Zuko could never tell when he was dreaming. That is, if he even remembered his dreams at all. A few claimed to be able to do it with ease 'Why, it's merely a matter of detail, Prince Zuko'. Some people said they could just tell that things were off. Zuko had always thought they were liars, though he had to admit it made a certain amount of sense, in hindsight. After all, none of his dreams ever actually made sense. When he woke up, they looked to be a jumbled mess of seemingly impossible things. They couldn't possibly be real upon close inspection, yet at the time they always seemed so completely real. Many times had Zuko woken to thinking he had forgotten an assignment due the next day at the Royal Fire Academy, only to realize that it was summer and there wouldn't be assignments for many weeks.

But now? Now Zuko believed them. Staring at himself in the mirror, wearing a hazel ball-gown and his face made up like a geisha, his chest no longer flat like a man's - Zuko knew what he was seeing couldn't be real. And from that moment on, his mind was alive, cognizant of the world around it. He was in control. Or, mostly. His movements felt stiff, as if he were steering a ship at the mercy of the currents rather than moving his limbs by his own volition. He was himself through his own eyes... but he could see himself, too. It was confusing, to say the least.

He liked what he saw. Zuko looked pretty, or at least his reflection did. If it weren't for his face, his eyes, he'd scarcely recognize it as himself. Not only was his attire and form that of a woman, he looked older too. More like a Prince of the Fire Nation and less like a little boy with a crown.

Indeed, everything was different, not just his own appearance, but his surroundings, too. The rich, civilian decor had been replaced by spartan furnishings - the walls metal, the bed simple (if well furnished with silks), the only things on the walls being a pair of swords and a tapestry with the teardrop flame of his nation. The one thing standing out being the vanity he found himself staring into.

However his focus was stolen and the Prince's instinct to explore took over. A noise, it sounded like a scream, or maybe a whistle. Through the sealed door, out into the labyrinth of corridors and chambers. Zuko had never seen such a place before. Was he underground, was that why he could not fly as he had always wanted to in his dreams? It certainly had the chill of the underground. His senses were muted - but nevertheless the boy recognized the chill. His body shivered and he reflexively wrapped his arms around himself (though it was kind of silly, Zuko admitted. You can't catch a cold in your own dream after all).

Zuko opened the last door and finally discovered the source of his shivers. The sun was gone, obscured by black clouds. Even outside in the day it was still dark, the sea churned about as if the spirits of ocean and moon were angry. He was on a warship, sailing at sea. Looking around at the horizon, all he could see was grey clouds and dark ocean in every direction. However he couldn't hear the accompanying sounds of crashing waves and warping metal. The ship's central spire had no lookout and no light - come to think of it, he hadn't seen anyone right up until now.

Zuko wondered why he was even here, dreaming up such a dreary and boring place. He wanted to be somewhere else. Home, that would be a good start. Aren't you supposed to be able to control these kinds of dreams? He tried to fly again, but he couldn't. He was stuck, as if his shoes had been welded to the deck plates, unwilling to do anything but move forward towards the girl standing at the prow.

His sister.

He stopped, his body stiff. Would this be yet another nightmare where she turned only to burn all that he cared for? It had happened so many times. Even as a small child he had dreamed of Azula burning everything with her touch of flame. No, it wouldn't, Zuko concluded. He was in control this time, he knew it was not real. Zuko had nothing to fear.

He got closer and closer until finally he was only steps behind her. Zuko noticed that she looked different too. Off. If there was one way you could normally describe Azula, it would be collected. In control. Prepared, perfect. And yet even though she stood deathly still at the prow of a warship, she seemed anything but. The closer he got, the more battered and broken she seemed. Her hair and clothing, they were torn and ragged. Her head lacked its crown, black locks of hair blowing freely in the wind.

Azula? he tried to speak out loud, failing to utter a word. It was becoming harder to move, he could already feel wakefulness pulling away at him. A faint buzzing growing louder.

Zuko felt uneasy, this dream wasn't like anything he had experienced before (or, not that he could remember). It felt less like he was caught up in some imaginary game, the world around him changing at the whims of his subconscious, and more like he was trapped in a storybook. The world around was static, unchanging. Zuko knew that the only thing to do was to place a hand on her shoulder, to turn the page. Another part of him wanted to wake up. He could at least do that, right? All he'd have to do was relax and let his conscious mind take over, pulling him into the real world.

And yet, he didn't want to. Something was keeping him here.

The dream-currents didn't fight him as he raised his hand and placed it there on his sister's mantle. It felt warm, hot, his instinct was to pull away. Though Zuko didn't get the chance.

The Prince let out a silent gasp as his sister turned, stepping back as she revealed herself to him. She looked as if she had fought a war, or perhaps more accurately, been mauled by an animal. Her clothes were blackened and burned in some places, revealing the raw and reddened skin underneath. The marks were everywhere, her chest, arms, legs and... Zuko's eyes were drawn to a bleeding gash on her abdomen, clutched tightly by her right arm. The girl who at a distance looked to be standing straight was in fact hunched over, as if she were having difficulty supporting her own weight. Her face, her eyes (though unharmed for the most part) bore a morose expression. The fire that everyone always saw in them absent.

"Zuko"

He vaguely felt Azula's left hand grasp his arm, surprised by the injured girl's speed. Zuko looked down with shock - he had never seen or heard of such a mark before. The skin was totally black in places, as if molten obsidian had been fused to the skin within the depths of a volcanic forge. Sprawling out from each raven-colored mark were crimson hills and valleys, spread out as if her arm had been wrapped in a spider's web, forming an intricate pattern that went all the way up her shoulder and down to her fingers like that of a snowflake.

"Run"

Zuko was scared now, the touch of her scarred hand felt real. The buzzing permeated his ears and he could begin to feel each of his limbs. He wanted to do as she asked, he wanted to run - whatever the danger it felt real.. This wasn't how waking dreams were supposed to be, not at all.

There was confusion for a moment. Where was he? What was he doing? Why was he so warm? Then Zuko remembered where he was, tightly tucked in bed exactly where his mother had left him the night previous.

Zuko scolded himself. Maybe it was obvious, finding yourself exactly where you went to sleep after waking from a dream, but for a fleeting moment he hadn't expected it. As if the dream had been... interrupted? As if there was more somehow, as if he had only read the first chapter of a book. Not that Zuko wanted any more. If he had known that was what waking dreams were like, he wouldn't have gone to sleep. Not fun at all, not even close to the freedom and escape daydreams brought.

They're all liars, he thought to himself, thinking back to all the times he had heard boys at the Royal Fire Academy claiming they were able to control their dreams. Zuko couldn't imagine anyone who would induce such a thing willingly. Agni. He had never seen such a wound before. Zuko had seen people come back from the front, bearing scars of their battles. A few of his friends had the occasional minor burn mark from sparring. Those were cool. But what he had seen? He wanted to forget.

The memory was cemented in his mind as any waking one. Zuko could remember it as clearly as he could remember Azula coming to see him in the night. Was she the cause of all this? Had fear of her somehow been the catalyst, imbued the necessary thoughts and feelings to cause such a thing? He had had nightmares of her before - his younger sister, firebending prodigy, standing laughing as his home burned to ashes.

It was a convenient explanation, one Zuko was going to stick with.

For next few hours Zuko drifted in and out of sleep, not wanting to leave the safety of the covers but also being unable to drift off for more than a few minutes at a time. By then of course, the sun had already fully risen and Agni's rays were filtering into his bedroom, diffused by the curtains of his canopy-bed but nevertheless distracting enough to prevent the boy from attempting sleep once more. Even so, Zuko didn't really want to leave. The outside world brought many dangers. He couldn't even speak to mother, for he could unintentionally reveal his secret just as Azula had said. Uncle was away, and Mai wouldn't be visiting until next week. There was nothing to do but eat, practice kata, read... and Zuko didn't feel like doing much of anything right now. He was safest right here, in his room.

Problem: There was no food in his room. And, as a growing boy who hadn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast, Zuko was very hungry.

He wished he had one of those strings he could pull to ring a bell in the servant's quarters. Azula had gotten hers put in last year, but Zuko had resisted thus far - it was just so...? Not right? Impersonal? Degrading? To have someone at your beck and call via such a device. It was the duty of those below him to serve him, and if Zuko wanted something, he'd go and ask for it - it was only decent. He couldn't really explain why - Azula certainly thought he was crazy for not taking advantage of it. And (especially now), he could definitely see her point of view. Yet, whenever he mustered the courage to bring it up with father, he stopped short at the last second. Zuko thought about what the servants would think of him if he did so. Would they think he were like father, or Azula? Who seemed to treat their lowborn servants as if they were machines rather than people with dreams and desires of their own.

All that aside - he would at least have to make it beyond his bedroom door to call for a meal. And that would require actually getting out of bed.

Zuko didn't quite remember why he expected it to be cold, but the floor was comfortably warm under his bare feet. The morning sun seeping through the windows had done its job, radiating a small portion of its great heat on the carpet, which he was quite thankful for. Even so, Zuko dressed well, layering as if it were winter and choosing the same dull red he always did. Long sleeves, trousers - head to toe in very nice fabric. People often asked "Aren't you boiling?" to which he responded "No."

The truth was, of course, that he usually was (given the climate in the Fire Nation). But it just didn't really matter, not really. That was just the way Zuko dressed. Or, when he had any choice in the matter. All the clothes that he got to choose from looked the same anyway, he mainly wore whatever made Mother happy.

And yet, looking in the mirror and doing a final check for any imperfections that could be used against him, Zuko wondered if it had to be that way. It was wrong to have judged his dream based on its ending - in the beginning, Zuko remembered being content. He remembered looking into the much bigger vanity in the iron room, seeing something far more pleasant staring back at him. Even though his embarrassment from yesterday was still raw, Zuko was reinvigorated. He had felt stupid standing there in his sister's room, his appearance chaotic and lacking order. And yet... was looking as he did in his dreamscape at all possible for him? Or just lies of his imagination? It had all seemed so real...

He wondered, what would people think if he looked the way as he had imagined? If with each footfall the fabric of his gown fluttered and followed him. If with each touch of the wind locks of long dark hair frayed and reunited at his back. If every imperfection on his face had been painted over making him radiate in the rays of the sun. How would they look upon their prince then? Would they look at him with the same respect they afforded his sister? Or would they ignore him as they did now?

Neither, was the obvious answer. He'd be a fake, an impostor. They wouldn't be looking, they'd be laughing. Just as Azula had done.

Perhaps Zuko really was wrong?. His dreams, imagining himself as something he wasn't, as a girl. As something cute and desirable. Imagining his sister in a sorry state, as if he had sucked the life out of her to enrich himself. He began to doubt himself once more. It had no meaning, it couldn't have. Just the latest in a series of nonsensical nightmares.

Perhaps the clothes Mother had picked for him would do after all.

He squinted as he made it outside into the full light of the sun. It was higher than he had previously thought, not far from noon already. The light on his face did serve to revitalize him however, as did the walk in the fresh (albeit, no longer morning) air. He could feel it in his chi, the contact with his mother sun empowering his inner fire. Lethargy bled into alertness as he walked down each corridor, passing guards and servants alike on the way.

And it was all going so well until...

"Zu-zu!" His sister had been leaning against a wall in the shade, wearing her battle-dress and mantlet as was her wont increasingly, ever since she had been afforded them. No burns or charred marks. The same girl from the previous day (though perhaps more upbeat). "Sleep well?"

Zuko frowned, even though his sister's question seemed genuine. He looked the other way. "No" he answered honestly. The dark circles under his eyes would betray him anyway as soon as she examined them more closely. Though if Zuko was being honest with himself, his desire to be truthful had more to do with questioning his sister regarding her fate in his dream, and less so her deductive capabilities. It felt silly to ask of such things, he thought: whatever he imagined was simply a creation of his mind. It didn't have to make sense or mean anything. It was far more likely his subconscious conjured the image up to scare him than it was something real that he had seen somewhere, only to forget later.

Regardless of his trepidation, his sister continued without missing a beat. "That's unfortunate" she said, standing up straight and approaching him. "I know my-"

And if it was something he had heard described, perhaps one of Uncle's many tales? Curiosity consumed him. The image was simply burned into his mind. He had to ask.

"Azula?" he interrupted, his voice quick and hurried, sounding more desperate than was probably healthy around Azula. He didn't even bother to look at his sister's face for her contempt at being cut off. "Have you ever seen a.. um.." he trailed off.

"A, um...?" she prompted, looking at him expectantly.

"A scar. Or... a wound! With black spots, and these sort of creepy long red marks" he blurted out, feeling really stupid for bringing up his dream randomly as he did. Even more stupid for not having the words to describe what he had seen. What was he expecting anyway? Some things are best left unknown, especially whatever wound the dark recesses of his mind had thought up when rendering the image of his sister.

Despite Zuko's reddened face, Azula seemed rather un-fazed by the question. "...creepy long red marks..." she repeated, sounding both skeptical and interested (but thankfully not frustrated). "And where did you see this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zuko took a long pause. "Well... I didn't." Another pause. "I read it somewhere." he finally answered. It was best not to give his sister more ammunition by telling her about the sorry state he found her in his dream. And, at the very least, it was probably at least technically true that he had seen it described or depicted in some book he wasn't supposed to be reading.

"Of course" she nodded, not even slightly convinced. "Well I haven't seen any such thing." she answered truthfully, honestly not really paying it much mind. "Though, as strange as it may seem, I didn't come to talk about scars. Ty Lee is waiting" she said, crossing her arms.

The Fire Prince's brow furrowed. What? "What do you mean?" he asked, knowing that the two girls were usually attached by the hip when they were in proximity of eachother, much to the chagrin of him and Mai, who often fell victim to their practical 'jokes'.

Azula returned what looked like a mix between a smile and a smirk. "Why, I told her you were really interested in playing a game of dress-up. She's waiting in the dining hall, I thought you'd want something to eat." she said nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather or what she ate for lunch. Not at all like she was just discussing Zuko's biggest secret out in the open, in some palace courtyard where anyone could hear them.

Even though he knew what his sister was doing he couldn't help but blush. Playing a game of dress up. It sounded so juvenile, something he definitely wasn't supposed to be doing. It had a certain allure to it nonetheless, the chance at recapturing what was for the moment just a figment of his imagination. Another part of him, the part that released butterflies into his stomach on the day previous was fearful. And another part of him still, wondered if it was a good idea at all to pursue these... fantasies.

His voice lowered into a whisper. "You... told Ty Lee?" he stammered, his mind in flux from being put on the spot.

"I just told her you'd be interested." she replied. "How far you take it is up to you."