the voice to stop resounding in my head, and I will it with every fiber in my being. And yet, it keeps going.
A loss of control. I'm not in charge. I begin to panic. I can't move my arms. Can't throw anything at the mirror. Can't block the noise in my head. My own mind isn't even obeying me. This isn't the way it's supposed to be.
"When can I get out of this jacket?" I ask the old man the next time I'm in the office.
"That's not really up to me," the old man says.
Good. He shouldn't be in charge. "Get it off me." It feels good to give the order.
The old man just smiles. Patronizing. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Azula. You're a danger to yourself and to me if I take that jacket off."
"I know, old man. I'm supposed to be dangerous. That's who I am."
"You fail to realize the fine line," the old man walks to a bookshelf. His back is to me, but I can see him opening a small box on the shelf. He turns around, holding a small vial of clear liquid. "I can kill you now. I have reason to. And permission. I hold the power. I am lethal."
I try not to show fear. I'm not afraid of him. He's an old man. And yet, his words chill me to the bone.
"However," he puts the vial back in the box, securing it with a lock. "I choose not to. See the difference? Not dangerous."
"So you're betting that if you let me out of this jacket, I'll up and murder you on the spot?" He might not be wrong. He's been royally pissing me off ever since I've started these... sessions.
"You have a reason to," he says calmly. "And you're a firebending prodigy, whose powers I do not know the extent of."
"You think I can still bend?" A glimmer of hope swells in my chest. It's a weird feeling. I'm not sure if I've ever felt it before.
"I have no idea." The old man walks over to me. "You've been locked away, but that shouldn't prevent you from bending."
"Why are you telling me this?" I don't trust his motives. He's giving me a sense of security. He's telling me that I could break out of here if I wanted to. And I don't believe him.
"You haven't shown any proof of any firebending since you've come here. I don't know why."
I could prove him wrong. Right now. I take a deep breath, gathering a little strength. But I don't act. I don't do anything. I exhale slowly. I don't know if I can bend or not. I'm not sure I want to find out.
The old man's hand comes to rest on my shoulder. My eyes are downcast, staring at my knees. I don't shrug him off.
"Someday I will help you regain control of your bending," the old man says gently. "But now is not the time."
He doesn't give me a further explanation. Something in his tone makes me uneasy. I don't know how to react.
"Now is not the time."
"Now is not the time."
"I get it!" I yell. The old man jumps backwards. I've startled him.
"I'm sorry..." I try to get my voice to convey what I mean. I mean to be sorry. I didn't mean to startle him. But I'm not sure the man believes me.
He ignores both my outburst and apology. He shakes his head and moves away from me, back towards his desk.
"Two days from now, you'll be having a visitor," he says, looking at a small parchment piece. "I'm telling you this now so that you can prepare yourself for what is to come."
"I don't really want visitors," I mutter under my breath. I know he hears me.
"You don't really have a choice. By the Firelord's orders, I have to permit you to see him."
"Who, the Firelord?" I scoff. That's no problem. My dad and I get along, well mostly, famously.
"Yes," but there's hesitation in the old man's voice. "The Firelord has planned a visit."
"Good then. That's fine." Everything seemed to be in order. But as I was escorted out of the room once again, an uncertain thought lingered in the back of my mind. A sort of inexplicable dread for something I could not name.
Two days. I could handle two days.
