Travels through the Alphabet with Mai
Part 13, Morning
The first light of morning filtered through the shutters, soft and dewy. Mai screwed her eyes shut tight and rolled over, pressing her face deep into her pillow. She didn't want to get up and deal with the day, whatever it might bring. Bed and shuttered darkness was so much more appealing.
She had to get her mask ready, put it on before anyone might see what lay beneath. Covering up all the anger and pain and disdain and disgust was routine now. It was as though she was halved, had two lives, external and internal, one so very different from the other. But still, it took energy to appear that bored and still observe everything keenly.
She rested awhile longer but knew that her mother expected her for breakfast, clean and dressed and proper, no hint of anything turbulent. So with a frustrated sigh, Mai rolled back over and faced the day, literally. She squinted. The sun was already much brighter.
Stepping out of bed, she yawned and stretched and left all her vulnerabilities behind in the sheets. There, draped in dark, alone and asleep, she did not know for certain what showed on her face. Mai imagined that her dreams and nightmares all stamped themselves on her features and should anyone ever enter the room while she was sleeping, her secrets would be secret no longer. But no one ever entered. Her room was her respite, her sanctuary from a life of torpor.
"Ugh," Mai grumbled as she opened the shutters and headed into her private bath.
She got ready with almost alarming alacrity; hair, clothing, a few blades hidden under voluminous sleeves. And just as Mai opened the door her mother called from the bottom of the steps.
Making her entrance like an actor, Mai glided down the stairs, all long-legged grace, and greeted her mother with an eye roll.
"I'm bored already."
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Zuko tickled her side before placing a kiss on her bare shoulder. Mai raised her head and gave him a smile. She knew he'd been awake for awhile. He looked alert and bright. Waking up was a lot harder for Mai than for Zuko; so he always let her sleep, thinking quietly in bed, touching her with feather light fingers.
"Hey," he said with a grin.
He always beamed when she first awakened, like she was giving him a gift each morning. The raven haired woman imagined that she must look a mess, rumpled, with sleep in the corners of her eyes and drool in the corners of her mouth. But Zuko didn't care; he never had.
"Hey," she said back before covering a yawn.
"Hungry?"
Mai nodded and gazed about the room. The sunlight, warm and yellow bathed their bedchamber. Another day had begun. Nighttime was wonderful, but now Mai loved morning too.