When I first saw her, all I could think of was what she could give me. What she would give me. For once, my father had given me an opportunity to prove myself, to prove that I was more than a worthless, insolent son. Then came that fateful moment in the carriage. She called me "her love". I have never been a romantic type, but oh, the butterflies I felt when she said that! I had to make her mine, I had to earn her devotion, so I let her speak to that boy. What a fool I was.
That night, when we had arrived at the palace, I paced the halls. I wanted to go talk to her, but I knew I was not allowed. Father didn't trust me to control myself, but then, he never trusted me with anything. So instead, I walked to the door of her temporary room, and placed my ear against the door. I heard heart-wrenching sobs of anguish. For a moment I was confused, even angry. But with my pathetic, love-struck fantasies cleared from my head, the weight of what had been done to her, what l'd done to her, hit me. In that moment, I hated myself.
On our wedding day, I smiled at her, "You look beautiful in your dress." I said, kissing her hand. "Thank you." She said, emotionless. As the fire sage recited the words that bound us together, I looked at her, smiling. She smiled, but her eyes were empty, save for the mist that covered them. I had to break the news to her. She would surely hate me now. Still, I told her. I told her she could never see her family again, or even mention them. She now belonged to us, to me. I tried to comfort her, gently kissing her cheek. Nope, wrong move. That only made it worse.
That night, I shut the door behind us. I saw the fear in her eyes, and I could not bring myself to do it. Father wouldn't know. It would make no difference for him if I waited, so I did." Aren't you going to-" I interrupted her, "No." And for the first time, she smiled at me genuinely. Thank you." She said, relieved.
Over the next few weeks, I tried to get to know her, to get her comfortable with me. She opened up, and we spoke of many things. She loved the theater, but when I brought up that play, she lost all emotion, turning away. I brought her a flower, hand-picked from the gardens, and she regarded it with barely restrained tears. "These- These were my mother's favorite. She-" She stopped herself, realizing she had made a mistake, but I couldn't bring myself to reprimand her. She kept the flower on her nightstand, even as it withered and died.
Over three weeks after our wedding, I knew it couldn't wait any longer. Surely she knew it had to come eventually? I tried to be gentle, tried to make it enjoyable for her, but she was still emotionless, no, empty. All the life had been sucked out of her, and it was all my fault. Everything I touch dies. I am destruction incarnate. That is all I know how to do. Afterwards, she cried, and without thinking, I hugged her. She sobbed into my chest. Would she ever be happy with me? Was I so terrible? I suppose I was. They say I am a monster. Even I cannot deny that this is true.
Over the next few years, we had two children, Zuko and Azula. For a while, I thought that maybe she was beginning to like me. She seemed happier, somehow. But then I read that letter, and it was as if she had ripped my heart out, and I lost it. She would never be mine.
Never.