Sorry this is late! Was caught up with work!
Urzai month April 9th: Portrait
"Dismissed." Ozai said from behind the curtain of flames. His generals bowed and retreated out of the Throne Room. Ozai sighed, extinguishing the fire with a wave of his hand. He stood and walked off the throne's platform into a small area to the right. He sent a blast of fire at a part of the wall, and it slid open, allowing him access to the private chamber of the Fire Lord (which was constructed for the sake of the sovereign, as the Fire Lord's own suite was far away from the Throne Room).
He strode in with a frustrated snarl, shrugging his robes onto the floor unceremoniously. For the love of Agni! Why were his generals so damn incompetent? He was willing to bet that Azula could do better than some of the men on the council. Heck, even Zuko would do better!
He sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly as he slumped down into the seat behind the desk. He glanced at the stack of reports on it, and for a moment he just wanted to unleash the biggest fireball he could make and just burn everything to ashes. He glanced at the room and noticed that he could actually make that happen. He took a deep breath, readying himself. Just a little fireball—burn a few things…just a few. It won't be too much.
Then his eyes landed on a wooden frame, and his breath caught in his throat. Looking at him with a gentle smile was his dear estranged wife. The faded portrait looked exactly like Ursa—except for the eyes. The colour had receded so much that it made her ochre eyes seem like a pale gold, even paler than Ozai's own.
She looked sad in this picture.
Ozai gazed into never-ending warm pools of dark gold. A pale, soft hand latched onto his arm invitingly. He didn't need to glance down at her smile to know she was doing so—her eyes told him all he needed to know.
He reached forward and picked the frame up, bringing it (her) closer to him. He trailed a thumb down her face as a small smile made its way onto his own reluctantly.
"I miss you." He admitted. He trailed a finger over her hair.
Ozai breathed in her sweet, clean scent, nose pressed in her hair. He twirled healthy brown strands in his hand lazily. Ursa giggled.
"It tickles!"
He rested the pad of his thumb on her cheek.
Ozai looked down at his sleeping wife. The light of the full moon shone through the gap in the thick red curtains, spilling onto her fair skin. He looked on in awe—she was like a goddess to him—and she was all his. Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek softly, his hair brushing against her neck. She murmured something and snuggled into him.
He remembered her body and the way it moulded against his perfectly.
Ozai pulled Ursa flush against him, burying his head into the crook of her shoulder even though she was around a head shorter than him.
"Ozai!" Ursa exclaimed, surprised, but hugged him back nonetheless.
"I missed you." He mumbled, sounding like a child talking to its mother.
"I've only been gone visiting my parents, Ozai." Ursa chuckled. "For one week."
"Still too long." Ozai pulled back and had a good look at her. Ursa smirked out of the blue.
"You're cute." She informed her husband, who looked bewildered at the term. "Maybe if you'd heat up a bath for me I'll give you a treat?" She suggested into his ear, slipping out of his grasp and brushing past him, leaving the poor prince flushed.
He ran past her, heading straight to their bathroom, revelling in her sweet laughter.
Ozai sighed with longing evident in his voice. He did not know how he survived these two years without her. Every night he would roll over in his (too large) bed and wish for a warm body next to his. Once or twice the pain became so much that he was tempted to go find a mistress and just forget it for one night, but he always stopped himself.
He would not be unfaithful to his Ursa.
Once or twice, he would look at Azula and start to call out Ursa's name, but he always stopped himself.
She was gone.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons he favoured Azula more. It was hard to punish a child with the same features as his dearly beloved.
Whenever he looked at Zuko, all he would see is his own face staring back at him.
He hated himself.
Perhaps that is the only reason he harbours resentment for Zuko.
He glanced down at Ursa's portrait again, eyes flickering to her lips for a split second.
He leant down and captured her rosy lips with his own. She was soft and pliant, letting him have the control. He loved her for it.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the feel of her, the taste of her again.
They snapped open in horror when he found that he could not, for the life of him, recall how it felt to have Ursa with him.
Sad, wet (although he would always stubbornly deny that fact) eyes looked down at the portrait.
It was all he had left of her aside from his recollections.
He held it close to him and closed his eyes again, drowning in a sea of memories and wishing nothing more than to have his Ursa in his arms again.
TTvTT Down with a severe case of feels. Need to cheer myself up with next prompt.
