A/N So, guess who doesn't want to write all of the song lyrics down? That's right, Isabel! –cough- I mean… xwlic doesn't… -cough-

Anyway, I'm gonna write the chorus as that's the only part I need anyway.

I wish that I was as invisible as you make me feel.

I wish that I was as invisible as you make me feel.

Whoa

I want to hate you half as much and as I hate myself

The Pros and Cons of Breathing, Fall Out Boy

He had been alone when he joined them. I had watched, knowing that he, like all humans, could not feel my breath as I looked down their necks. In the day, they couldn't see me at all. But I watched them.

He had been alone. The old, wrinkled man he had traveled with had passed on to become something else. I do not see why humans are so sad when another leaves. It will come back as something else. Do they not understand? The leaving ones are finally being relieved of the burden of living, of surviving.

Secretly I believe that the one I watched so closely will never die. His will to live is too strong; his inner flame too bright. I developed a sort of affection for him, the way a queen develops an affection for a particularly independent child-servant.

At night, when I was the most alive, when the humans even could see me, he watched her. The girl. The girl who always smiled and stared at the Avatar, the one who would do anything to protect him. He wished that he was the Avatar at times like those, secretly, inside himself. She made him feel so… imperceptible. Like he wasn't there. He wanted to hat her for that. He wanted to hate her so badly, hate her for being calm and together always, hate her for being strong, hate her for not caring that his uncle—the one person who had always cared—was gone. But somehow, he couldn't. He wanted to want her to die, to be his enemy, but he couldn't. It was his fate to do that, to fight it. It was his fate to hate her.

Sometimes, there are those strong-willed humans that fight fate. And win. He fought fate without even trying. And he hated himself. Slowly a fire at away his soul. The girl slowly began to see him for who he was. And then, when he finally trusted her, when the wanting to hate her only came at times, he asked her the question I had been dreading him to ask. I did not want to put my child in the position of answering, but she, too, was strong. She had fought fate. She would fight. She would win. After all, she was my daughter. Anyhow.

"Would… would you… heal it?" he asked my daughter, my beautiful fighter. She had simply looked at him—she did things simply, to the point. I admired my daughter for this.

"Zuko… I can't. Sure, it would go away. But it is not on your face that that scar lives, Zuko. It ahs scarred your heart. If I healed that scar, it would be like putting your past to a flame and letting it disappear."

"I do not want my past! I don't want it!" My daughter had slapped him, glowing with rage and pity under my silver light.

"Do not deny your past. Your past makes you who you are. You continue to fight it, to hate yourself for it. You must let it go, Zuko. But you must hold it close as well. Your past… it is you. Without that past, you wouldn't be sitting here today, learning to hate yourself a little bit less. Learning to trust yourself."

"But…" The boy had begun to argue, but had stopped, stunned. He had always thought that she protected him because he was teaching the Avatar.

Her lips sung his own lips.

"It will be all right," my daughter whispered.

I smiled and looked away. The children of the sun are too cocky and stubborn. My children were always best—beautiful, bright, strong, but accepting, for I had melted with water. The children of the moon are always best. I am, after all, a forgiving mother.