TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM, RAPE, INCEST, UNDERAGE-nonexplicit

The funeral and the coronation, as intertwined as they were, seemed like a blur to Azula.

She remembered sitting in white, the traditional color of mourning, watching her grandfather's pure gold coffin paraded around the city while the people wept. Petals of carnations were cast over the coffin, until the streets were strewn with a carpet of the flowers.

She remembered Zuko, wide-eyed and stunned, as if he was still determined to believe the whole affair had been a dream. She wondered if he had even realized the magnitude of the change—after all, he was the heir apparent now.

She remembered Mai and Ty Lee seeking her out during the festivities, and her happiest moments were spent with them, before she was pulled away to some formalities again. The three of them laughed together, and ran through the crowds, and Azula wanted the dream to last forever. It seemed almost magical, her two friends at her side and everyone in white as they ran through clouds of petals.

She remembered person upon person, noblemen and commoners alike, coming forward to pay homage to the new Fire Lord. Nearly all of them brought presents. By the end of the ceremonies, Azula was sure that, if she never grew, she would never need to buy a new dress a day in her life. Then there were the endless caches of jewels, which made Azula wonder exactly what everyone thought she should do with a diamond the size of her fist. Make it into a tiara? Melt it? Throw it at her enemies?

She had ended up giving Ty a string of emeralds, as Azula hated green. Ty Lee's eyes had lit up at the sight, and Azula knew that, in that moment, Ty was holding more wealth than she had ever known in her lifetime. What would it buy her family? A house? Clothes? Azula didn't know. She didn't particularly care.

And then, as quickly as the formalities had begun, they stopped. No more petals, no more gifts, no more feasting. The streets were empty and night fell and Azula couldn't fall asleep, too busy thinking about the look in Ty's eye when Azula gave her the emeralds. It made her sad for reasons she couldn't quite identify.

Azula awoke the morning after, her back sore from a fitful sleep. It seemed early, and she didn't know why she had woken up, but as she sat up she heard noises.

The sounds weren't coming from outside her door—it was a general roar of noise, probably filtering in through the window. Azula rubbed her face before standing and looking out.

The room was too high for her to see onto the palace grounds, but she could see out past the walls of the city and into the bay. There was a fleet of ships docked there, and Azula knew what all the fuss was about.

Iroh had come home.

By the time she came into one of the large banquet halls for breakfast, Iroh was already there. Ozai was sitting in the throne, of course, with Iroh directly on his left. Zuko was speaking with their uncle, looking happier than he had ever since Ursa's disappearance.

Azula scowled.

"Ah, Azula," Ozai said, looking up from his plate to notice her. "Good morning." He gestured at the seat on his right, and Azula's day instantly brightened. To sit at her father's right side was an honor, she knew, one of the highest honors a Fire Lord could bestow.

Zuko, for once, didn't fail to notice the magnitude of his father's gesture. His eyes opened wide with something that was not quite jealousy as Azula climbed up to the dais and sat at her father's right hand.

"Young Princess Azula!" Iroh leaned around his brother to smile at her. "It has been many years since I last saw you. I remember you as a small child, but now my brother Ozai tells me that you are already a strong firebender!"

"Stronger than some," Azula said shortly, looking at her food and attempting to end the conversation. She disliked her uncle—she had for as long as she could remember. His overly jovial manner, the contrast between what he said and what he did—they were small ticks that became great annoyances over time.

"Of course, such change does not seem unusual anymore," Iroh said with a heavy sigh. Azula resisted the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. "My son, dead in Ba Sing Se, and when I come home I find my father gone as well…and my brother, Fire Lord?"

"Things change quickly in this world," Ozai murmured, lifting his cup to his lips. "But change is not always evil. I, and everyone else in the Fire Nation, mourn the loss of Lu Ten. He was a good boy."

"Good, and wise, and quick, and clever, and gentle," Iroh said, shaking his head. He stared down at the table, lost in memories. "War did not suit him. I wonder now if war suits anyone."

"You will return to your senses in time, brother," Ozai said confidently. "For now, grief mars your thinking."

"You may be right," Iroh said. He smiled. "But for now, less thinking and more eating! I had forgotten how delicious properly cooked food tastes!"

Iroh barely said another word for the whole meal, far too engrossed with plates of fish and fruit. On the other hand, several of the nobles and generals who had joined them were very talkative. It seemed to be almost a contest among them to show which one could flatter Ozai more.

Azula received her fair share of compliments as well, and she smiled and accepted each one with grace that befitted a princess. None of them would ever suspect the insults she hissed in her mind as they spoke their transparent words.

When Ozai stood, Azula was eager to flee the scene. She had endured quite enough politics for the day. It would have been a different matter if they had actually had anything of substance to say—she wasn't particularly interested in how shiny her hair was or how beautiful her eyes were.

As usual, she wasn't lucky.

"Princess Azula!"

The man who had called her name was clearly a noble by the way he was dressed. He had grey in his hair but his eyes looked young. He paused to bow before approaching her.

"Yes?"

"I have heard that you are quite skilled in fighting for one so young. Would you be interested in visiting my house? We have many accounts of war, not to mention many famous paintings. We would love to have you."

He sounded like a salesperson, but Azula saw her father narrow his eyes in her direction and knew that she was supposed to go.

"I would love to come," she said, smiling. "And you are?"

"How rude of me not to introduce myself! I am Torazo, one of the Fire Lord's official scribes. If you are ready now, I have a chariot waiting. My house is not far at all."

"I am," Azula said, already bored of this man and his manner of speech. She noticed the wrinkles around his eyes and the way his mouth seemed permanently set in a frown.

Azula resigned herself to a dull day of making pointless conversation while her host attempted to slip in not-so-subtle hints about her mentioning him to her father.

The day didn't pass as slowly as Azula expected it to. Soon it was evening, and she was leaving Torazo's house and entering the palace again. Nor had the visit been an entire waste of time—her host had possessed several interesting collections of materials that Azula hadn't seen in the palace library before, including several firebending scrolls. She had asked to borrow them, and he had, of course, acquiesced. Who would turn down a princess?

Azula was too late to eat dinner in the hall with the rest of the court, but she didn't mind. For the first time in her life, she had servants bring her the meal in her rooms, and she ate completely alone as she read. It was glorious not have to listen to Zuko whine or Ursa chide. She was alone with her thoughts.

Alone, that is, until a knock sounded on the door.

"Who is it?" Azula asked imperiously.

"Princess, your father requests that you wash yourself and join him in his rooms," responded a voice, presumably that of a servant. "With all haste, please."

Azula finished eating rather more quickly than she would have, wondering what her father wanted. Calling her late was not unprecedented, but she couldn't think of anything she had done recently to warrant a lecture. Perhaps he simply wanted to ask her about her visit that day.

She bathed quickly, drying her hair and putting on her evening clothes—a tunic over pants, with an embroidered vest to keep the royal look. Hoping Ozai wouldn't scold her, she hurried out of her room and across the palace, toward the Fire Lord's chambers.

"Princess Azula!"

It was Iroh. Of course. Her uncle had an uncanny knack for appearing right at the times she least wanted to see him.

"Hello, Uncle," Azula said, with as much patience as she could muster.

"It is late. Where are you going?"

"Father summoned me. He said it was urgent. I really should go speak with him," Azula said. She desperately hoped that Iroh would take the hint.

"At this time of night? He needs to let you sleep! You're young! I'm sure whatever it is can wait until tomorrow," Iroh said, shaking his head and laughing to himself. "You work too hard for my brother."

"Nonetheless, I really should be going," Azula said. Her temper was rising. "Good night, Uncle."

"Good night, Azula," he said, his smile fading as he nodded to her and she continued on her way.

By the time Azula reached her father's rooms, she was sure that, whatever he had wanted her for, she wasn't in time. She could have thrown a fireball at Iroh for keeping her. Making her father happy mattered far more to her than making small talk with her despised uncle.

"You're later than I expected," were Ozai's first words to her. They weren't angry or even harsh. They were simply flat, simply there.

Azula could feel the sense of failure forming in her stomach. Damn her uncle. Now Ozai was disappointed in her.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said, taking a knee and bowing deeply. "Uncle Iroh kept me. He was talking about—"

"Never mind that," Ozai said shortly, turning away from her to look out the window. It occurred to Azula that her father was irritated. The fear in her stomach grew. She desperately hoped he was not about to scold her.

Ozai remained silent for quite some time. It seemed that whatever he was staring at through the glass was far more interesting than his daughter.

Azula took the time to survey the room; she had never been in the Fire Lord's quarters before. It was every bit as ornate as she had expected. Everything glittered with gold and rubies. The room itself seemed like fire, especially with the orange hangings on the bed dancing in the breeze.

Her father was not wearing his usual Fire Lord regalia. His hair was still up, but he was wearing a simple white shirt and dark red pants, though he still wore a heavy collar, inlaid with gems, around his neck. It was unusual for Azula to see him wearing less than his robes, but she supposed it was late.

"Azula, how long has it been since I became Fire Lord?" he asked, turning abruptly away from the window and striding toward her.

"Officially, Father, the coronation was only yesterday?" Azula said slowly, turning the words over in her mouth before she said them. She was sure her father was testing her.

Ozai's eyes narrowed. "How long since Azulon's death?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks without Ursa," Ozai repeated, a cold smile twisting his lips. Azula gritted her teeth at the mention of her mother's name, but otherwise remained utterly without emotion. "I do get lonely, you know, with my children so far away."

His voice changed when he next spoke. It became harsh, vicious, a command with no warmth in it. "Stand up."

She obeyed.

"Turn around."

She obeyed.

Ozai's eyes fixed on her, looking slightly mad. For the first time that evening Azula wondered if her father wasn't a bit drunk. He certainly wasn't acting in his usual manner.

"Take off your vest."

Azula's breath caught in her throat and the fear rapidly returned to her stomach. She obeyed, slowly, pulling the garment from her shoulders and dropping it on the floor.

"Now your pants."

She didn't know what was happening. She didn't want to know what was happening. Azula felt numb as she slid the silk pants down her legs before dropping them to join the vest.

Ozai looked her up and down once more. Azula shivered, but it wasn't the chill on her bare legs. She didn't like the way her father's gaze was resting on her. Even with her tunic still on, it made her feel naked.

Please no more. Please no more.

"…Come here."

Azula didn't know whether to be grateful or even more terrified. She forced her legs to move, and it was as if she was in a stranger's body, watching her feet take one step after another until she stood in front of her father.

He smiled.

She didn't feel any better.

Ozai raised her chin with one hand, his eyes meeting hers before taking his time to observe the rest of her body. Azula fought to keep from panicking. She wanted to run out of the room or throw a fireball or scream, but she knew it was pointless.

It was impossible to escape from the most powerful man in the world.

He apparently finished his inspection of her, for his hand was suddenly as strong as a vice on her arm. He half-dragged, half-threw her onto the silken sheets of his bed. Azula lay there, her chest rapidly rising and falling, too afraid to do anything but stare pleadingly up at her father.

Ozai was still smiling.

Then his hands were on her, like serpents, slithering up and down and light on her skin, making her shiver. She closed her eyes tightly. Azula didn't want to see his smile or his body. She didn't. But having her eyes closed was worse, for suddenly he was hanging over her, his hands on either side of her head, his knees pinning her down from either side of her waist. Even if she had been planning to run, there was no escape now.

Azula only opened her eyes when she felt the heat.

"Father-?!"

He wasn't burning her. The flame he had produced slowly caught on the hem of her tunic, before burning away more and more of the material. It was just close enough to her skin that she could feel the horrific heat, but far enough away that she wasn't burning…yet.

"Father, please, no!"

She couldn't keep her lips closed any longer. She screamed out, desperate that he would hear her and stop, hear her and let her go back to her rooms and fall asleep and pretend that none of this had ever happened…

"Silence," said Ozai in a low, dangerous whisper. Then his fingers were on her thigh, burning, and she screamed again, thrashing as much as she could before he held her down.

He was bored, apparently, with watching the tunic burn away. He pulled viciously and the seams gave way, and his daughter was naked beneath him.

"Stop it!" She was screaming, she was thrashing, and now she couldn't hold back the tears that were pouring down her cheeks like rain. "No!"

"…I told you to be quiet."

And then everything was pain, and Azula didn't know whether he was burning her or not but everything hurt and she wanted to die and the pain was so, so fierce…

And she was only cognizant of his weight on her and his breath, smelling faintly of alcohol, and his eyes, and the heat and the only foolish, insane thought she could coherently form was whether he could see those marks on her thighs from where she had dug in her nails so many times…

She only wanted the pain to fade, but it was only increasing, and she closed her eyes and were those her screams? She couldn't be sure. She could see her blood vessels, reflected against her eyelids, and maybe if she squeezed tightly enough all those vessels would burst and she would have something else to feel, something that wasn't as horrible as this.

Azula didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to see him, even as his hands were still roaming everywhere and hurting and burning and touching and stroking and every touch was more loathsome than the last. And his breath was as hot as fire against her neck, and she supposed she was only lucky he wasn't actually breathing fire on her, and then he dug his teeth in until he drew blood and she forgot about luck and simply screamed again.

"Mother! Mother!" She wasn't even really conscious anymore, just screaming and wanting the pain she felt, everywhere on her body and everywhere in her mind, to go away. She couldn't cope. She couldn't.

I want to die. I would rather be dead than this.

But no matter how many times she wished it, she still drew breath.

Azula didn't remember how she got back to her room. She remembered her father's face and maybe something else to wear and then servants, and then the next thing she knew she was sitting in the bath, more alone than she had ever been in her life.

And then she screamed, louder and louder than she had ever screamed with Ozai, and the tears poured down her face and sobs wracked her thin body as she counted the burns and the bruises and she couldn't take it. And Azula sat in the water and sobbed and it heated until it was searing, and she slowly watched her skin blister and then she screamed even louder and then two servants came for her and pulled her out of the water and she was kicking and thrashing and she wanted to die. She wanted to die. She had never desired anything as much as she wanted death in those moments. And even when the servants left after posting a guard in her bathroom and one outside of her door she kept screaming, and she dug her fingers into her thighs and scratched everywhere and hit herself until not an inch of her was intact, until she was covered with bruises and wounds and burns and she wanted to die. She wanted to die.

And eventually she wore herself down and fell asleep in a crumpled pile, nine years of the broken daughter of the Fire Lord, nine years of the girl abandoned by her mother and brother and uncle and everyone who cared about her, and she wanted to die.

When Azula awoke, she was lucid again, and she looked at her bruises and remembered the night before and tried to keep herself from crying.

And her whole body was sore and she was still hurting on the inside and she still wanted to die.

Then the servants came to get her ready for school and Azula was shaking her head and hiding in the corner of her room like a wild animal and she couldn't go to school she couldn't go anywhere people couldn't see her like this. But she didn't care and she was screaming and she burned a servant and someone was yelling and then suddenly there was someone standing in the doorway.

"What is going on here?"

It was Ozai. Of course. The Fire Lord again, dressed as regally as ever, surveying the scene with an imperious eye.

"Azula doesn't wish to go to school, Fire Lord," one of the servants said, in what was possibly the understatement of the century.

"Doesn't wish to? How foolish." Ozai crossed the room to look at his daughter, cowering in the corner. "You will go to school, Azula. Do you want to make me mad?"

And something broke inside Azula, and suddenly the pain was gone. She stood, and she didn't shake, and she met her father's gaze with blank, listless eyes. "Of course not, Father. I'll go to school."

And somewhere, deep down, her mind was still screaming.

A/N: Hello, everybody! How's it going? This chapter passes the 30,000 word mark for us! Exciting, yes? I know I'm happy! Anyway, thank you as always for your reviews! They keep me writing (well, that and my own muses, but whatever)!

So this chapter the rating changed, and as a warning, I feel it's necessary to say that things will not exactly be going uphill from here. I did promise it would get dark, didn't I...? Don't worry, there's always points of light!