Hello, everyone. This chapter is a bit different -- I hope you enjoy it. I thought everyone could use a break from skeavey prison guards and inmates :-)
Chapter 6 – Masks I
Azula was wandering through the palace, looking for someone. Or something? She knew that she was searching, searching desperately, but she didn't know what for.
When she entered the garden, she saw Ty Lee sitting on a bench. Was she looking for Ty Lee? Azula walked up to her, though she didn't know what she wanted to say.
"Ty Lee…" Ty Lee wasn't looking at her. "Hey, Ty Lee!" Azula snapped her fingers a few times, but there was no reaction. Ty Lee was ignoring her! That was unacceptable.
Or maybe she was just distracted? Azula followed Ty Lee's line of sight, then jerked in surprise when she saw the creature that was approaching.
It had her height, her build, her armor, her own leonine grace and perfectly coiffed hair. But instead of a face, it had a mask – a grotesque mockery of a face. It was twisted into an exaggerated smirk.
It…she?...sat down next to Ty Lee. Azula expected Ty Lee to attack it, or at least to jump away and ask some questions. She did neither of these things; rather, she plastered a huge grin on her face and used her "perky" voice. "Hey, 'Zula! How are you?"
"Ty Lee!" Azula was appalled.
"Ty Lee!" The thing pretending to be Azula tried to sound cheery. It adopted a high, falsetto tone which grated on the nerves. "I just got back from my stylists. What do you think of my new look?"
"You look great 'Zula! But then, you always do. You have natural beauty."
"I know."
"Why do you try to add to perfection?"
"You know I can't help it. I just always strive to better myself."
Azula took a long step forward and punched the impostor in the jaw. Her fist went right through it. The masked idiot stood up and walked away. Apparently it had fished for enough compliments today. Furious, Azula yelled at its retreating back.
"You stupid, ugly bitch! You're wearing too much makeup!"
Swinging around, she turned on Ty Lee angrily. Ty Lee was lying on the bench, staring up dreamily into the leaves overhead.
"Ty Lee, I can't believe you fell for that disgusting display. How could you think that was me?" Ty Lee clearly couldn't hear her, but Azula kept going anyway.
"People who really feel good about themselves don't go around saying how great they are, and they don't ask for compliments. Why do you play along? And I never believed you anyway."
Azula stomped back inside. Now what had she been looking for?
Rounding a corner, she almost knocked into a servant. The girl was wiping down some expensive glassware. A second later one of the pieces slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. It shattered on impact, strewing the floor with shards and slivers.
Rolling her eyes at the girl's clumsiness, Azula stepped gingerly over the mess, intending to leave the servant to her business. She had more important things to worry about. She stopped, however, when another Azula-thing strode into view.
Ugly lines of fury were etched deeply into its mask. Its voice lashed like a whip. "You! Whose was that?"
"Wh-What, Your Highness?" The terrified servant had dropped into a kowtow, but it looked more like cowering.
"Whose property did you just destroy?" Azula-thing bit off each word. It was now standing right in front of the girl, staring down at her with baleful intensity.
"Y-Y-Yours?"
"You just destroyed the property of the Royal Family. Do you know what the penalty is for that crime?"
"It was an accident. Please…" The girl was completely destroyed: she was weeping and shaking.
"Is that how you serve the royal family? With clumsiness and foolishness? Is that how you represent us? Is it?"
The poor servant moaned incoherently. This time, Azula rolled her eyes at her own double. "Spirits. It's just a glass. Calm the hell down and stop making an ass of yourself."
Azula-thing didn't take her advice. "I'm going to show you mercy" it said, "but just this once. From now on, I expect perfect competence from you. If I see otherwise, you'll know the meaning of pain."
At that moment, Mai appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene at a glance. "Hello, Azula. Are you enjoying yourself?"
Azula-thing laughed darkly. "Of course I am."
Azula protested. "I did not enjoy that. I was just pretending."
The trembling servant was dismissed. The girl crawled backwards through the doorway and out of sight. Mai's droll façade never cracked. "I see you've been improving staff morale. Again."
"A necessary joy. Our inferiors can't be allowed to forget their place."
"And you can't be expected to overlook even the smallest imperfection." The words and the tone were carefully neutral, but Azula recognized the mocking criticism for what it was. She had known Mai for a long time after all.
Azula-thing also understood. It moved so that it was standing face-to-face with Mai. They were almost touching noses. "No, Mai. I overlook nothing."
Azula looked back and forth at the two girls while they tried to stare each other down. "Mai," she said, "there are retarded children who act more appropriately than I do. Just say it. Say it to my face."
But, as always, Mai said nothing. Satisfied by the lack of open rebellion, Azula-thing turned to walk away. It delivered a parting shot over its shoulder. "By the way, Mai, don't forget those briefings I asked for." In other words, don't forget that I command you.
After it left, Mai stayed where she was for a moment, smiling contemptuously. Hot tears sprang to Azula's eyes, but she didn't know if it was from anger or sadness.
"Godsdammit, Mai. At the Boiling Rock, you told the truth for Zuko's sake. Why couldn't you do it for my sake?"
Mai started to walk away. Azula followed, desperately trying to make her listen. "You laughed at me and despised me behind my back. You always thought that you were better than me. That's not true. You were a bad friend too.
"Ty Lee is a flake, but you knew. You knew that something was wrong with me. And you never asked me what it was. Not once."
It was useless. Mai just kept going. Azula let her go. She didn't have time to waste on somebody who couldn't hear her anyway. She had to find it – find whatever it was she was searching for.
By now Azula had realized that she was dreaming. She suspected that, in true dream-fashion, she would never find what she was looking for. She also knew what was coming next, and she didn't want to see it.
Sure enough, Zuko was gazing up at one of the tapestries when she entered the Great Hall. He was brooding again. Of course. He looked so magnificently sullen, so adorably tragic, that she felt a great swell of affection mixed with annoyance. She didn't know whether to giggle or to pull her hair in frustration.
"You know, Zuzu, you actually have a lot to smile about. If you just tried it, you might find that you like it."
He didn't react. She sighed, waiting for the inevitable to happen. As if on cue, her dark double came sauntering in. Its mask was molded into a vicious jeer, and its voice dripped with smug mockery. "You know, Zuzu, you actually have a lot to worry about. I'm not surprised that you brood so much."
Zuko's shoulders immediately tensed up, and his scowl was replaced by a weary, watchful look. "Azula."
"Not going to ask me what you should worry about this time?"
"Why ask? You're going to tell me anyway."
"Well, you're wrong. I think I'll let this one come as a surprise. I'm just letting you know so that you can feel the…anticipation."
Now Azula was really exasperated with her brother. "Zuko," she snapped impatiently, "she's just yanking your chain. You don't have to take this."
He did take it, though – without anger or complaint, without calling her on her bullshit. He just glared at Azula-thing, and gave her that resentful, wounded look he did so well.
"That's all I wanted to say. Enjoy the rest of your day." The words should have been cheery, but the voice was dark with the promise of pain. Azula-thing strolled away without a backwards glance.
Zuko went back to studying their father's portrait. The pall of anxious misery had settled over him more thickly than ever. Azula didn't know if she was more irritated with him or with herself.
"Zuko, I shouldn't have done that, but you could have stopped it. You're older. And a boy. And the heir to the throne. Why didn't you ever act like it? I wanted you to fight back. You never did, and that's your fault."
He kept staring fixedly at the portrait. She decided to start wandering again: his distress was distressing her. She had now seen her "friends" – all three of them. What could be left? Why wasn't this stupid dream ending?
"Princess! A moment of your time, Your Highness?"
Azula spun around in shock: someone could actually see her. It was a senior servant. He bowed low and delivered his message: "Princess, the Firelord commands your presence in the Throne Room at the beginning of the fifth watch."
"Understood."
An audience with her father. As usual, the prospect filled her with conflicting emotions; although, as usual, the most prominent emotion was anxiety. Had she failed to do something? Or performed with less than perfect efficiency? She couldn't think of anything, but that didn't matter. Her father was both exacting and unpredictable. He might praise her, or he might punish her. There was just no telling.
Feeling strangely oppressed, Azula continued her hopeless search. But the palace was devoid of humans, of human warmth, of human touch, of conversation and companionship. It was empty, empty, empty.
Eventually she gave up and went to her room, where she sat down and did some paperwork. Then she did some stretching exercises. Then she pulled out some scrolls on military history and tactics. The silence should have helped her concentration, but she kept glancing at the fading light out her window.
Servants brought her dinner. They neither spoke to her, nor did she speak to them – which was only proper. She sat at her table and ate alone in the twilit room. As the shadows deepened, so did the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had done something wrong. She was sure of it.
It would be full dark soon, and when it was, she would have to go to the Throne Room. Licking her lips nervously, she looked at her closet door. She would find help there for the coming ordeal. Did she really want that kind of help?
Her plates were empty. The time had come. What would it be?
Dread decided for her. Hesitantly, reluctantly, Azula walked to her closet. She opened the door and looked in. Blackness stared back at her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through.
The only light came from the blue fire in her hand, and it cast strange shadows on the faces. They were strung up on either side of her, waxen-faced puppet-people dangling by their strings, hanging in her closet like meat in a butcher shop.
The first three faces were familiar to her. She had seen them already today. There were other masks, though. Some were bitter, some triumphant, some angry, some smug. The parade of masks went on and on, wearing an endless variety of expressions. But they were all cruel.
Azula walked further and further from the door, fighting down panic the whole way. The Azula-things loomed over her, dominating the claustrophobic space. They were menacing even at rest, but she was thinking of her father. She needed a mask. Each of these was a terrible caricature of herself, and she loathed every one of them – but she had to have an appropriate face to show her father.
She wiped her sweaty forehead on her sleeve. The air was starting to feel close, and it smelled of gore.
The problem was, she never seemed to pick the right one. Which mask should she choose this time? None of them seemed good enough.
Perhaps the best had been saved for last? But no, she was doomed to disappointment. The final masks were unsatisfactory, just like the rest. She turned around and headed back towards the door, feeling equal parts frustration and relief. She still hadn't found the perfect mask, but at least she was getting out of here. The air had become really stifling, and the stench of rotting meat was almost overpowering.
By the time she reached the door, she was slick with sweat and her lungs were laboring to draw breath. She stumbled eagerly into her bedroom, but was met with a bitter disappointment. When she tried to gulp down some clean, fresh air, she found the atmosphere to be just as foul. What could be causing--
Azula jerked in surprise – so violently that she crashed into the wall behind her. One of the masked monsters was moving around her room.
She watched as its chest heaved in time to her own strained breathing. It was her. She was looking at a mirror.
Stupid, Azula chided herself. You put on one of the masks and just forgot about it. Completely and utterly forgot about it. As in, she had no recollection whatsoever.
Panic did not become a princess. She willed herself to straighten up and walk slowly to the mirror, so that she could see what she was doing. Liquid oozed down her arms and legs, squelching beneath each footstep and leaving viscous puddles of slime to mark her passing. Azula realized that it wasn't sweat.
When she raised her hands to remove the mask, she noticed that her arms were spotted with putrefaction. And the blight was spreading before her very eyes, turning her skin brown and green and black in ever-widening circles.
Calm. Just stay calm…
Azula placed her fingers under the edge of the mask, which was mocking her with hideous glee. But the bones in her fingers had long since lost their rigidity. They mashed up into a rubbery mess when she tried to apply pressure.
Throwing self-control to the winds, she flailed at the mask with the pulpy ruins of her hands. She had to get it off: she couldn't breathe. She was rotting from the inside and choking on the fumes.
She tried to call for help, but she couldn't, and there was no one there to hear her anyway.
One of her legs snapped beneath her and spilled her to the floor, where she lay in a rapidly expanding pool of her own liquefied flesh. The rancid smell of decay was nauseating, and maggots were starting to swarm at the edges.
Azula couldn't live like this anymore, so she closed her eyes and decided not to. She gave up. There was a small "click", and…
*****
She woke not with a scream, but a whimper.
Alone in the dark, lying on the hard floor, Azula slowly raised her hands to her face, afraid of what she might find.
She breathed a small sigh of relief. Her probing fingers confirmed that her face was her own.
She let her eyes wander around the room, imagining the metal walls behind the blackness. Then, in her mind's eye, she envisioned her past: wandering the halls of an empty home, trapped behind a mask that even she couldn't love.
Which prison was worse?