Azula grumbled kicking the stone in front of her huffing.

"Zuko's such a tattletale," she grumbled to herself.

So maybe she'd burnt the flowerbed. She was just practicing her Firebending! Her father was depending on her to be a good Firebender so they could save the rest of the world from the badness the last Avatar left behind. Zuko couldn't even make big flames yet so it was up to her to get better.

But of course Zuko had to running to their mother and told her all about Azula burning the flowers in front of the palace.

She hit him with a flame. Not even a big one, just a tiny one but he still cried like a baby.

And her mother yelled at her and grumbling she didn't know what was wrong with her and hugged Zuko and shooed her away.

Azula scowled at the ground and the rock as hard as she can. It went flying and smacked against the side of one of the market stands.

Mother always loved Zuko more. Nothing she ever did was good enough. Not her Firebending, not her studies, not her bringing flowers like Zuko. Nothing was ever good enough.

Azula was never good enough.

And she knew she never would be.

She kicked another stone bitterly - at least her father saw use in her.

"Hey there."

Azula glanced up at a warm eyed woman with dark haired tied back in a loose ponytail smiling down at her.

"You look like a strong little Firebender, can you help me carry this bread around?"

Azula grinned, sadness temporarily forgotten and picked up one of the larger boxes. The woman glanced down at her with a smile and led her a bit away to a little market stand passing out a couple of her bread pieces to those who asked. When they reached the stall, Azula proudly placed the box of bread on the counter.

"Thank you very much, you're very strong already," the woman praised.

"I know," Azula said crossing her arms like she saw the generals doing. "Father says I have the potential to be the greatest Firebender in the castle!"

"Wow, I'm talking to such an important person," the woman said grinning.

"Yeah, my mother doesn't agree though," Azula slumped remembering why she was outside in the first place. "She doesn't like me."

"I'm sure your mother loves you," said the woman.

"She loves Zuko," Azula muttered. "Not me. Zuko doesn't love me either. Father thinks I'm useful though."

The woman's serious brown eyes took on a sharper light and Azula shrank in on herself pulling her knees as close to her chest as she could. She didn't like the way the woman was looking at her. As if she could see right into her head.

Azula flinched at the bread that was put in front of her. She looked up and chestnut eyes lost their serious glint and were instead warm and gentle, her lips tugged up a little higher on the right as she pushed the bread into Azula's hands.

"I think you are a very nice young lady," she said warmly.

Azula stared at her in surprise and awe. She nibbled a small piece of the bread watching the woman cautiously. When the bread seller nodded again, she gobbled down the entire piece enthusiastically. It was good bread - maybe she should have the servants buy more from this stand for dinner. As she wiped the crumbs on her shirt, she glanced up at the overhead sun blazing down on them and warming their muscles. The rays filled her veins, stoking her inner flames and she felt the boundless energy blazing through her muscles that screamed she needed to be training.

She started walking away from the bread stand before she paused.

Her mother hadn't liked it but, maybe this woman would.

Azula grabbed the prettiest flower she could find growing in the ground - delicate white petals and a thin deep green stem - and brought it back to the bread seller. The bread seller smiled and put it in her hair giving Azula a half of a piece of sourbread.

"Thank you young lady, it's very lovely."

Azula carried that half a bread home reverently. Zuko received a small piece of it so he wouldn't go tattling again. Mostly, Azula remembered the bread seller with every nibble she took curled beneath her sheets. And as she laid in her bed, she came to a decision.

She could never be enough for her mother. But maybe, she could be enough for the bread seller.