I have a couple other oneshots up my sleeve, but I wanted to post this one first. It was inspired partially by one of libowiekitty's oneshots and sparked by the first line of one of Angel-Chan's... two completely different subject matters, admittedly, but it managed to somehow spawn this. Ah, inspiration and its random ways!

So here you go! Enjoy.

She was singing again.

Soft vocals gently echoed off of the walls, the stone structure silent as it breathed in the sounds of lovely strains before exhaling them in a soft, satiated blow. Though many mouths were present, words never left their lips, as they would be unwelcome and obsolete. Their harsh tones would destroy the delicate tune that reverberated through the halls, brutally shattering its delicate glass structure and leaving a broken soul to pick up its sharp pieces. As it was, they had nothing to speak of, for although their numbers were many, they were all decidedly alone.
Except for her. But she didn't want to speak anyway.

Even as the air was otherwise void of click or hum, even as nothing disturbed her save for a soothing voice, she would give anything -- anything -- for it to stop. The rolling movement of a tongue and breath produced sound to prick at her senses, pulling at a thread of the fabric of her mind until the entire tapestry unraveled. Slowly. Deliberately. Leaving the shell behind to calmly burn in agony. She could do nothing but watch as the figure whisked her back to childhood days, eyes loving, mouth murmuring forgotten lullabyes, fingers dearly stroking her hair even as they never left a mark. The omnipresence itself gazed upon the one she knew so well, not even a flinch as stragglers strode right through her. It didn't matter.

All that mattered was that she was singing.

But then, gradually but surely, the last note would fade into all-encompassing quiet, the stale air swallowing it and its echoes greedily until no more could be heard. The hand would retract back to its owner, golden eyes locked on golden eyes as a final kiss left the fiber of her being teetering on utter collapse. Soon, the figure would walk away again, sighing a tender goodbye before dissipating just as her voice had seconds earlier. The harsh mouths would, at last, be fully alone. Encroaching darkness would thread its needles and gingerly undo the disrepair, allowing her tears to finally fall, her heaving chest to calm down, and her mind to clutch at whatever sanity it had left. Sleep would be the release, the refuge, the cure for her eternal malady. Her dreams would heal until the bright arms of dawn opened her eyes once more.

Until she recognized the dingy walls of her dungeon and the memories regained their free reign on her consciousness.

Yet, simply that could never compare to what followed. Eventually, her eyes found their wariness. The repairing touches were pushed away in favor of one more familiar that would take the single string and watch as everything fell apart, smile intact. Knees were brought protectively up to her chest, gaze frozen nonetheless on the poisonous woman before her. And the woman would fill her lungs with air before letting out another series of lilting song. And the heap on the floor would emit another screaming wail -- the only voice who couldn't break through the other's fragility. But she had every right to.

Because Azula had long since reached her wit's end.

And her mother was singing again.