Disclaimer: I don't own ATLA or any of the characters.

Azula scratched a long, pointed fingernail into the cold wall of her prison. Her impassive gaze drifted left, lazily counting the marred scratches on the rough cement, even though she already knew what the total count was. She had been trapped in her icy prison for a grand total of three hundred and sixty-five days.

She didn't need to look outside to know that it was just past dawn—not that she could, anyway. Her would-be tomb had no windows, nor lights.

The vents on the ceiling hissed like clockwork, pushing frigid air into the tiny cell. She pulled her thin robes tighter around her body, resisting the urge to shiver as frosty wind seeped under her clothing. What little power dawn brought for her bending was squashed the same way every morning, with chattering teeth and an intense hatred—for who, she no longer knew.

She climbed back into her creaky cot and slid under the equally thin blanket, flicking away the frost forming on her damp pillow and listening for the tell-tale heavy clunking of the oafish guard that brought her breakfast every morning. His face wasn't memorable, nor his name. She called him 'Imbecile 3', after the other two guards who rotated through the afternoon and evening. The cute nicknames hadn't won her any favors and over time, they'd all learned that entertaining her wicked banter was the only thing she had to look forward to. Now they didn't even look her in the eye. They were paid to make sure that she had no means to escape, and make sure she was fed. Spirits forbid she starve to death.

No, Zuzu insists that I suffer a long, lonely life in this cell until I'm decrepit and waste away, she thought.

As you should. All that training and you've nothing to show for it, Ozai responded in the recesses of her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, curling her legs up into her stomach to condense what little warmth she was able to produce on her own.

"Shut up," she whispered back, but she knew he wouldn't oblige to her order. Even in her own mind, her father controlled every aspect of her life. These days, he was all the company she had.

Fire Lord Zuko must be sitting on that warm throne now, ruling over the nation that was supposed to be yours. Perhaps Ursa was right to favor him—she must have seen something that I clearly missed.

"Leave me alone," Azula replied with venom. The thought of her mother was an even more sore subject now than ever. She could remember the vivid moment of her loss to Zuko and the water tribe witch, the feeling of absolute failure as she was forced to her knees and cried for her cursed mother of all people. She'd had plenty of time to think about the decisions and moments that had led her exactly where she was now.

You were weak, Azula. Your pathetic little mind broke and you let him win.

She ignored Ozai, but his thunderous voice seemed louder than ever. He wasn't wrong. Something in her had snapped. It had taken a while in this isolated cell, trapped with her own thoughts, for her to realize that something was amiss in her head. There was some part of her mind that had splintered and taken the shape of Ozai. This much she could decipher on her own. How much of her mind had she lost to this manifestation of Ozai? She had no idea. It seemed that over the span of the year the quiet whispers of her father had grown louder and louder until he was an all-consuming presence of intense hate and vitriol.

Imbecile 3 was trudging towards her cell now. She could hear his lumbering footsteps, distinctly different than Imbeciles 1 and 2. She closed her eyes when the heavy steel door outside her cell swung open, blinding light filtering into the icebox.

She turned to face it, soaking in as much warmth and light as she could from the few seconds the guard was allotted to drop off her meal. He slid the tray of food under a square gap in her cell, the sound of soup sloshing in its bowl a sore reminder of how quickly she would need to eat it before it froze over with the rest of the room. She'd learned that the hard way the first few times.

"How's my little brother doing, 3?" she asked, desperate for a few more moments with the door open. She could feel the warmth from outside her cell filtering in, fueling the enduring coals of her blue flames.

Keep him talking, Ozai urged.

Imbecile 3 snorted, his warm breath billowing in the icy room. "Better than you, Princess."

"Does he ask about me?"

She forced the shiver out her voice. She purposefully softened her sharp eyes when he looked at her, turning her shoulders in and gripping her robes tightly, making herself as small as possible. This was the first time she'd had a conversation with someone other than herself or Ozai in over a month. She craved the socialization more than she'd cared to admit. She was desperate for any sort of response.

"You're fooling no one, Princess. Happy anniversary. I'm sure this is just one of many years you'll celebrate the ascension of Fire Lord Zuko—though I'm sure he's already forgotten about you," he jeered before stepping out the door and slamming it shut.

Azula couldn't stop the rage that bubbled in her chest. Rage from the loss of warmth, rage from the lack of conversation, rage from Ozai laughing in her head, and worst of all—rage from knowing Zuko was celebrating his first year as Fire Lord while she sat alone in her icy prison with her bowl of rapidly freezing soup.

Congratulations, daughter. One year down, a hundred more to go.

A week passed in similar fashion, the days melting into nights, the same bland meals consumed with little thought, and Ozai to further torment her festering soul. The trio of Imbeciles continued to make their rounds as usual, only stopping to drop off her meals. They never lingered longer than necessary, and never responded to her attempts at conversation.

Her talks with Ozai, on the other hand, were becoming more frequent. He had somehow found a strange balance between berating her whilst urging her to hatch an escape plan. She concluded it was her psyche clinging to the hope of seeing the sun again, yet knowing the odds were close to none. She wondered when she would stop being able to rationalize these conversations and succumb to her insanity—succumb to the belief that Ozai's consciousness actually lived within her.

"Do you really think I haven't thought of every possible way to escape, father?" she replied with venom one evening right after Imbecile 1 had dropped off her dinner. She sipped quietly on the soup and picked at the bland bread as Ozai ranted on.

Useless girl, Agni could grant you all the lightning in the world and you would still miss your mark. I bet the water tribe wench is with the Avatar now, soaking up all the glory that should have been yours—and mine.

Azula's eye twitched at that, her heart twisting with hatred at the thought of the water bending girl with the kind eyes and pretty face. Those same eyes had looked down upon Azula with pity whilst forcing her into submission and pushed her deeper into insanity.

Was she living her perfect little life with the Avatar? Was she happy, knowing Azula was put away for life? She wished for nothing more than another attempt at destroying the dark-skinned witch, another chance to right her mistake.

You can't even find the will to incapacitate the guard, and you think you could take on the water wench? Ozai thundered on in her head. Azula rubbed her temples, flicking her too-long hair out of her eyes. Ozai, once again, wasn't wrong. In her first months in the prison she'd tried every trick up her sleeve to manipulate her way out, but to no avail. Zuko had warned the guards about her lies and ruses.

She hadn't ever attempted to blast her way out because she couldn't, not with the subzero temperatures putting a stopper on her bending. What little power she could muster from daybreak or the open cell door was used up to keep herself warm enough to move around—that was the purpose of this hellhole. She could only bend enough to stay alive, no more, no less.

She settled into her cot, pulling the thin sheet up to her chin and curling up into a ball to reserve what little heat she had left until dawn. Sleep had progressively become harder to maintain this week. The culmination of Zuko's first year celebration as Fire Lord, Ozai's toxic rants, and the slow recognition that she would never escape this prison left her little room for rest. She blinked away the burning tears welling in her eyes. She was thankful that at least tonight, Ozai seemed to be quieter than usual.

The next morning brought something out-of-routine. She'd scratched a new line into the wall and soaked up as much power as dawn would allow before the vents turned on, as usual. What struck her as strange was that Imbecile 3's clunky footsteps had changed. The thudding was lighter and faster, as though he'd lost a lot of weight.

That's not Imbecile 3, she realized. The opportunity of this being a new guard was one she couldn't afford to dismiss. She quickly pulled her robes tighter around her body to fit against her frame and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. A quick pinch on the cheeks brought color to them and she softened her eyes right as the cell door swung open. She bit back the smirk threatening to form on her lips at the sight of a brand-new guard, a young man who looked about her age.

Just like the other Imbeciles, his features weren't note-worthy. He was tall and lankier than the other guards and notably younger. She briefly wondered if Imbecile 3 had finally keeled over and died, the overweight oaf clearly partook in more food than needed for survival.

The sloshing of bland soup brought her thoughts back to the forefront. He carried in her tray with his head high, but she could see the quiver in his knees. He was nervous. That made her happier than she'd like to admit.

"Good morning," she greeted in the softest, warmest tone she could muster. His eyes met hers only briefly, but that was all she needed. She offered a smile, not moving from her seat on her cot as he leaned down to slide the tray into the gap of her cell. He said nothing, only the faintest blush on his cheeks giving him away. He turned away quickly, striding to leave the cell.

The other guards had obviously warned him not to linger or speak to her. She'd need him to warm up to her faster than they could poison him against her. "Thank you," she called softly, slowly standing to pick up her breakfast. He paused at her thanks, as if wanting to turn around to give her a reply, but changed his mind and slammed the door shut.

You know what to do, Ozai whispered.

"Yes, father. I know what to do," she repeated, the cogs of her sharp mind devising her escape. For the first time in a year, she looked forward to tomorrow.

The remainder of the week passed in the same way. Azula made sure to greet and thank the new guard each morning. Their eyes would meet for fleeting moments and he would rush out the door, cheeks beet red. She made it a point to keep her smile warm and her expression docile. Imbeciles 1 and 2 continued to make their rounds as usual but for them, she had no smiles.

Ozai continued urge her to make more pointed moves, but she knew better. The boy was young, but he wasn't stupid enough to get close, at least not yet. She'd need more time. The following morning, she greeted the boy and their eyes met again. She took the opportunity to pose him an innocent question.

"What's your name?"

She pulled the tray of soup and bread closer, taking a sip and waiting for his response.

She watched his jaw flex as he bit back a reply. He turned to leave the room, but this time she was pleased when he turned back around to face her. The extra few seconds of warmth from the outside brought her more energy then she'd had in months. She watched him war with himself, knowing he shouldn't speak to her but choose to do so anyway. He shifted uncomfortably at the door, his hands clenched at his sides.

"Zhang," he relented, before promptly exiting and shutting out the warmth with him.

Azula lifted her hand and nearly fell into a fit of laughter when a tiny blue flame burst to life, dancing in her palm. She extinguished it quickly, reserving the little bit of energy she had left to keep herself warm.

You grow stronger the longer he lingers.

"You don't say," Azula spat irritably, quickly draining her now cold soup and lazily picking at her bread. The rest of the day brought her no more joy.

Several days later, they had another exchange. Zhang carried in her tray as usual and slid it under the gap in her cell, but his expression wasn't one of fear. He'd learned that she didn't move from her seat on the cot until he stepped away from the cell. He was visibly more relaxed each time they interacted, and his eyes lingered on her longer each day. Azula knew she wasn't hard on the eyes and used it to her advantage.

"Thank you, Zhang."

The corner of her mouth twitched up into a small smile when he flushed red upon hearing his name. He watched her pick up her tray this time, sipping on the bowl of bland soup. She could tell he wanted to say something. She watched him from under dark eyelashes with a purposefully unassuming expression. Every second he left that door open was crucial for her bending. She could feel the smoldering coals of her fire burning brighter with the prison door ajar. Light filtered in and she cast a brief glance out the door, wondering what lay outside.

Freedom, Ozai's slithery taunt answered.

Shut up.

"Y-you aren't as mean as they say," Zhang blurted, his face somehow becoming impossibly more scarlet.

Ozai's laughter in her head was jarring. She ignored it, her expression twisting into one of amusement at Zhang's statement. "Who says I'm mean?" she asked, needing him to continue talking. This was the strongest she'd felt since arriving in the icebox. Her frayed nerves were surging with power, warmth stretching from her head to her fingertips, all the down to her toes.

"The guards," he replied, pausing briefly and stepping closer to the bars of her icy cell, "… the entire palace, really."

For a fleeting moment, Azula's sharp eyes flashed angrily. She'd always known that the Fire Nation's palace staff were afraid of her, but it seemed that in the last year they'd become bolder, less afraid of the princess locked away in the ice dungeon. She'd make them pay for slandering her name.

"Princess Azula?" Zhang's voice broke through the tirade in her head and she schooled her facial expression to show remorse and sadness. She needed to keep him talking. She was so close to having enough power to melt the lock on her cell door.

"I'm not what they say I am, Zhang," she lied, moving slowly to stand. He visibly tensed but didn't move from his spot. He stood right outside her cell, close enough to grab through the steel. She moved very slowly, taking short steps closer to him. Moments later, they stood in front of each other.

She worked his height to her advantage, looking up at him through her lashes and reaching out to grip the icy bars separating them. She could feel the heat radiating off his body through his armor, a sign that he was at full power in terms of bending. Azula had never doubted her own abilities before, but she hesitated now, wondering if the small percentage of power she'd saved up would be enough.

You of all people should know that bending is not the only way to attack, Ozai hissed.

Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest upon realization of how close she was to freedom. Zhang looked down at her with inexperienced eyes, completely unaware of how close he was to an untimely demise. She'd seen this look before, just once, at Ember Island. It was the look of infatuation, curiosity, and intrigue. She remembered her kiss with Chan, the idiotic whelp who had feared her desire for more power. On cue, she tilted her head up and pushed closer to the bars, giving Zhang his opportunity and also ensuring her own.

Kill him.

Ozai's order made her stomach churn and she didn't know why. She closed her eyes when Zhang's lips descended on hers and for the briefest moment, she enjoyed his timid kiss and the warmth of his skin.

Disgusting, Ozai retched. Kill him now, Azula.

Pushing through Ozai's insistent pressure on her mind, she made her choice. She was quick, her hand reaching up to curl into Zhang's hair and grip it firmly whilst pulling away from his mouth and slamming his head into the bars of her cell. It was an instant knockout, and she almost felt bad about the lump already forming on his head.

If you'd killed him quietly, you wouldn't have had to deal with the guards coming down the hallway now.

"Shut up," Azula cursed, a bright blue flame bursting from her index finger. She pointed it at the door of her cell, the metal melting under the intense heat in seconds. She could hear thunderous footsteps approaching her cell. She waited for her moment, standing right in front of the unopened cell door.

Imbeciles 1 and 2 rushed into the door together and she grinned at their stupidity. With all her might, she released a fiery kick on the cell door and ripped it off its hinges straight into the fools standing at the door. The steel clanged heavily against them, sending them flying back out into the hallway and slammed them against the opposite wall. They both grunted in pain, sinking under the weight of the heavy metal.

On cue, alarms blared loudly and Azula cursed under her breath, ducking out of the door and darting left, where the Imbeciles' footsteps always came from. Down the long corridor she could hear more voices, loud and shrill, desperate to re-capture her. The air outside her icebox was notably warmer and she almost laughed at how easily her bending had returned. She could feel the power surging in her, blitzing under her skin, voltage in her veins.

"She must not escape! Capture her!" An unknown guard spotted her, followed by several more armed firebenders. Her smile turned into an all-out grin when she felt the spark of electricity flare in her chest. This was going to be easier than she thought. She could hear Ozai's dark laughter echoing her own.

That's my girl.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review if you have time.