Disclaimer: Sadly, none of these characters are mine, not matter how many times I wish upon a star they were.
Tattered
The aged master waterbender looked out from her home in the Southern Water Tribe. Her husband was dead, her children grown up and with their own kids to raise. Sokka was living happily with Suki on Kyoshi Island, with a darling little granddaughter on the way.
The wind blew harsher, sweeping over a snow drift and dropping snowflakes into her hair, speckling the already graying chocolate. She dug glove laden hands into the thick fur-lined pockets of her coat. They touched upon a ribbon, silky despite all the wear and tear. She knew without looking that as her fingers traversed its length they would meet the ice cold pendant attached to it. She didn't want to see it again, not after yesterday. But her hand seemed to have a will of its own. The bright azure ribbon was scorched with burn marks, the acrid smell lingering in the air. Yet despite the horrible cloying scent, she brought it up to her face, inhaling long ago scents. His scent was still there.
Husky. Masculine. Like crushed tea leaves and smoke.
How she missed him. They knew they could never be together. A Prince and a Pauper. No matter how much they wanted to, protocol rebuked them. So they parted with one lasting kiss, a whispered promise, and a gift. She gave her mother's necklace, and he the blue mask.
They married other people. Had their own children. Oh she still saw him whenever she was allowed to travel to the Fire Nation with her husband when negotiations were taking place. But it was always from a distance. They shared brief, heart-wrenching smiles as their promise replayed in their heads.
Remember me. Forever and ever. Don't stop loving me. For all of eternity.
And now he too was dead. Even after years of peace, the previous Fire Lord was never safe. There was an assignation late one night, no one was prepared. His beautiful life was taken, snatched away forever.
She loathed to revenge him. The ache penetrated her, a cruel serrated blade thrust through her heart, lodging deep. But she was too weak, her strength had failed her years ago. So here she stood, alone except for the swirling, drifting, flying alabaster flakes.
The messenger came in the purpling twilight yester eve. Clad in iridescent red and orange flames he sought her out, handing over the letter and gift with few words.
"I was told to find you. The Late Fire Lord left these for you."
She pulled the gloves off her mocha colored hands, not caring if she got frostbite. The satiny ocean blue necklace cradled in her hands, she rubbed her thumb over the pendant, feeling the scratches etched into its cool façade.
Tears sprung to her eyes and she fell to her knees, snow puffing up around her. They flowed freely down her cheeks, glacier cold with the salty tang of the frozen oceans a hundred feet away. How could she go on like this? He was dead. Dead. She forced herself to think it, to accept the harsh, unforgiving reality of the words.
A phrase popped into her head, the last line of his last letter to her.
Our lives are intertwined, but never touching.
You know the drill guys. Review. Please. Make me happy. I shall record me jumping up and down, making a fool of myslef and send it to you if you do. Or you might get a treat. Cookies or cake this time?