~+~Nine for a Kiss~+~


It was a moment in their childhood. It wasn't an event. It wasn't an entire day. It was just a small moment. A moment that most wouldn't even bother to remember. But somehow, both of them seemed to have remembered it, and their thoughts always seemed to travel back to that distant memory.

Azula was six. Zuko was eight.

The Royal Family was taking a small stroll through the Capital. It was a nice day in the Spring and the weather was particularly suitable. Of course it wasn't a traditional stroll. They were being carried by palanquins, there was a procession of guards all around them, and they were really only going out so that Ozai—who was still Fire Prince at the time—could visit a noble on the other side of the Capital so that he could send a message in place of his father. But nevertheless, it was a long trip and the children enjoyed it as a nice day outside.

Both children had a habit of peeking out of the palanquin, even though they technically weren't allowed. They would part the curtain only slightly so that Zuko could peek out from the bottom of the crack, and Azula could peek out from the top. They found what they saw in the town fascinating. The merchants coaxing reluctant citizens to their table of wares, children running around with toys, some people showing off mediocre Firebending, women walking with baskets of items on their heads, and even couples who were walking in and out of stores, parks, and alleys.

Azula noticed it first. She had tilted her head at the sight and had poked Zuko when she saw it. She turned his head to the left so that he was looking directly at it. When his eyes locked on the sight, he too tilted his head in thought.

It was a mother, a father, and their young daughter. The little girl was on the floor, holding on to her arm which had a small scratch along the forearm. The mother started wiping away the child's tears while the father bent down and began placing small kisses on the scrape. He kept telling his daughter that he would kiss it and make it better. And even though the two children in the palanquin knew that the father's kisses were doing absolutely nothing in terms of healing the scrape, the child's sobs had ceased and a smile was plastered brightly on the child's small, round face.

It was so useless and seemingly meaningless. But at the same time, it was strangely fascinating.

The children could attest to the fact that their father would never, ever do something like place kisses on their scrapes and burns. Even their mother, despite her kind, motherly, and warm hearted nature, never did anything like that. If they ever got hurt, all the parents would do was send their children to the doctors in the palace and patch them up. There was never a need to kiss the pain away because the doctors could always take care of the injury without hesitation. So kissing wounds was never anything that the children had experienced, and at first it seemed so strange that they didn't initially think anything of it back then.

But Zuko remembered that moment when his father told him that he was lucky to have been born.

Azula remembered that moment when she heard her mother mutter under her breath how strange and disturbed her daughter was.

Zuko recalled that moment when his father would praise his sister and leave him alone on the sidelines.

Azula recalled the moment when her mother smacked her across the face for making fun of her brother.

Zuko remembered it when his father had burned him during an Agni Kai.

Azula remembered it when her mother told her that she was a selfish and cruel little girl.

It was at those times that the two siblings remembered the little girl getting her wounds kissed away. And it was at those times that they realized they were pretty much like orphans. They were orphans who were left in the street to tend to their bleeding wounds and injuries all by themselves. They were orphans who had no family to take away the pain. If anything, their family was the source of it.

And when one grows up bearing the pains of their life without anyone to remedy them, they inflict that pain tenfold upon their future generations.

And that pain…well…

…it has a habit of changing people over time.