The ornamental red glass vase in the corner of Azula's room hadn't been noticed in quite some time. It didn't gather dust, of course; the servants were responsible enough to avoid that. But none of them ever dared to reach in, pull out, and read the slips of paper that the princess stored inside of it. Every note written in the same handwriting, though in some instances it was notably messier. Some pieces were wrinkled from contact with liquid, while some had red stains.

Azula herself hadn't paid the decoration any attention. Practical as she was, it had essentially vanished from her sight the moment she had stopped having any use for it. That was the only fact that had spared its contents up until now, spared them over the intervening months in which nothing new had been added.

Tonight, Azula saw the vase again. She entered her room, weary, threw a ragged cloak on the floor with the intent of later disposing of it, and headed straight for her desk.

Ty Lee left.

Three words written in impeccable handwriting, perfectly neat. Her eyes didn't cloud with tears, and the paper lay flat and unstained. Azula stared down at it for a long time, considering, wondering.

She added the next two words in a messy scrawl utterly alien to her former neat hand. They were the only blight on the note.

And Mai.

Both of the people she had ever considered friends. Azula remembered Ursa's abandonment once again, and realized that her mother didn't have a single slip of paper dedicated to her in the jar.

Of course not. Ursa had left before Azula started writing them. If she had been around, if she had been a proper mother, if she hadn't fled in the night to leave two children, one too cynical to recover and one too naïve to break at all, then maybe the vase wouldn't have been necessary in the first place.

The thought was enough to make Azula want to throw the damned thing across the room and shatter it into deadly pieces, but it wasn't in her hands yet, so the vase survived.

Instead, she kept her anger carefully inside her and folded the piece of paper closed, dropping it onto the top of the other slips.

For a brief and foolish instant she considered rereading them, but she laughed at herself and dismissed the thought. What was the point? To drudge up old memories? To wallow in self-pity? Useless, unproductive activities. Living in the past meant being unable to dodge what the future sent.

Azula wondered why she bothered with the vase in the first place. A ceremonial discarding of past emotions and pain? Please. Symbolism wasn't a cure for anything. But if it helped to write her problems down and shut them away, then maybe it was productive.

Perhaps she would return to writing them, she thought. Then she turned away from the vase and let it leave her mind for the night. She pressed her candles into shadow with two fingers and crawled under her silken sheets.

She didn't have any tears to shed for Ty Lee. Oddly enough, the loneliness, the sense of abandonment, had been at its worst while she was speaking to Ty. Now it was a distant ache. Her surroundings, the state of being alone in her room, were too familiar. She found it hard to grieve when Ty Lee was at the same distance she had always been. If they weren't together, what was the point?

She slept fitfully, weaving in and out of dreams where Ursa stood in the shadows of the room, her face hidden in shadow, and whispered false promises of love and happiness to her daughter.

Despite her midnight adventure, Azula didn't feel overly tired in the morning. Thanks to her insomnia, staying up late at night was more of a habit than an inconvenience. She spent longer than usual in her washroom, scrubbing every inch of her skin, carefully applying her lipstick, and combing out her hair. She wanted to look impeccable. Nothing about her appearance could hint at her true location the night before.

Cong tied her hair up, carefully, into its customary bun.

"So do you miss your family at home in the colonies?" Azula asked while the woman worked, as casually as if the princess speaking to a servant about personal matters wasn't utterly unheard of. But then, Cong was the only servant Azula had ever taken an interest in. Despite the princess's cursory attempts to gain more information, Cong remained an enigma.

"I…" There was a brief pause while Cong focused on an uncooperative clump of hair. "Of course, Princess. They're my family."

"So you think missing goes hand in hand with family?" It was a trap, of course. Azula hoped Cong wouldn't be obvious enough to fall in.

"No. I think it goes hand-in-hand with love. I'm sorry if I offended you, Princess Azula."

"Not everybody loves their family," Azula said, half to herself now. Was she trying to convince Cong she didn't miss Ursa, she wondered, or was she trying to convince herself? Either way, her attempts weren't exactly successful. She could feel the anger starting, deep down in her stomach.

"Of course not," Cong agreed. She held Azula's hair in place with one hand and picked up the ribbon with the other, wrapping and tying it neatly. "Some families don't deserve love, I think."

"But your family deserves your love?"

Cong hesitated. "…Yes, they do. But loving someone doesn't mean they deserve that, either."

Azula had the distinct feeling that Cong wasn't talking about herself. She didn't like that feeling at all. She didn't want Cong making pointed remarks about her family.

"You can go," Azula said, more sharply than necessary. Cong stopped, placed the princess's crest back down onto the dressing table, bowed, and exited the room. That was something else Azula liked about the woman: she always listened to orders the first time, and it hadn't even taken any burns for her to learn. Either she was more skittish than the other servants, or she was smarter. Azula believed it was the latter.

Breakfast featured more nobles than usual, which tested Azula's patience. Faking a smile and polite words was always harder after a night of little sleep. Perhaps Ozai was going to hold meetings involving more than his usual circle of generals; that would explain the crowd. Azula sighed inwardly, resigning herself to a day of sitting at her father's side while she heard about crop yields and the increased activity of merchants in the Earth Kingdom.

Useful information to know as a ruler, undoubtedly, but deadly dull to listen to, especially when Azula forced herself to commit it all to memory.

Halfway through the meal, Ozai rose, and the room instantly fell silent, looking toward their Fire Lord. Ozai didn't even need to raise his voice when he spoke. As usual, he delivered his address in a subdued, calm tone.

"I have received a letter from Iroh," he announced. "My brother has passed the furthest islands of our nation, and will be here in a little over a week's time. We must prepare to welcome him home with open arms."

Those gathered murmured their acceptance, and as Ozai sat down, Azula couldn't help but wonder how they saw her father. Ozai was always level and controlled when he appeared to others, the picture of quiet strength. He was just, dealing punishment without hesitation to traitors and those who opposed him. And yet here he was, spreading good sentiment for his brother, the fallen war hero. Azula knew that Ozai didn't care at all about Iroh's safe return, and merely spoke the words for the benefit of the people.

But not all the people were fooled. Many of the more zealous citizens, especially high-ranking generals, had turned on Iroh after his fall at Ba Sing Se. Did they sense Ozai's hidden scorn, that his love was only a mask?

Azula wondered how many people had seen Ozai the way she had seen him, with fire and lust in his eyes, a cruel smile on his face as he hurt her.

She stared into her cup of water and tried very hard to focus on something other than her thoughts, which was, of course, impossible. Once they started, once the floodgates opened, there was no pushing back the water.

Nobody had seen the Ozai she had seen. Angry? Surely Iroh and Azulon had seen him like that, and maybe even joyous, when he was younger. But not…

Mother did.

The thought struck Azula as if she had been physically hit. Unbidden images raced through her mind of Ursa, hurting under Ozai's cruel hands, crying quiet tears and trying to shield herself…

She didn't know whether it had been like that. But if anybody had seen Ozai the way she had seen Ozai, it would have been her mother. And at that moment, the thought was too repugnant for Azula to stomach. She jerked upright in her chair.

"Azula?"

They were staring at her, rows of upturned faces about the table. And Ozai, at her side, wearing a mask of concern. A mask was all it was. Azula could tell.

She forced herself to take deep breaths, in and out, in and out. She stared down at the wooden surface beneath her. It was a solid, steady anchor. Her hands were shaking. She kept them clenched at her side, making a futile attempt to still their tremors.

"Azula!"

Stop talking! she wanted to scream. Their voices certainly weren't going to help her calm down. She tried to drown them out, focusing only on her own breathing. In and out, in and out. She was fine. There was no immediate danger. There was no reason for her heart to be pounding as if it was trying to escape the confines of her chest. She was fine.

Gradually, in what seemed like hours but was probably only seconds, Azula realized they were waiting for a response.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, lifting her head enough to flick her eyes from face to face. She couldn't stay looking at any individual too long; she had the feeling that all of them were accusing her, searching for signs of weakness, seeking out her faults with all-seeing eyes. "I…don't feel well."

Of course she didn't. That much was obvious. But slowly, the world returned to normalcy once more. The faces became what they were—an assortment of nobles, not vultures. Then again, what was the difference?

The tremors in her hands were lessening. Her breath was still heaving, but she forced it to slow. She sat down, slowly, and bowed her head.

"I'm sorry."

The table's conversation rumbled back into life, and soon Azula's strange behavior was abandoned in favor of discussions about the likelihood of Ba Sing Se falling before year's end.

Azula took small sips of water until she felt well enough to start eating again. She managed to finish the meal, but wondered if it would make a reappearance later in the day. She tried not to think about what had just happened for fear of triggering another attack.

Ozai was speaking to the nobles as if nothing strange had happened, but Azula knew her father wouldn't simply forget about her. He would doubtless mention her odd behavior later, when they were alone, when nobody could overhear and start a rumor.

And she was right. When breakfast finished, Ozai steered Azula carefully down an empty hallway, waiting until they were a safe distance from the others to speak.

"Well?" His voice was impassive, revealing nothing. Azula glanced either way before meeting her father's eyes. Obviously, the truth was out of the question.

"I felt ill. I'm so sorry, Father. I should have held it in. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I would hope that sickness wouldn't be enough to overcome your level head," Ozai said. His tone didn't change, but Azula felt wounded anyway. "Was it the herbs?"

"I…don't know." A pathetic response. But Azula knew it wasn't the herbs; she hadn't even taken her dosage yet today.

Ozai's lips seemed to grow thinner. Azula felt like disappearing. How could she have allowed something like that to happen? Why had her body insisted on such an unpredictable, involuntary response? She never wanted it to happen again, but could she forestall it? Could she force herself through it?

"I don't ever want to see you make such a scene again." Ozai turned away from her, his displeasure too painfully clear. Azula bowed her head. She wished she could disappear. "I suppose you might as well take the day off, if you're feeling so ill."

"Father, please, I can do my lessons-!"

She was cut off by a single stern look, and didn't try to speak up again. Arguing with her father wasn't about to raise her in his estimation.

"I will send the doctor to see what is wrong with you. Go to your rooms."

Azula felt like a child again, being dismissed as punishment. She murmured her assent and turned away from her father in disgrace. If she hurried down the hall, she wouldn't even have the opportunity to embarrass herself again.

She lay on her bed and felt as if she was dying. The curtains had been drawn, with only a few stray candles lit to pierce the gloom. Lo and Li were there, always there, sitting like statues in the shadows, watching her. Were they the mourners in this mock-funeral, or were they preparing her for burial? The latter, Azula decided. But then, what part should the doctor play…?

Her macabre thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the physician, Eiji. Seeing him, Azula could not help but conjure up memories of the last time she had seen him, on Ember Island, learning of her father's deceit in feeding her contraceptives.

Did he know, Azula wondered, about Ozai's abuse? Had it been he who suggested the medicine in the first place? She could not trust him.

"Spirits, it's like a crypt in here," Eiji said, squinting through the shadows. "Open the curtains. A little sun never did any firebender harm. She's not going to get better sitting in the dark."

Obediently, one of the twins moved to draw back the curtains, and the sun entered hesitantly into the shadows. Azula blinked against the sudden brightness.

"Your father tells me you weren't feeling well at breakfast." Eiji crossed the room to look at Azula, who sat up. "Please, elaborate."

Azula certainly wasn't about to tell him the trigger. But lying outright would be useless. If she told him some of the truth, perhaps he could help her understand exactly what had happened.

"I…I was eating, and then I felt ill." Elaborate. "My hands were shaking, and I was breathing fast, and…I felt like I was going to faint. All the voices sounded too loud." Best to leave out the part where she had imagined everybody was examining her for flaws. She didn't want to sound paranoid.

"Oh?" Suddenly Eiji seemed much more interested. That was probably a bad sign. Azula stared up at him, waiting to judge his reaction. "I thought we were speaking of physical illness, Princess."

"Of course it was physical! What about what I just said wasn't physical?"

"Forgive me." He punctuated the apology with a bow. "It wasn't related to something you ate or any general sickness. It sounds, rather, like you had a bout of anxiety."

"Excuse me?" Azula certainly wouldn't have used those words to describe what she had experienced. She had never even heard of such a thing before.

"Intense physical symptoms brought on by thoughts or something else mental. You're lucky it went away quickly; I've seen ones last up to more than an hour." Eiji closed his bag and seated himself on the carved chair beside her bed. Azula resented him for not bothering to ask permission before sitting.

"So you've seen this before?" She didn't bother trying to conceal her irritation. That wouldn't be worth reporting to Ozai anyway.

"Oh, yes. Although…" The doctor hesitated, but it required only a sharp glance to make him continue. "Usually in soldiers. I've never seen it in one so young before. But when I was a military doctor—yes. All the time."

"What causes them?" Hearing that she was a unique case wasn't going to help Azula avoid ever having one of these again. "You said thoughts."

Once again Eiji hesitated, searching for the right words. "Yes. Well…or images, or other stimuli. But something causes a person to enter a state in which they believe they are in danger. One of the soldiers I treated had his leg crushed by earthbenders. For years after, whenever he heard the sound of pebbles or gravel falling, he would enter this state, thinking that a huge boulder was coming."

So it had been her thoughts after all. Her traitorous mind had sent her the idea of her mother suffering in the same way she had, and Azula had been entirely unable to predict the result.

"How do I stop them?" she asked through gritted teeth, now desperately attempting to squelch the memories that were threatening at the edges of her mind. Once she started thinking, she couldn't easily stop.

The look on Eiji's face was enough to tell Azula all she needed to know, but he spoke anyway. "There…isn't a concrete method, Princess Azula. For some, they have no choice but to let the bouts pass on their own. Others practice breathing exercises or attempt something to distract their mind—reading, for instance."

"I see." So if she was to stop them, it seemed as if preemption was the only way. If she could prevent potentially disturbing thoughts and memories from arising, then she wouldn't have to worry. It almost sounded easy in her head, but Azula knew that she might as well stand on the shore and attempt to hold back the ocean.

"If you don't mind, I'll take my leave, Princess." Eiji stood, bowed, and exited, leaving Azula and her guardian crones to ponder this newest malady.

The day passed slowly, torturously. Azula thought it would have been better to be forced to attend endless meetings about the state of the Fire Nation's agriculture; at least then she wouldn't be saddled with the horrible feeling of letting her father down, of being punished.

She insisted on continuing her studies, though Lo and Li were ready to simply let her rest. As if she would even be able to get any sleep, as stressed as she was. Studying would keep her mind both off of the morning's events and of the stark reality of her father's disappointment in her.

Still, it was a hard day, and by the time the evening rolled in, Azula was happy to enjoy a solitary dinner in her rooms (Ozai and the others were still meeting, and thus would dine while discussions continued).

It was the crowning jewel on an already miserable day when she received notice that she was to join her father in his rooms. Saddled with the dull resignation that now accompanied these summons, Azula bathed, had her servants brush out her hair, and pulled on her robe over loose pants. She liked to believe that she had grown accustomed to this, that it didn't frighten her anymore.

It did. Lying to herself wasn't always effective. But pretending to be strong, even when she wasn't, was a mask Azula could desperately cling to.

Tonight, though, given what had triggered her attack just this morning, Azula was afraid that she wouldn't be able to maintain her usual state of dissociation. What if she had another breakdown? She didn't think she would be able to cope with the repercussions of Ozai's wrath.

So with trembling hands hidden in too-large sleeves, Azula set out for her father's chambers, hoping for a miracle, hoping she would be able to assume the same state of eerie calmness that she entered whenever bending lightning.

But her father…wasn't there.

"I believe he escorted Prince Zuko to the throne room?" one of the guards outside Ozai's door said, exchanging a glance with the other. "My apologies, Princess, but he isn't here."

Escorted Zuko? That was enough to put Azula on edge. Was Zuko acting as the favorite child today, since she had temporarily vacated that position? She didn't want to hear Zuko bragging about alone time with their father. She could, reasonably, return to her rooms, or wait there for Ozai, but she didn't want to.

She left for the throne room, eager to investigate, suspicious of what she would find.

It was a short walk down to the huge chamber. Azula bypassed the double doors of the entrance—opening them would be far too noticeable, and she wanted to eavesdrop, not interrupt. The smaller doors in the back were closed, but Azula managed to open one without making too much noise.

The throne room was a place of contrast, the troughs of fire providing the only light. Everywhere else, long shadows receded. Luckily for Azula, that meant that she was almost completely hidden in the back of the room, the darkness providing a convenient cover.

Ozai was standing just in front of the fire, watching Zuko, who was in the middle of the room. Azula watched as her brother moved across the floor in the continuous, sharp motions of bending. Fire wove around his hands as his feet moved as gracefully as if he was dancing.

They were training. Azula couldn't help the intense stab of jealousy that went through her. So when she was incapacitated, Ozai trained her brother instead? It was certainly a powerful incentive to never fall ill again.

And this was an advanced form. Azula had never seen Zuko bending at this level. Her teeth clenched, and she had to forcefully prevent herself from biting the inside of her cheek to draw blood. She reminded herself that she was learning to levitate with fire; she was far beyond whatever he was doing.

Then, in an instant, her fears were eased, as Zuko slid one foot the wrong direction and tumbled down onto the hard floor.

Azula smiled. Perhaps she shouldn't have worried. This was Zuko, after all.

"I see why your instructors give you unsatisfactory marks." In the stillness of the throne room, the only other sound was the crackling of the flames, and Azula heard Ozai's voice as clearly as if he was standing next to her. "An appalling display. Did you even learn the basics, or do you just choose to arbitrarily ignore them?"

"I—" For once, Zuko wasn't overflowing with things to say. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to—I'm sorry."

"Not used to what? Being closely scrutinized? Having to perform at a decent level? I can see that. Again."

Once again, Zuko spread his feet apart, summoning the fire to dance around his hands as his feet moved nimbly on the floor, almost giving the impression of floating. This time, Azula recognized the form. She had mastered it when she was nine.

Now that she was expecting it, Azula saw Zuko's legs tense as he slid into the less comfortable positions. Without necessary balance, he would have trouble. This time, he didn't fall, but the wobbliness was evident as he finished the form and returned to his resting pose.

"We'll have to start from the beginning, won't we." Ozai shook his head. "We're returning to basic sets. Your fundamentals are hopelessly flawed."

"No!" Zuko started toward his father, hands stretched out in supplication. "Please, Father! If I just try a few more times, I'm sure I can get it!"

Ozai turned on his son. "It's not simply mastering this form, Prince Zuko. If your basics were solid, you would be able to synthesize this with others to create a style all your own. Your sister understands this. I don't know why the concept eludes you."

Azula couldn't help but smile at that.

Zuko muttered something that Azula couldn't quite make out. She almost craned her head forward before remembering that she should stay hidden by the shadows.

"What was that?" Apparently Ozai hadn't heard either, or he was just being kind enough to give Zuko a chance to retract his words.

"Father, I…I know I have school, and Azula stays here at home…but shouldn't we train together more often? I'm the one who'll be succeeding the throne, not her, but you—"

"Are you questioning me, Prince Zuko?"

"No. No, of course not! I was just wondering…she's very lucky to spend so much time with you, but I…"

Ozai turned away from his son, as if the mere sight of the boy was unpleasant to him. "I would desire to spend more time with you if you showed the slightest competency at any of the tasks I've set you. Your firebending lags far behind your sister, despite her age. Your marks in school are average at best. Do you think you deserve to spend time with me? Do you think you deserve to inherit the throne?"

Azula held her breath. Her father was adopting a tone she was all too familiar with, that deadly voice that meant he was to be obeyed, listened to, without question.

"Father, that's not what I—"

Ozai wasn't done. "Look at you. You think it's a matter of luck that sets you apart from Azula? No. There are a thousand other barriers between you. You are complacent, naïve, foolish—not unlucky. You inherited all your mother's softness. But if it's luck you wish to speak about, my son, very well. Azula was born lucky. You, wretched offspring of mine, were lucky to be born."

There was utter silence as Ozai walked down the middle of the room, disappearing out the heavy doors. They closed behind him with a heavy, metallic clang. Zuko remained unmoving in the middle of the room, until he finally slumped over. A few seconds later, Azula heard the unmistakable sounds of crying.

She smiled. Ozai had passed his judgment; he favored her. And Zuko, wretch that he was, would never measure up.

Any other time, Azula might have stayed behind to torment her brother, but tonight, Ozai was expecting her. With a last, gleeful glance back at her brother, she disappeared out her door, closing it just loudly enough to suggest to Zuko that someone had been there, watching.

Ozai was angry, and that meant he wasn't gentle with her. But Azula's earlier fears had been abandoned in the wake of the happiness she still felt at witnessing Zuko's humiliation. Ozai preferred her. And that was enough to sustain her as he ground and burned and scratched pain into her skin.

A/N: See, I promised to update, and I did! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, featuring one of the more-often recited quotes used to discuss Zuko and Azula. I hope I did it justice. Anyway, not much to say this week, and I'll see all of you in one or two weeks, depending! Thanks for your support, and I hope you all have a great Sunday.