A/N: Only a week behind schedule, which is better than it could be. And I've been a busy little bee this week, too! I've written two short pieces around Ozai/Azula, which I would definitely recommend if you're enjoying this fic ("Fragments" and "Scarlet" respectively.) Nothing much to say, so please enjoy the chapter!

Warning for self-harm.


A letter, read once, then reduced to ashes and thrown out the window:

Dear Azula,

Hi! I don't have a reason to write this time. I just miss you! That seems like a good enough reason for me. I hope things are going well for you. I know you're very busy, and you're always surrounded by people, and you aren't supposed to be in contact with lowly peasants like me, but if you ever get the chance, even just a few words would be nice! I'd love to hear from you!

The circus is great. I'm training myself to walk with my legs behind my head. The ringmaster says I'm one of the biggest attractions. Don't tell anyone, but I think he might just be a lecher. Everyone's really nice! And there's a flamingo-lion that I've unofficially adopted. Everyone says they're super vicious, but it's a big softie!

I just really want to see you and Mai again. I'm really happy, but I'd be happier if you were here. It's selfish, I know. You're busy making big things happen. By the time we meet again, I wouldn't be surprised if you're already Fire Lord!

'Cause we will meet again.

Love, You Know Who!

It didn't make her tear up. It didn't even summon nostalgia. Azula stared down at Ty Lee's erratic handwriting, her letters squished together as if ideas were coming faster into her head than she could manage to get them on to paper. Azula studied the signature, the letters that composed her own name. Without rereading, she held the letter for a long time, a singular emotion bubbling and coming to fruition within her.

Contempt.

Who was this girl? Circuses and acrobats were as far removed from Azula's world as the North Pole was. The exclamation points, the cheeriness that oozed from every stroke of the pen, seemed repugnant. Why was Ty Lee bothering to write her? Did she think this saccharine missive could make up for any of the horrors of Azula's reality? How dare she say, in good conscience, how much she missed the princess? It was Ty Lee who left, not the other way around. It was Ursa who had left Azula, and Cong, and Zuko, and Mai, and Ty Lee. She hadn't gone anywhere. They had exited her life, one at a time, each as unreliable as the next.

The letter burned in a flash of white fire. Azula tossed it, still burning, mostly destroyed, out the open window. It fluttered against the sky and then dropped out of sight. Azula returned to the mirror in the washroom. Her reflection had become her best companion. When she looked in a mirror, it always returned her face; that would never change.

They were all gone. Nobody had helped her. Nobody had ever been there for her. She had screamed and cried and bled alone, and they had all been missing. One by one, they had left. One by one, they had denounced her.

It was a fact, and for the first time in her life, acknowledging it didn't bring any particular surge of emotion. Azula stared at herself, this eleven-year-old who had played with fire. Her only hero was there in the mirror. None of them had ever helped her. Nobody else could understand any of it.

She couldn't count on anyone else for survival. She would pull herself up alone.


Life sped into a dreamlike state. Day by day passed for Azula as if she wasn't really there; as if she was watching someone else's life through a window. She did things as if there would be no consequence, and she felt nothing. She did her schoolwork, practiced bending and mastered new techniques with ease, and fucked her father. Nothing carried emotional weight any longer. She felt light. Serene. Free.

Months after the initial proposal, the issue of the guerillas arose in the war meetings once more, and Azula once again volunteered. This time, there were no objections from any of the generals. Azula kept her eyes on her father, a long, measured stare, and then he acquiesced.

A complication arose the day before her scheduled departure, as luck would have it.

There was blood between her legs, hot and sticky and distasteful. Azula looked at the stains on her fingers and sheets and frowned. Of course she had known this day was coming, expected it for quite a while, but its arrival was still perturbing. Her insides felt odd, aching. She hated the feeling of blood leaking out of her, out of control, like an infant wetting itself.

Her maidservants were all very excited, a pack of twittering birds who exclaimed how good it was for her, and how she was maturing into a lovely young woman, and how she surely would want to celebrate now that she was crossing the threshold into adulthood…

Azula didn't really hear any of it. She stared down at her sheets, her fingers running over the dark red stain until it dried and turned brown. She imagined what her father would say, and imagined other things about her father.

The blood signified only one thing to Azula. She thought of Ozai, hot between her legs, and then a quickening in her womb, and then a monstrous little thing growing inside of her and devouring her from the inside out.

The servants were still there, still giving shows of pointless enthusiasm, sharing stories among themselves. They didn't seem to notice that their princess was paying them no attention whatsoever.

It wouldn't happen. That was what the herbs were for. But the knowledge that it could, that it was possible, that girls her age were already getting married, discomfited Azula. It was as if, step by step, her body was conspiring to wrench control from her.

She imagined ripping her womb out. It was a nice thought. She imagined ripping out everything tainted, everything diluted, everything poisonous. Step by step, cut by cut, she imagined regaining control of her body.

Nothing came of her idle imaginings, of course. Her maidservants rushed her to the washroom and produced folds of thick papery material, stuffed in between her undergarments and her skin. Azula hated the feeling—again, she felt like a child that couldn't control its own body.

It was an unexpected surprise when Ozai, after his daily meetings concluded, showed up at Azula's door with a slight smile on his lips. The maidservants rushed to stay out of their Fire Lord's way, while Lo and Li trailed after Ozai like lost puppies. It was a sight that would have made Azula laugh, were she not in such a bad temper.

"The servants tell me you're becoming a woman," Ozai said, his fingers gently tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Yes, Father."

"Go fetch Eiji," Ozai said, not bothering to look away from Azula as he issued the order. Behind him, the twins bowed and murmured their acquiescence in unison before shuffling out of the room and leaving father and daughter alone.

"This is wonderful." Ozai sat down on the silken expanse of her bed, pulling Azula along into his lap, though his attention seemed distant, not focused on her. "It's a good sign that you're bleeding so young. It means you're healthy and strong."

"Really?" Azula had never heard that before (unsurprising, as her sexual education had consisted mostly of tidbits gleaned while reading). She liked thinking that. If her father saw the blood between her legs as a symbol of strength, then she no longer felt the desire to disparage it as weakness. "…If I'm fit to bear children now, will I be betrothed soon?" It was stupid to dig that topic back up, Azula knew, but she couldn't kill her curiosity. In all of her reading and everything she had heard, the bleeding was the prerequisite for marriage.

Ozai gave an exasperated sigh and returned his attention to her. "Why are you so fixated on being betrothed? Do you want to get married?"

"No! No."

"Then don't bring it up." There was a clear note of finality in her father's voice. He lifted one hand to her face again, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her lips. His eyes were distant once more. "You mustn't worry, Azula. One day you'll be married, and one day you'll have children…fine, strong children, with the blood of the Fire Nation in their veins. They'll have all of our fire and strength, and the world will kneel before them."

The shiver didn't have time to reach the bottom of Azula's spine before Ozai's lips moved in to where his fingers had been.

They fell back against the sheets, Azula hardly able to breathe from the weight of her father. He didn't make any move to remove his own clothes or to break apart the kiss, but his fingers slipped under her belt and in between Azula's thighs. When he brought them back, they were dark red and dripping. Only then did he pull back from his daughter's lips to lick his fingers clean.

Azula didn't like this. It was uncomfortable and alien to her, Ozai touching her like this. She was used to him using her as a receptacle, something there only to bring him pleasure. Never before had he turned the tables like this. Thought after wild thought chased around Azula's mind, each darker than the next, but the one that stuck with her was whether he had ever done such things to Ursa.

The discomfort only heightened when Ozai shifted lower, his mouth alighting where his fingers had been. Azula couldn't help the gasp that slipped between her lips. She waited for a reprimand, but none came.

Was it supposed to feel good? Azula felt dirty, whorish, for the sensations her father's tongue was eliciting in her. This was different than before, and she didn't like it. Dissociation was much harder now, given that each new feeling coursed through her like fire in her veins. Even as she clenched her teeth together, trying not to make a sound, hoping it would stop, her mind wouldn't drift away. The image of blood on her father's lips seemed seared into her brain, no matter how hard she attempted to banish it.

Her muscles tightened, her thighs tensing involuntarily around her father's head, and Azula couldn't stop the small cry from exiting her throat as something she had never felt before came over her, all the more shameful because it felt good.

It was over, and Ozai withdrew, kissing her a final time. Azula tasted her own blood on his lips.

Before he had a chance to break off the kiss, there was a knock on the door. Only then did Ozai sit up, both he and Azula attempting to return to a semblance of normalcy. As she pulled her shirt down and her pants up, Azula watched her father's tongue snake around his lips, removing the last traces of red.

"Come in."

The doctor entered, bringing with him unpleasant memories from Azula's most recent stay on Ember Island. She watched Eiji with narrowed eyes as he bowed deeply to each of them in turn.

"How may I be of service?"

"She's begun her bleeding," Ozai said, one hand gesturing lazily toward Azula. "Will the herbs still be enough to prevent pregnancy?"

Eiji seemed to be almost as good at hiding emotions as Azula herself; she watched something that might have been discomfort flicker across his face and disappear.

"We can increase the dosage once more, Fire Lord Ozai, but I must warn you that there have been instances of women conceiving despite the medicine…"

"You can treat that, though?" Ozai said impatiently.

"Yes." The doctor punctuated the statement with a nod. This time Azula was sure she didn't imagine the look that crossed his face, though it was too fleeting to properly identify. She wondered how much Eiji knew. She wondered what he would say if he knew the herbs were to keep her father from impregnating her. It wasn't exactly a huge leap of logic; with whom else would she be having sex? It wasn't as if there was a line of suitors outside her door. That thought made her wonder, too, if Eiji would be gone soon, replaced by someone else without explanation.

Lightning and twitching bodies and people who never came back.

"Very well, then. I will hold you to that." The finality in Ozai's voice made it clear what the consequence would be if Eiji were to fail.

So the medicine was fallible? The thought made Azula want to laugh and retch all at once. She thought of her father inside of her, and again the thought of a parasite growing inside of her came to mind. What would become of such a child? How could it survive the weight of pain and perversion that had led to its conception?

An infinite number of women in the Fire Nation would have been proud to carry the child of the Fire Lord. Any of them would have killed for the chance to produce an heir.

And Azula's smile grew with the thought that, were Ozai to impregnate her, the resulting spawn would be her competition for the throne.

That night Ozai kept her until the sun peered over the edge of the earth. Whenever she tried to slip away, push the sheets off and vanish back to her blissful solitude, his strong hand caught her arm and pulled her back. His smile managed to be lustful despite its sleepiness. And again and again, until her thighs ached, until her back was sore and she felt as if he had touched and kissed every inch of her skin…

It made her wonder whether Ozai was tempting fate.


The twins were coming, of course. Azula had accepted that. Everywhere she went, they would come. She wondered idly whether it would be possible to leave them somewhere where they'd be run over in an unfortunate accident, trampled by ostrich-horses, crushed by a cart or by a falling boulder.

The thought of her prey, of the enemies that stood before her in her mind, made Azula's fingers twitch with desire and her blood pump with adrenaline. It had been long—too long—since she had matched herself against someone else. Performing for Ozai was one thing, but her intrinsic motivation was rearing its head, her strength demanding the chance to prove itself.

Ozai accompanied her to the harbor. This time she packed very little; she was going not as a princess but as a soldier, and she would be under the command of the overseeing general. When she climbed down from her palanquin at the docks, it was the last luxury she would have for a while.

"Make me proud," the Fire Lord instructed her. They stood at arm's length, golden eyes fixed on golden eyes.

"I will, Father," Azula said, with all the conviction in the world. She would. She had to. She would do her mission as instructed and come home again, and each step would take her closer and closer to the goal somewhere in the distance, the goal that she tried never to lose sight of. The throne was there, a fixed point in her head, though the path there was crooked and deadly and half-hidden in fog.

The royal guards saluted. There was a cry from behind Azula in the ship; it was preparing to set sail. With a last deep bow to Ozai, she turned and started walking toward the ramp.

She didn't get more than a handful of steps away when an arm caught her from behind. Startled, she swung around, and before her mind could register what was happening, Ozai's arms were around her and his lips were pressing against her own.

Azula's first reaction was panic. They couldn't do this, not then, not there—someone would see. Everyone would see. And the fervor of his mouth on hers, the heat radiating between them, the feeling of his goatee against her bottom lip and his breath mingling with hers…Azula was certain that any onlooker would see that this wasn't a platonic kiss.

But it went on, and she let the fear go, let her feelings drain, and it was so much easier. Let them see. Let them all see. She only cared about him. Fire Lord and princess, father and daughter, blood and blood, as if there was nobody else in the world.

They broke apart, Azula still staring up at her father. She was caught, abruptly, by the feeling that she had crossed an invisible threshold. Return was impossible.

Then Ozai was turning and sweeping away, and Azula got up the ramp and onto the ship, though her mind wasn't working very well. Lo and Li were there, a pair, always a pair, watching her with their keen and omnipresent eyes, and Azula abruptly felt ill.

The soldiers were busy manning the ship, starting its engines and maneuvering it out of the harbor, but Azula noticed that none of them would look at her. Were those glances out of the corners of their eyes only her imagination? Were they whispering to one another about her father, about her?

The incomprehensible vastness of the sky felt claustrophobic. Something was twisting inside her stomach, and her hands were shaking, though she tried to stop them.

They know they all know they saw they know what you've done you filthy slut they've seen it they've seen you

The ship's motion on the waves, though very slight, felt as if her whole world was tipping off its narrow axis. There was nothing to hold on to. She was going to fall, was going to slip over the edge, and the ocean would swallow her whole.

Water quenches fire.

Somehow, through the haze of fear and uncontrollable panic, Azula remembered her doctor's words. Intense physical symptoms brought on by thoughts or something else mental. No cure. No cure but time.

She managed to make her way into the bowels of the ship. The one concession to her status was that she was given a room of her own (as were Lo and Li). It was sparsely furnished and very militaristic, but Azula didn't particularly care at the moment. She seated herself on the cot and tried to right the world, tried to make her breath go in and out correctly, tried to convince herself that she was fine.

…She had shut herself in the belly of the ship. What a foolish thing to do. What if they gathered outside her door, preventing her escape? She could fight and kill many, but she would undoubtedly be captured eventually. And what would they do? How would they react? Would they kill her? Rip her limb from limb for the sin of seducing her father?

She curled into a ball, her whole body shaking. It wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop? It was stupid and pathetic and weak. She just wanted it to end. She didn't want to feel this way. Why wasn't she strong enough?

The urge to scream was overpowering, so Azula curled her hand into a fist and bit down on her knuckles. The pain was an outlet. She dug her teeth deeper and deeper, relishing the pain, relishing its familiar comfort. And when trickles of blood began running down her hand, the taste was an old friend on her tongue.

She didn't know how long she lay like that, her mind telling her that she was going to die. She didn't know how long it was before her heart stilled, and the motion of the ship became barely noticeable once more. It could have been two hours; it could have been twenty minutes. It was just her, lying in the shadows, just her and her mind.

And speaking of…

Full mirrors were a rarity in the Fire Nation, reserved only for the richest. The palace had them in all of the main bedrooms, and nobles had them, but the lower class had to rely on smaller, imperfect mirrors. And it was one of those that had been propped on the table in this cabin, its rectangular surface barely larger than Azula's head.

It wasn't her reflection that she saw.

The panic came rushing back, mixed with fury and hatred, a thousand suppressed emotions that were all rising up, threatening to overwhelm her.

"Go away! Get away from me! Get out of my head!"

You need someone, and I'm here for you, Azula. Please believe me. I'm here to help you. I care about you.

"No, you don't! You admitted it yourself! You care more about Zuko than you ever did about me! You wouldn't have come back if you knew he was gone! You're gone! I hate you! I never want to see you again! Get out!"

The reflected vision of her mother didn't obey. Before she was entirely cognizant of what she was doing, Azula had seized the mirror and threw it against the floor, watching the pieces shatter apart, watching her mother break into pieces.

She stood panting for a few long seconds before she realized the magnitude of it all. Not again. She couldn't let Ursa, couldn't let weakness, back in her head. The smallest slip of her guard and everything would come falling down again. Feeling things caused pain. Shutting out her feelings, becoming numb…it had been so nice while it had lasted.

Half as a way to punish herself and half because the sharp edges sang out a clarion call, Azula knelt and pressed her hands against the shattered fragments of the mirror, watching her skin split and the clear glass turn red.