a/n: Sorry for the late update; a lot of schoolwork, a few major projects one involving building your own musical instrument, another involving reading Lord of the Flies, etc.

Anyway, after such a long break I had a bit of trouble getting back into Azula's mindset, so I apologize for any off characteristics.

Chapter IV: Lost in happier days

Azula drifts off into sleep; her still thin and sickly pale body rests atop the crimson silk covers of her bed, and the cooling air from outside still slithers and coils around her. The former princess dreams of healing her fragmented mind; she dreams of a happier time, times when she and her mother had gotten along, when they had harbored mutual love for one another.

They had traveled to Ember Island for the summer, her mother, father, Zuko, her, Mai, and Ty Lee. They were happy, smiling and laughing; running about the deck in a fierce game of tag. Azula had made a lunge for Ty Lee, misjudging her distance, and landed atop crisp air, the lithe acrobat having danced out of Azula's reach…it had been her mother who had come rushing to her side, intent on healing the bloody gash across her forearm…

The former princess shifts in her slumber, and as she does, another memory resurfaces.

A storm raged outside, confining them to the beachside manor. The bright day had gone quickly, overthrown by an ambush of menacing thunder and harsh lightning. The four had tromped down in the direction of Ozai and Ursa's room.

A low thrumming of thunder rouses Azula from her sleep. Gold eyes flutter open as the rhythm of steady rain beats down on the roof. Sighing, she leaves the comfort of her bed, padding over to the window to close it. The scent of rainfall allows her to recall yet another memory.

Thunder shook the house, and Azula had been the one to hurry over to her mother. She was five, and thunder was such a big, unknown force. Had it been a physical thing, Azula was sure that it would be able to swallow her whole. When she told this theory to her mother, the young woman merely laughed, kissed her forehead, and snuggled her closer.

Rain slithers down the clear panel of her window, and Azula follows it with her steady gaze. Lightning lashes out at the bleak sky, illuminating the world, before fading. Azula remembers when she was afraid of the fleeting force. She remembers the day she learned to overpower it. She easily recalls the disapproving look in her mother's eyes. Had that been the day her mother stopped loving her?

Azula wishes for sleep to return to her, but she is fully awake. Her decision to wander the silent palace brings the realization that she will not have the misfortune of running into Ursa. She slips into a simple outfit: dark crimson pants and a silk, gold-rimmed top tied off with a sash. She remains barefoot.

The tiles of the corridors are cold against her feet, and Azula so desperately wishes for her inner fire to return. But wishing never changes anything, and she knows she'll have to endure any trials in a manner akin to that of a non-bender.

Tapestries of her ancestors hang on either side of her, the smell of ancient paper settles in the air around her. She stops her slow walk, her footsteps falter as she comes upon the tapestry that depicts her; she recognizes the strong jawline, trademark eyes, fierce determination…every aspect reflecting her lineage.

But Azula doesn't accept that the image before her is who she was, or even who she is now, because Azula knows that it's not. She carries herself with the air of former glory; confidence is absent in her eyes.

Azula resumes perusing the tapestries, stopping once again as she comes upon the one with her father. There's a sick intention in his painted eyes, and Azula realizes what a pawn she had been.

The former princess realizes that all those years of private training and spiteful lies had all been attempts to drive her from Ursa. And he had succeeded too, because Azula played right into his sick little trap. This realization doesn't allow Azula to forgive Ursa; her contempt is far more personal than a simple manipulation of her father.

-ATLA-

The storm breaks later in the morning and Azula is settled outside, leaning against the ornate wooden railing of the outer corridor. She is donning a crimson silk robe, trimmed with gold and tied with a simple gold sash. Her hair hangs just below her shoulders, and her bangs hanging loose, falling just beneath her eyes. The sky still plays host to a few grey clouds, yet the air is clear of humidity.

It is a sign that the final month of late winter is coming to an end. Spring is soon, and that means that Azula only has a few months left before she departs.

Her ears pick up the sound of feet treading across the floor; she doesn't know anyone else who wakes at such an early hour. Perhaps it's the Avatar; he would be up at this hour. Azula turns to quell her curiosity, regretting the action as her gaze falls upon her mother's advancing form.

She can't walk off now; it'd be too obvious of what she's been trying to do lately. So Azula stands still, tense and for no good reason either. She hears her mother's steady steps falter, and senses her presence to the right of her.

"Have you slept?" Ursa questions her softly, her own golden gaze content on searching the courtyard for the time being.

Azula remains silent, her jaw tense as she tries to keep calm. She's sure Zuko's wound tight, ready to spring at any chance she might misbehave or lash out in a fit of madness.

"Yeah…I've slept." She replies, her voice strains to remain steady and prim. Formalities aren't given to those who have hurt her. Azula's eyes narrow at how her father had wronged her.

She dares to ask her mother, have her confirm her suspicions, but it's a conversation for another time.

Near her, Ursa shifts slightly, "So, that's what they call wandering the palace at early hours?"

Azula has always hated how easily her mother could detect her lies.

"I should be going…" Azula motions to leave, but her movement is constrained by a slender hand grasping her bony wrist. The former princess tenses, hand clenching into an unyielding fist.

"Don't…don't touch me."

"Not until we talk, Azula." Ursa's voice is firm, and her eyes are solemn, gold irises daring Azula's own to challenge her. She expects her daughter to lash out, but she doesn't.

"We have nothing more to say to one another, why can't you see that?" Azula's words are laced with a subdued plea as the young woman whips around to face her mother.

She stands a few inches shorter than the former queen, and Ursa is the only other person who she looks up to, aside from her father. Azula can't stand the thought of being touched by this woman, it's almost painful.

She wrenches her arm free from the delicate grasp, steeling her eyes against her mothers, before turning on her heel and striding off down the corridor, intent on setting as much distance between Ursa and herself.

-ATLA-

a/n: thanks guys for all of your reviews and curiosity with this story. Hope to continue pleasing you. Anyway, sorry for such a long leave of absence, but as you can imagine, school got in the way.