Author's Note: Oh, I apologize for being so epically late with this piece! I really have no excuse except laziness…

Again, no requests. I'm just writing these up as I think of them –faster than the reviews come in… Heck, since no one seems to be taking note of the offer, I might as well disable it… No requests mean no dedications. Sorry, guys…

Oh, since '005: Tapestry' was liked for linking Azula to motherhood, I have decided to continue on with it. I will also delve into it when '022: Father' and '031: Mother' come around. But those will have to wait.

Here's the thing, I have no idea how old Sokka and Katara were when Kya died, so I'm going to assume their ages in this one.

007: Russet

Princess Azula's flowing maternity gown is a faded shade of russet, the color of blood left to dry. Once upon a time, this robe was her mother's; it is one of the many pieces of her she had left behind after her banishment. It is made of a billowy material that is soft against Azula's pale skin, despite visible wearing.

Every fold envelops her perfectly.

Like she is a living replica of Ursa.

But Ursa no longer exists, the princess is afraid. And the loneliness irks her.

Azula discreetly squeezes her eyelids shut. Her arms cross under her breasts, hands delicately teasing the sleeve of the russet gown. She bites her lip, holds back her emotions, though they are wetly tugging the very corners of her eyes. The expectant mother gives in to her temptations, and the tears slither down her crumbling visage, stopping deftly at her rosy cheekbones. A quivering finger wipes them away, the water leaving a glassy, paint-like streak –a shaken painter's mistake.

Through her tears, she sees that the dawn is breaking; she watches it outside as it rips out of the darkness like a babe escaping a womb. It is a hopeless aspiration of hers to somehow start over, roll back the sundial and emerge anew; embracing the mother she misses so dearly.

Rebirth is what she begs for, but it is an impossible request.

"It's been ten years since my mother left," she states –almost in a hushed whisper –to her husband, Sokka, the Water Tribal representative in Zuko's court, who has been sitting atop their bed, staring intently at a parchment scroll his father sent him from his homeland in the Southern Water Tribe. He looks up from the letter, nodding his head understandingly.

"My mother died ten years ago."

"Really?" She had been unaware of this.

"Yeah," Sokka answers, his eyes wandering to his wife's swollen abdomen. "Katara was really close to her."

"Zuko was the one that was close to Ursa. It shames me to think that there was once a time when I despised her."

"You miss her now, don't you?"

"Yes." Azula massages her stomach, her gaze focused on the floor below her feet. "I just wish that I could, in some way, tell her how foolish I was then."

Sokka rises. "You want to know something? I can't picture my mother's face anymore. It's like she has been replaced by someone else."

"Who?"

The Water Tribesman sighs, sending a depressive look Azula's way. "Katara. She took on so much responsibility in the light of Mom's death that she sort of just became her in my mind. I can't picture her face anymore. Katara's is all I see."

Tired of standing, Azula sits on the bed, resting her right arm against a fluffed pillow. "I don't think I'll ever forget my mother. You see this gown? Ursa wore it when she was pregnant with me…

"Sometimes it makes me feel like we're connected, like she's that distinct part of me that has never left."