Chapter 14

Warning: This chapter is pretty dark. It contains more or less explicit descriptions of physical, moral and sexual abuse and violence. Indeed, it is here that I tell the memory of Azula's assault by her father and its consequences on her psyche.

This chapter had been the hardest to write so far because of its content. There is nothing causeless about the recounting of this event, and it plays a part in the plot, while also helping to delve deeper into Azula's tortured psychology.

However, it's still the rape of a young girl by her father and it is really difficult to tell without sinking into sordid or voyeurism, two pitfalls that I wanted to avoid. So I tried to soften the tale by using an almost fantastic tone and symbols. I hope this will not interfere with the intelligibility of the text.

I have to admit that I'm a little nervous about your reactions although I'm curious to know them.

Important precision:

All the passages in italics in this chapter correspond to real or hallucinatory memories. As I navigate a lot from past to present, I found it best to explicitly point out the start and end of flashbacks. It is not very elegant, but undoubtedly necessary for the understanding of all readers.

Chapter 14 - The Day of the Black Sun

Previously: Azula has started to relapse: her hallucinations returned. Called by her father's voice, one night, she leaves her room and decides to go to Ozai's old apartments to confront her memories.

First, Azula saw nothing.

Nothing but cold darkness surrounded her from all sides. She thought that this room must be colder than any other part of the palace, including the dungeons.

She could have used her bending to ignite the torches on the wall. But an instinct deterred her. Groping, Azula looked for her mother's hand beside her. She so desperately wanted to grasp it. But Ursa was gone, once again. Gone, vanished.

There was only the bedroom. And somewhere in front of her, the huge four-poster bed.

Little by little her eyes got used to the darkness and she glimpsed the shape of a sumptuous bed, a wardrobe and a gigantic ornate marble fireplace in front of her. And a trunk. Very large. Large enough to hold the body of a short adult, or that of a teenage girl who dared to lie to her father.

It's okay. It's just furniture. It's just a room. Everything is over. Father is in prison; he can no longer hurt you. Look!

Gathering all her courage, she waved her hand graciously and all the torches in the room ignited, bathing it in a blue sepulchral atmosphere.

Father's room was identical to what she remembered. Huge, richly furnished and decorated with sumptuous tapestries and rare and precious trinkets amassed by several generations of Fire Lords during the conquests of the nations. Above the headboard, a colossal portrait represented her father, majestic, his silhouette occupying the entire space of the frame, his stern gaze fixed on Azula.

She felt herself flinch and took a step back.

Look. Do it for Zuko. Remember!

Then, with clenched fists, she closed her eyes and, letting collapse brick after brick of the wall she had so conscientiously built to protect herself from the memory, greeted it.

[Remembrance - Day of the Black Sun, 5 years earlier.]

What a grueling day! She couldn't remember ever having experimented such tension. So many responsibilities had weighed on her shoulders. How scared she had been when the bald-headed kid walked in, with his escort, to confront her when, for the first time in her life, she had found herself helpless, unable to generate even the smallest spark! The Dai Li agents were there, behind her, ready to sacrifice themselves for her. But how could she trust them? Weren't they the ones who had so easily betrayed their former master?

No time for doubt and for fear! She rebuked herself.

"Your enemy should never feel your fear. You must tame it, in all circumstances." Her father always told her.

And she had. Perfectly, as always. For a moment she had feared that the little blind girl with bare feet who prided herself on reading people's thoughts, would detect her anguish.

What if she failed and the Avatar found father?

But her training had been rewarded. Her father had taught her absolute control over her emotions. Even the blind girl hadn't been able to sense the shameful feelings against which Azula was fiercely struggling for years.

Don't show Father that you fear him. Don't let him know what you think.

Don't show how you feel when you watch Zuko kissing Mai. Don't think about Mom.

She had used what he had taught her to protect herself from him, to protect herself from everyone. She wore lies like one would wear armor. And no one knew who she really was or what she was thinking. Not even father.

She had succeeded! She had held back the Avatar and the other peasants long enough. The eclipse was over. When she felt her strength returning, the fire creeping through her veins again, a feeling of incredible power washed over her. She had left her furious enemies behind and joined in exhilaration with her men who were waiting to escort her to the Caldera in an airship.

"Shall we follow them, Princess?" the Admiral asked, seeing the Avatar and his gang disappear over the horizon on the back of this monstrous animal.

"No, they are too fast. It doesn't matter. They will be back," she replied with a sly smile.

The Avatar would return. She didn't doubt it for a second.

Now that she was certain that her foolish brother had lied to her, she had to return to the palace to warn him. Together they would find a new plan. She would be able to silence the Admiral and all those who were with them in the airship. They feared her almost as much as they feared Ozai.

The only witnesses of what had happened in the underground were the Avatar's friends and the agents of the Dai Li, who were completely loyal to her cause. She had nothing to fear from them.

Yes. No time to pursue them. She had to find Zuko.

When she returned to the palace, she rushed to her brother's apartments. But they were empty. All of Zuko's belongings were gone except for a roll wrapped in a ribbon which sat enthroned on the large bed.

Azula's heart bounced violently in her chest. Cold hands, trembling lips, ears ringing furiously, she slowly walked over to the bed and grabbed the message. Her increasingly shaking fingers struggled to extract the parchment from the ribbon. When she finally did, she unrolled it and scanned the words written by her brother's hand. The letter slipped out of her hands.

It wasn't even addressed to her.

She never remembered how she got back to her room. She must have taken the secret passage she sometimes took to slip into Zuko's sheets on the nights he slept at Mai's, because she didn't meet anyone along the way.

Head completely empty, throat dry, she felt nothing. Except for a yawning chasm that was growing in her chest, taking up all the space, preventing her from breathing.

"He's abandoned me… he left," she muttered, stumbling with every step.

It was not a complaint, nor a lament. It was a fact.

You should have known this would happen.

When she got to her room, she rushed over to the bed to pick up the letter he must have addressed to her. But there was nothing. Incredulous, she looked around the room.

Nothing on the desk, nor on her dressing table.

Returning to the bed, she tore off the silk blankets and threw the pillows away. She didn't even realize she was screaming and sobbing. Burning tears were already leaving black streaks on her cheeks, where the makeup had dripped.

Her impeccably tied hair was slipping out of the bun that held it in place and loose strands clung to her face and entered her mouth.

He didn't write to me! He didn't write to me! He left without a word for me!

She returned to her desk and abruptly opened the drawer which came out of its hinges. She picked it up just in time and threw herself to the ground to search its contents. Perhaps he had left the letter here?

Nothing, and as she searched further, scattering the parchments and papers in her drawer, she suddenly noticed that something was missing. It was here that she hid them. They should have been there. Did Zuko come and take them before he left? But he didn't have her key. So where were they? Where were her...

Three knocks on the door interrupted her thoughts. Azula gave a cry of surprise and suddenly let go of the drawer she was holding in her lap.

"Wait a minute!" she ordered in a surprisingly confident voice for someone who was in such a state of panic and despair.

That's it Azula, control your emotions. You have to control yourself. No one should see you like this.

"Princess," A voice shouted from the other side of the door. "I'm sorry to bother you, but it's your father, he wants you to find him in his rooms."

Father?

"N-now?" she asked.

"He wants you to change your clothes and come find him soon after."

"F-fine! Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Very well Princess, I'll take care of it right away."

And she was alone again.

Father. What was she going to tell him? Did he already know about Zuko? Or about the Avatar? No! She wasn't ready to face him now, not ready to hear his praises, his thanks for protecting him so well. While Zuko took the opportunity to leave her!

If she hadn't offered her father to take his place in the underground throne room, she could have stayed with Zuko, and he wouldn't have left! She could have convinced him to give up this madness. Or to take her with him?

Control yourself! Father must not see you in this state!

Yes, it was true. There was no time to waste. She had still time to invent a lie. She excelled in the art of lying. Even Father no longer knew when she hid the truth from him, when she hid her terror when he shouted at her, or her embarrassment when he let his hands drag on her lower back, longer than it was absolutely necessary or when she came to kiss him to say goodnight.

Now is not the time to think about Zuko. You can cry. After. When you are alone.

So she walked into the bathroom and planted herself in front of her mirror. Her face was a disaster. Long streaks of makeup had darkened her cheeks and her eyes were very red.

She activated a small pump and clear water gushed out of the spout placed above the granite tub. She collected the clear water between her joined palms and threw it on her face. Opening a small locker on her right, she took out a bottle and a square of fabric which she soaked in a liquid in order to remove her make-up.

The operation took a long time and she started to panic. Father didn't like waiting.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror again and saw the youthful face of a fourteen-year-old girl, stripped of all her artifices, deeply terrified and desperate.

She couldn't come to father like that. With trembling hands, she fumbled awkwardly in her drawers and found what she was looking for: a black kohl and her lipstick.

With meticulous and precise gestures, she put on makeup again. She looked up at her reflection. The image it was sending her seemed satisfactory enough. Her eyes were still a little red maybe, but father probably wouldn't notice. Night was falling and his room would be bathed in semi-darkness.

It was weird that he asked to meet her there rather than in the throne room, she thought as she walked over to a dresser from which she pulled out pants and a long tunic that covered her hips, as well as a belt that she buckled around her waist while heading toward her wardrobe. There she fixed her bun and after examining herself one last time, satisfied with the result, she ran out of her room to join the Fire Lord.

He was there, in his rooms. When she entered the vast room illuminated by torches lined up along the wall, introduced by a valet who closed the door behind her, her father was turning his back to her. He stood facing the bed, his hands crossed behind his back, his two booted feet firmly anchored in the stone floor.

He had removed his armor and wore only his pants and a simple, very short-sleeved tunic that showed his massive build.

He seemed invulnerable.

"I am here, father. You asked for me?"

Ozai stayed silent. He didn't turn around right away.

He kept his head down and seemed to be looking at something on his mattress.

From a distance, she couldn't tell but it looked like pieces of parchment strewn all over the surface of the bed.

"Father?" she risked in a very small voice.

"While I was down, in the underground," he began in his slow and hollow voice, "I asked myself this question again and again..."

Azula froze in place. She had expected compliments or thanks, not that contained anger, not that threatening tone she associated with impending doom.

"W-what question father?" she asked him. She tried to maintain a confident tone of voice, but she couldn't stop her head from tucking her shoulders or her lips from shaking violently. Her whole body shriveled in place.

"This question, Azula: why my daughter who is so faithful and so loyal to me, my prodigious and ingenious daughter, why would my daughter have lied to me? For what purpose?"

He knew. That was all. There was nothing to say.

Ozai was aware of this, for he continued without waiting for her answer, in the same calm and yet deadly tone:

"This question tortured me all the way home as I recovered from the emotion caused by the vile betrayal of your deceitful brother. Why would Azula lie to me? Why did you make me believe that it was Zuko who had dealt the fatal blow to the Avatar when it was you?"

The air grew thinner around her, and a weight settled in the pit of her stomach. She tried to fix a spot on the carpet at her feet, but the world was swaying dangerously. The arabesques formed by the patterns on the carpet danced and intertwined under her eyes blurred by tears of fear, making her think of the dragons' flight. Like those in the tale her mother read to her as a child. With both hands behind her back, her head bowed, she made an apology:

"Father, I didn't mean to–"

"So I went to get the evidence I needed," he cut her off, his back still resolutely turned to his daughter. "You understand Azula, I needed an answer. That your brother, this varmint, this failure, betrayed me… I could have– I should have guessed. But you, my daughter… how dare you lie to me?"

At that moment he turned and instantly, Azula threw herself on the ground in an attitude of total submission. She dared to look up at her father and the fury she saw on his precisely chiseled face petrified her. He was holding out a parchment in his hand towards her. But the lack of light prevented her from seeing the inscriptions.

Ozai took a step forward and threw the parchment at Azula.

So she understood.

This is where they were. That it was he who had taken them. It was not Zuko who had brought with him a last memory of his little sister. Father had come into her room, he had searched her cupboards, her drawers, and he had found the proof he was looking for. He had found the drawings.

The drawings she had been recklessly keeping, knowing what would happen if someone got their hands on them. The drawings she had been too stupid and too weak to throw away.

Those who represented Zuko. From all angles. His scowling face ravaged by his scar, his profile with his angular jaw and the protruding veins on his neck. Zuko's athletic body training shirtless in the yard.

Zuko's arms wrapping a smaller figure, wearing a bun and a three flames crown.

Zuko, Zuko, Zuko… everywhere, Zuko, drawn during sleepless nights, in moments of despair when she understood that only drawing could give life to her fantasies.

Azula no longer dared to raise her head. No doubt she would never dare again. She would wait there, her hands stuck in the icy floor of her father's room, for his sword to strike the back of her neck and put an end to her sad existence.

After all, that would be a relief. Mother was gone, Zuko was gone… what was left?

"Explain to me, you disgusting little slut, how did such abominations end up in your desk drawer?"

Azula opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out.

"How, Azula?" he yelled suddenly, so close to her ear that she cried out in pain.

Her father had knelt downon the ground in front of her, his face inches from hers. Unable to lift her head, she saw only the large hands with protruding veins and the tips of his long black hair trailing on the floor.

"I-I-made th-them ... I made them..." she managed to utter.

She didn't recognize her voice. Never in all of her life had she been so scared.

"Can you tell me, Azula, what these pictures represent?" He asked in a voice that was suddenly strangely soft. She could feel his hot breath in her ears and in the back of her neck.

"They re-represent Zuz- Zuko." She panted painfully.

"Very well, Azula." The appreciative tone was the same he used to compliment her after performing a perfect kata. "Indeed, that's what I thought too. You are definitely very talented, my daughter… your brushing stroke is so… realistic. But tell me, Azula… Something is bothering me. A detail that I do not understand. Maybe you can explain it to me. Can you tell me who the girl is in this picture?"

He put under her nose a sketch which represented her brother, behind a perfect female figure, perfectly recognizable in spite of the plays of shadows which blurred the features of the face. In the drawing, Zuko was kissing the girl's neck, one hand placed on her stomach, the other on her arm.

"Father... please ... I don't know."

A hand fell heavily on her head and her face crashed against the stone floor. For a few seconds everything went black. Little by little, the world reappeared, blurry and indistinct. She vaguely heard a deep voice above her, as if someone had spoken to her while she was submerged in a tub.

"...lie to me Azula!"

It was as if suddenly someone had turned on the sound. Her father's thunderous voice, amplified by rage, scratched her eardrums.

Ozai stood up and all she could see was his pointy-toed boots pacing in front of her.

She had to come to her senses before he hit her again.

"Answer. Who is this young girl?"

"It's- it's me…" she confessed, lying face down, plunging her tear-drenched face into her arms.

"Well done, my darling daughter. You see. The truth is not that hard to tell. Now Azula, I have one last question for you. But first, you'll get up. And you will answer me by looking me straight in the eye."

He spoke with a very soft and very calm voice, almost caressing. A tone that she herself had used all too often to intimidate or charm her enemies and which she likened to serious trouble.

Painfully, she gathered her limbs around her chest and leaned on her hands to get up.

When she was standing in front of her father, she kept her head bowed, her two hands clasped. Without noticing, she dug her sharp fingernails into her own flesh, snatching the skin. A gesture she would repeat over and over again in the weeks and months to come, requiring her to wear leather fingerless gloves to cover up the unpleasant scars.

"Look at me!"

She raised her head and gazed with two frightened eyes into her father's golden eyes. So similar to Zuko's.

Claw-shaped fingers curled and closed around her neck. Father's sculpted face moved closer to her, lowering to her height. Their noses touched and his lips brushed Azula's cheek, down to her ear.

"Did you let your brother do disgusting things to you, Azula?" he whispered.

Azula's eyes widened in horror, and she recoiled.

"No!" she replied, stunned, shaking her head for emphasis and swallowing hard.

"Are you sure? I'll give you one more chance to tell me the truth. Did he touch you in places he shouldn't have? Did he ask you to do things to him that you might have found... inappropriate?"

"No!" she answered hastily. "I swear to you father!"

Ozai straightened up. He was terribly tall: she barely reached his shoulders. He eyed her for a moment, his hands tucked behind his back.

"Unfortunately, my daughter, I'm not sure I can take your word for it." Again, that smooth tone, laden with silent threats. "You have already proved to me that you dare lying to me. How can I trust you?" He closed his eyes, giving his face a less than convincing pained expression.

"I swear to you father! I didn't do anything with Zuko. Nor with anyone! I know... I have to stay p-pure f-for..." she recited, stammering.

"Fortunately," Ozai cut her, opening his eyes, "there is a very simple way to know if you are telling me the truth."

He stepped forward and circled around her, like a general inspecting his troops. She didn't dare follow him with her gaze and kept her eyes firmly lowered to the ground, continuing to continuing to lacerate her hands with her fingernails and twist her fingers.

Let someone come in! Someone come in and get me out of here! She had time to think before Ozai's strong, callused hands closed around her shoulders. Then it was his hot breath in the back of her neck when he whispered these four words into her ear:

[Back to present]

"Take off your clothes!"

The order had appeared from behind. Azula jumped on her feet and turned around, her legs shaking. But there was nothing. Only the cold darkness the diffuse glow of the room could not dispel.

She raised her hand in front of her and closed her eyes in an expression of intense concentration. Within seconds, the blue flames dancing on the torches turned on a softer, warmer orange hue that further lit up the room.

Take off your clothes...

She remembered how Ozai's voice had remained calm, almost soft, when he made this request, whose incongruity had made her lift her head. She had thus been able to see that impenetrable face which stared at her, eyes narrowed, a severe wrinkle drawn between his eyebrows. A face so similar to the portrait that still hung above the bed covered with a thick layer of dust and from which she couldn't take her eyes off.

Take-off-your-clothes.

He had articulated the words precisely the second time, as if to make sure to be understood correctly.

Azula looked down at her feet, almost expecting to discover around her ankles, the wide black leather belt that she had removed first with her trembling fingers, and which had curled on the floor like a snake fleeing from combat.

She stepped back a few inches. Yes, it was there, exactly where she had fallen, losing her balance as she tried to pull off a first boot with awkward movements. Father had lifted her abruptly and she had felt herself lift off the ground for a second before he forced her to rest on her shaky legs.

She looked up at the portrait of Ozai, convinced that at any moment his painted lips would move to formulate the order he had screamed a third time in her ears. She had to do right this time. She hadn't really had a choice, did she?

She took a few steps towards the bed and when she was close enough, she put an uncertain hand on the grubby sheets, painfully remembering how, when she was naked, he had thrown her there, like a vulgar rag doll. She thought she still could hear the sinister crunch of the springs that had loudly protested as the mattress sagged under her weight, as well as the rustle of crumpled scrolls she had landed on and damaged in her desperate attempt to escape.

Thus, despite him, her brother had been the privileged spectator of her humiliation.

She sat down cautiously on the edge of the large bed. The mattress creaked slightly and then silence returned, only disturbed by the frantic beating of her own heart, as fear gripped her. Behind her, she could feel the penetrating and ruthless gaze that the portrait of Ozai darted at her.

No, I can't… I'm not ready for that.

Maybe it was better to come back another day? Her mother must have been right, it was not a good idea… Hastily, she began to erect her wall, brick after brick.

She was about to get up when she suddenly felt herself being pushed back by an invisible force that pinned her to the bed. A dusty cloud rose around her as her back and head hit the mattress. Her wide eyes immediately stared at the dark red canopy above her, perfectly still. And she stayed there, unable to move, in the flickering light of flaming torches.

As she tilted her head back, her eyes fell on the colossal portrait and the harsh gaze her father directed to her.

What followed amazed her.

Her father's painted figure blinked once, and slowly raised a threatening hand that crossed the canvas. Azula was paralyzed, unable to move. As if it had been extensible, Ozai's arm stretched out disproportionately and his callused hand covered Azula's panicked face, long folded fingers digging into her temples. The scream she tried to utter was muffled by the contact of her father's palm against her mouth. As if it had been a signal, she squirmed around, gripping the apparition's hand to free herself, muffled moans escaping her lips. But her efforts were in vain. Never, never had she been able to fight him in hand-to-hand combat.

In her paralyzed mind the wall she had tried to rebuild a few seconds earlier collapsed stone after stone. An Intense light rushed through every gap. Soon there was only a heap of rubble left and the light... a blinding light that enveloped Azula and swallowed her.

She continued to struggle fiercely, but her feet slipped unnecessarily on the dusty sheets.

Suddenly, a chasm opened up under her back, in the mattress, followed by the terrifying sensation of a vertiginous fall.

Helpless, Azula stopped struggling and let go, her dislocated body and mind spinning together in the void.

[Flashback: hallucinatory memory - Day of the Black Sun]

Her body landed heavily on the mattress covered with red silk sheets, a painful exclamation escaping her as her skull hit the headboard.

She sat down and looked around for her father to see what he was doing, but her sight was immediately obscured by a towering shadow that enveloped her from all sides and pinned her to the mattress. Two yellow spots shone in what must be its face, like two shimmering gold coins. Azula wanted to scream but she only managed to emit a vague inarticulate complaint. It was as if the creature leaning over her had sucked in all the air in her lungs.

She stood up as best she could on her elbows. It was there, looking down on her body, that she saw in a flash of terror, the sharp dagger that the shadow had just drawn. Azula didn't have time to prepare. The shadow covered her entirely and plunged the blade into her. The pain was searing, unspeakable, and instantly took her breath away. Her whole body protested and tensed to refuse the foreign object that had just entered her.

The scream she wanted to utter was lost in her throat, and from her wide-open mouth escaped a silent moan. She didn't flinch either when the creature withdrew its weapon sharply, burning her in the process, only to plant it again, deeper than the first time.

The shadow repeated the gesture, tirelessly, without giving her time to recover between two assaults. The pain was so intense that Azula thought for a moment that she was going to pass out. But the shadow did not leave her the leisure. It struck her, again and again, while digging fingernails as sharp as claws into the flesh of her hips.

Without taking her eyes off the red canopy, which moved gracefully to the pace of the creature's movements, Azula began to think of Zuko, of the eclipse, of the moon's shadow on the luminous surface of the shiny star. She had not had the opportunity to attend the spectacle, entrenched in the underground throne room where she ensured her father's protection.

From far away came the hoarse exhalations of the monster who searched her, tore her apart from the inside.

Azula must have cried out at one point, for the beast spoke to her, in its grim voice.

"Shut up you little slut! Do you want everyone to hear you?"

The monster seemed out of breath. Azula wondered absurdly if it too was in pain, if it felt the same burning sensation. Panting, gasping, it fell silent, and its movements intensified, rocking the whole bed in violent swerves. Azula could hear the crumpling of parchments and papers that sweat had stuck to her back. She silently suffered each of the assaults, unable to move, her eyes still wide open, contemplating the red fabric that seemed to float above her, fascinated by the way it waved, like a flag in a windy sky. Or like the beach towels her mother would shake to rid them of the sand, before wrapping Azula's wet little body after swimming.

"You are mine!" The beast growled between gasps while still holding Azula firmly in its grip. "You belong to me, not to him!"

Gradually Azula felt all her strength abandon her. Her body seemed strangely cottony to her. The pain was still there, unbearable, but it didn't really seem to be hers anymore. It was as if this was happening to someone else.

"You will be... what... I want you to be..." the creature exhaled, bruising her hips under its fingers folded like claws. "You will do what I demand!"

This poor girl. Was someone going to come and help her? This thing that was raging above her was much taller, heavier and stronger than she was. It didn't seem fair.

Suddenly, the room, the dark red canopy, the weight of the creature on her, all this seemed to vanish and scatter like ashes dispersed in the wind. She could only hear the crashing waves, far away, hitting the rocks and, very close to her, her mother's voice humming, while sitting on a rocking chair positioned in front of the large bed where Zuko and Azula slept when they were children, in their vacation home on Ember Island. Lying next to her mother, Azula gave her a pleading look that Ursa was returning. There was a deep sadness in the clear, melancholic eyes of her mother's beautiful face.

"Are you in pain, sweetheart? Does he hurt you? Don't worry, it will be over soon. Would you like me to tell you a story meanwhile?" She whispered in confidence, leaning towards her daughter.

It was a long, strangled, hoarse death rattle that roused her from her reverie. The monster thrust his dagger one last time and froze, leaving the blade in her. Azula's whole body twisted in a last spasm. Then there was nothing but a sharp pain in her hip as the clawed hand burned fiery against her skin. Azula let out a series of heart-breaking howls and the monster quickly withdrew its hand. But it was too late. The flesh was already terribly damaged. A scarlet hand-shaped burn spread across Azula's hip, as if she had been branded.

The shadow could have withdrawn the weapon, but between the princess's trembling legs, the burning sensation, far from fading, seemed to intensify. She felt like she had been eaten and consumed from the inside. Something liquid and a little viscous flowed between her thighs.

Finally free to move, she rolled on her side, sobbing, screaming, one hand resting on her reddened hip. Mutilated, bruised, humiliated, marked for life...

"It looks like you told me the truth this time, Azula." She heard near her ear.

Azula jumped and looked up in the direction the voice was coming from and saw her father, casually leaning on his elbow, half naked, brandishing a bloody hand above them. Scarlet pearls trickled down his palm and wrists, finishing their run over Azula's bust where they crashed like big raindrops onto the dying autumn leaves.

The monster was gone. She didn't remember when her father had returned.

Ozai stood up. The mattress sank a few inches before it returned to its original position.

He pulled up his pants and stood in front of her for a moment, contemplating the pathetic sight of his daughter, curled up on his bed in a fetal position, shoulders shaking with spasmodic movements, face buried in her hands.

"However," he continued as if he had never interrupted himself, "I'm afraid that is not enough. You have to learn your lesson. A daughter should never lie to her father, let alone a princess. You betrayed me once and I want to make sure it never happens again."

She straightened up, surprised at her own responsiveness.

"I promise you, father!" she managed to articulate between two sobs "I will never lie to you again! I will obey, I will obey! Don't hurt me anymore!"

Ozai closed his eyes, a broken expression spreading over his face. He joined her on the bed and made her sit down. He took her chin in his hands and stroked the tear-soaked cheek with his hand still smeared with the blood she had spilled. He looked at her intently, and gave her a sad little smile before sighing:

"Unfortunately, my dear, you don't give me a choice."

And before she could answer, he changed again. His skin grew dark, more opaque than a moonless night. His hands stretched out and his long fingers curled up like talons. His golden eyes became two yellow spots that gleamed in his stretched, smoky face. He seemed to grow disproportionately in front of her. Petrified, Azula wanted to scream but didn't have time.

The monster pulled her by the ankles. She felt her body slide over the silk blanket and the parchments scattered there.

When it had pulled her to the edge of the bed, he took her unceremoniously by the arms and lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. It approached a large trunk, similar to the one in which, as a child, she had been locked for several maddening hours.

It was only when it opened it that she understood what the beast intended to do.

"No! No, no, no! Not that! Please, I will do what you want, not that!"

Deaf to her pleas, the monster threw her into the trunk and her body landed heavily on the wooden bottom, causing a sharp pain in her lower back and on her hip, where it had burned her. She immediately tried to stand up, but the creature was faster and put its two clawed hands on her shoulders to push her back to the bottom of the trunk.

"You will stay here to meditate as long as I deem necessary," its hollow voice growled. "If you scream, if you draw attention to yourself in any way, I'll do what I just did to you again. No one will want you after that, not even your failed brother!"

And with that, he slammed the trunk shut.

Darkness again.

There was no room at all. She had grown a lot since her last stay in an identical trunk when she was four years old.

Her folded limbs were excruciatingly sore. The pain from the burn on her hip was still vivid and there was nothing she could do to relieve it. When her father had thrown her there, she fell back on that side, and she didn't have enough room to turn around. So she had to endure the feel of rough wood on her charred flesh. She wanted to call for help, to scream, but remembering her father's warning, she refrained.

In the dark, she suddenly felt a caressing hand on her forehead. She saw nothing but distinctly heard the sound of a voice that hummed a lullaby. Her body was heaving quickly in panic, but something in that voice reassured her. It was like getting back to bed after a grueling day or finding a long-lost friend. It was like mum's arms tightening around her to cradle her. She closed her eyes.

When her father opened the trunk again, hours later, she was dazzled by the sudden brightness. She didn't have the strength to pull herself out of the box and it was her father who had to take her limp body out. He forced her to stand up. Azula couldn't even keep her head upright on her shoulders. It kept falling on her side.

She was still naked, but she didn't care now.

From a distance she could feel her father shaking her, holding her by the shoulders and ordering her to get dressed. But she couldn't take her eyes off the corner of the room where Zuko stood, a cruel smile stretching his lips, captive audience of her humiliation.

"Why did you tell him?" She asked him. But only a vague mumble crossed her chapped lips. It was probably better.

If she had started talking to them, Father would have known. He would have had her locked up, as Zuko did later.

She couldn't really remember the days or hours that followed.

One morning she woke up in her own bed, fit. The pain between her thighs was just a distant memory and she was starting to wonder if she hadn't dreamed it.

She was clean, dressed in a nightgown and running her hand over her hip, she discovered that someone had taken care of her damaged flesh. A bandage covered the burnt surface of her porcelain-white skin.

There would be a scar left, no doubt. The only vestige of that fatal night.

When Father summoned her to the throne room a few hours later, she went there, dressed in her armor and wearing her crown.

She bowed down to him and listened attentively to his orders.

She promised and swore whatever he wanted.

No, she would never say anything. Never. No one would know what happened on the day of the Black Sun.

Yes, she would hunt her brother and yes, she would bring his head to him. Without hesitation. Not a moment.

When she left the throne room a few minutes later, her heart was overflowing with a muffled but utter hatred that clouded her judgment, her feelings and her sanity. She would find her brother, end his unworthy life and after that...

After that? Well, she'll see.

[End of the memory / hallucination - Back to the present]

When Azula emerged, she was lying on the cold, dusty bed. The crimson sheets had been thrown into a ball on the edge of the bed where they formed an indistinct heap.

Above her, the dark red canopy was perfectly still. She must have had a panic attack and then passed out. She had no memory of lying on the bed. Her chest was heaving quickly, and she felt strangely flabby. The feeling was sadly familiar. It was this state that she woke up in the asylum after an episode of dementia.

Raising herself on her elbows in a prodigious effort, she bowed her head to inspect her body. She was still wearing her nightgown, but her belt had come undone in her efforts to struggle against the terrible apparition. The robe had opened wide and revealed her naked body. Her eyes moved almost mechanically to the large hand-shaped scar that adorned her side. Today it was only the shadow of the ugly burn she had discovered when removing her bandage in the infirmary a few days later. But she could still clearly see the outline of the fingers and the imprint of the palm where Ozai had burned her when, under the combined effect of rage and pleasure, he had lost control of himself and his inner fire. This scar, indelible symbol of her shame, forever carved on her flesh.

She slipped a hesitant hand between her legs and fumbled for a few seconds, then brought it closer to her face, expecting the blood to slowly trickle down her fingers. But they were immaculate. To control the tremors that agitated them she closed them in a fist which she pressed against her chest.

Azula rolled over on her side and glanced cautiously over the headboard of the bed. The portrait of Ozai, perfectly still, stared at her sternly in the pale light of the torches that were fixed to the walls.

She straightened up painfully in her seat and, with trembling fingers, she tightened her belt around her waist to keep her nakedness from the staring and contemptuous gaze of the man who had brought her into the world.

She looked around the room. The first thing she saw was the trunk. The one he had left her in, for hours or maybe days, naked, terrified, forbidding herself to scream or call for help, too horrified to feel the hunger and thirst that gripped her.

Azula slipped to the edge of the mattress. Her hands grabbed one of the pillars that surrounded the bed. In her chest, her heart swelled until it took up all the room. Her throat burned. Her lips curled into a painful pout, and she kept her eyelids tightly closed. Resting her head against the wooden column, she finally let out the sob she was holding. The torrent of emotions against which she had struggled in vain for years suddenly washed over her.

"Why did you do this to me? Why? You have hurt me so much!" She moaned between gasps.

Behind her, the portrait remained resolutely still and silent, indifferent to her misery.

How could he? How could the man she called father, whom she revered, for whom she was ready to do anything, how could he have broken her like this, then abandoned her, as if she were nothing? He had treated her like the last of the whores. He had damaged, mutilated, and humiliated her. Since then, she was scared of everything, all the time. He had reduced her to nothing. He had taken everything from her.

Her whimpers turned to long and desperate laments and then to screams that echoed between the walls. She wimped for what seemed like hours, a small figure lost in the immensity of the lonely room.

When she had cried all the tears out of her body, she had to fight against a series of hiccups and painful spasms that eventually grew less, allowing her to gradually catch her breathe.

Letting go of the four-poster bed pillar, she wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand.

She had survived. She had remembered and survived… For the first time in five years, she had found the strength to face the worst of all her memories. She had done it for Zuko.

Five years... The seventh day of the month would be five years. Five years since the eclipse. Five years since Ozai, her father, the man who gave life to her, raped her, stripped her of her pride, her honor, her sanity.

Yes, this was where the Fire Lord had taken her. This is where she would give herself to him.

In the next chapter you will see how the noose tightens around our favorite siblings.

Those who have not yet read my prequel: "The Fire Lord's Guest", don't hesitate to come and take a look! After this very dark chapter, it might give you back your faith in humanity.

I hope you enjoyed it and please, let a review!