She leans over the windowsill, her cheek resting in her hand.

A cold breeze blows through her black hair and into the bedroom

Her pale skin reddens as a response.

"Azulaaaaaa! Come into bed with me." A nude woman whines.

The woman was lying on the mattress, sheets crumpled up and forgotten and crying like a helpless infant to her lover.

Azula ignores her, staring deep into the moon and the grass swaying below.

She was standing in her underwear, glimmering from post-coital sweat.

She didn't want to go back into bed with her.

She didn't want to feel her hands gliding across her skin.

She didn't want to feel her ruby lips, dripping with sweet nothings and cinnamon, against her own.

She only wanted a smoke.

Azula grabs a cigarette and a lighter from her bag and lights one up.

"You're really gonna smoke in here?" The woman says.

"The window is open. You have nothing to worry about."

"When you're finished with your smoke, come back to bed. We have all night."

"Hm."

As Azula puffs out another plume of smoke, she thinks of her childhood.

Always excelling at everything but always wanting more.

She doesn't want to think of her childhood, but it usually comes up when she's deep in thought.

She thinks of her brother: the failure, the loser.

But he kept picking himself off the ground and kept going. Now he's doing better than she is.

"Asshole," She sneers.

He was happy with a girlfriend and just bought a new house while she lived in dingy motel rooms with a new lover each week.

Her father would have called her a whore, but he never needed a reason to.

She always imagined living in a lavish mansion with her father, like two young gods owning the city.

The memories of her mother are buried deep in her temporal lobe. She gets nauseous just thinking about it.

She took a part of her and left. She gets a brand new husband and a daughter who isn't mentally ill. How lovely. It's like she never needed me anyways.

She takes another puff and throws the cigarette butt out the window.

She picks up another one and lights it up.

She has nothing but her past, her scars, and the clothes on her back.

Azula hasn't felt anything in a while, as if she was a zombie.

She blames her father, but she mostly blames herself.

Shame, fear, and sorrow lie dormant in her chest.

Perhaps she doesn't have time to feel them; perhaps she blocked those feelings on her own

The only thing she feels is the burning of her lungs and the icy breeze dancing on her eyelashes.

Cigarette smoke will be the only thing warming her tonight.

Her thoughts land on her father: his heavy-handedness, his guile, and his frightening smile.

What a game it was, their relationship. Fake love and betrayal.

He took her under his wing, taught her everything he knew, pretended he loved her, and then, in the end, he took everything from her bank account when everything was going to shit.

He even fucked her. He left her bleeding and in pain after every session.

His hands were so brutal that now she couldn't withstand the physical touch of another.

Her bones feel heavy, and her body hollow.

He took her blood, tears, and guts and paraded them on his dick.

The naked woman aches for her love, her touch

But truly, she has nothing in her to give.

The lovers she keeps all whine for the same thing, but all Azula can give is mindless sex.

That way she can keep her mind empty and her body numb while satisfying her lovers.

But she never really satisfies, as they all ask for more.

People are greedy when it comes to love.

She throws the second cigarette out the window and looks at the trees coated in moonlight.

She sighs.

She was always a morning person.

Azula walks over to the bed and nestles next to her lover.

Azula will be gone by morning

And the woman will never call her back.

It was all just a game

Where nobody wins.