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Azula sat stiffly–her hair cascading in loose, messy strands, small specks of black kohl remaining among her eyelids and eyelashes–she had taken a bath after returning to her palace room in the ever moving, bustling city of Caldera, but she still felt the Boiling Rock Prison clinging to her skin. The blood flow and circulation returned to Azula’s body shortly after her guards carried her to her palanquin, but she remained frozen. Azula regained the movement in her limbs but her head and her heart stayed the same. She barely felt like she was in her own body. Azula’s reality shattered in front of her–she felt her physical form escape from her like a ghost. And her mind no longer felt her own either.
Azula’s chest rose and fell steadily, but she couldn’t rid herself of the tension and the strain in her heart and her lungs. Nothing in life was sure. Azula wasn’t so foolish as to believe that there was even a scrap of certainty in the world. She was only a child when the rug completely slipped out from under her–when the unexpected, the unimaginable, and the unthinkable became a reality.
Fire Nation women were supposed to stay loyal to their husbands and to their families. They belonged to them. They owed their lives to them. But her mother escaped like a thief in the night without even so much as a goodbye to her young daughter. But who was she to her mother anyway?
“What is wrong with that child?”
That child. Not her child. Not even human. A monster.
It would be a lie to claim that that didn’t hurt. But lying was something Azula became very good at–not only to others, but also to herself. She lied constantly to herself. And she could cope with the uncertainties of life as long as she crafted impeccable lies and stuck to them. Of course, not all of her lies were complete lies, what good was a lie if it didn’t include an element of truth? That wasn’t relevant to what Azula was feeling now, however. Not entirely anyway.
Nothing in life was sure. Azula wasn’t going to pretend that people could not, or would not, leave her. Mothers didn’t leave their children and yet hers left. Brothers didn’t leave their sisters and yet hers left.
But not her. Never her. She was never going to leave her.
She was the one thing Azula never thought she would lose.
But she did.
Tears pricked at the corner of Azula’s eyes as she grimaced, her lips pursed tightly, her teeth clenched as she grasped the blankets in her fists. She wasn’t supposed to leave her. She was supposed to remain by her side. She’d promised her–perhaps not entirely in words, but in actions. She was so loyal, so patient, so… certain . She was the one constant in her life–the one thing that was certain.
Ty Lee.
A singular tear slipped down Azula’s face at the acknowledgment of her friend’s name. Friend. No, not friend. She was–she was…Azula shuddered. She was more than that to her.
Despite what others may have thought, or more accurately–what Azula led them to believe–Azula knew she was broken. There was something wrong with her. And she couldn’t understand it. She didn’t know why her mind worked the way it did, despite all she’d been taught, all that had been explicitly forbidden .
Girls were beautiful to Azula. They had such lovely, soft features–an elegance and a grace to them–a warm, radiant glow. Their eyes were gentle and kind, yet had such life to them–they could communicate anything. Azula could see the intelligence, the skill, and the spirit of a girl through her eyes. Their faces were sweet, their voices melodious. She preferred the company of girls. Azula felt free and happy around them. They made her heart flutter and her face flush.
It was a good feeling until she came to the realization of what it meant.
Azula was drawn to girls but the things she felt for them all paled in comparison to what she felt for Ty Lee.
What Azula felt for Ty Lee was the closest to what she could describe as love, except no one in the Fire Nation would believe it to be love. It was a twisted, unnatural, immoral, deviant desire. And Azula was deeply ashamed. She was so afraid that people would know somehow. Yet, at the same time, a part of Azula wanted Ty Lee to know. It was a heavy burden keeping this terrible secret within her for so long, and perhaps there could be a chance that Ty Lee might feel the same or at least would not hate Azula for it.
It didn’t matter though. Azula had to hide. She had to hide from that and from so many other things. Azula’s mind warred with her constantly. People thought Azula didn’t feel. Little did they know that Azula felt everything . And what she felt was so intense, so overwhelming, and so wild that she knew people would believe her to be crazy. Azula went from being the most sad, miserable person to entirely wrathful, angry and full of rage, to numb and empty, and to fearful and riddled with nerves. She paraded herself as the most fearless and fearsome fire bender in the world, but she was really nothing more than a fragile, coward who knew to make herself look bigger.
Azula worked tirelessly to craft an image of complete and utter perfection. And she succeeded. It seemed that nearly everyone saw Princess Azula–the fire bending prodigy, the brilliant strategist, the poised, elegant, and witty monarch. The Azula they saw wasn’t a delusion entirely, but it glossed over so much more of the truth.
But Ty Lee was different–she wanted to know more of Azula. The real Azula. And Azula couldn’t help but notice that Ty Lee brought light to a side of her that she never knew she had before. Azula could be soft, she could be warm and kind, even if the smallest amount. It was effortless with Ty Lee. She was endearing and pretty and lovely to her. Azula wanted to be better for her. The whole world could disappear with just Ty Lee by her side–she lived for her presence, her joy, her warmth, her beauty, and her kindness.
Ty Lee thought so highly of Azula–she always complimented her, telling her how confident and intelligent and capable she thought her. She’d even called her pretty–said she was the most beautiful girl in the world. The moment Ty Lee said that Azula could hardly think of anything else, she was flattered and overjoyed. But Azula did what she always did–acted like it was simply a fact that she knew.
Azula wasn’t bad looking–quite the opposite–and she was the princess, why should anybody think otherwise? But her heart continued to flutter as Ty Lee gazed at her and smiled at her–her words just barely registering. Azula listened to Ty Lee talk in her cheerful, lively tone, her hands gesticulating wildly, her face making so many bright, animated expressions. She was so cute. She just wanted her–she wanted her. But she couldn’t have her.
Azula wanted to be the person Ty Lee believed her to be, she wanted to be able to love her, but she couldn’t escape her identity, her mind, her reality. She’d do anything and everything to preserve the deluded view Ty Lee had of her.
But Azula’s love wasn’t a pure love. This time she wasn’t thinking of what her nation taught her about girls like her. Azula couldn’t avoid the fact that she was possessive of Ty Lee. There was an ugliness to her feelings for her. Azula felt inexorable rage at the very thought of Ty Lee giving an ounce of attention or importance to anything that wasn’t her. She didn’t want Ty Lee’s life to be her own. She wanted Ty Lee’s life to be completely wrapped up in hers. She’d burn down her circus, she’d yell at her, she’d belittle her, she’d force Ty Lee to make an impossible decision, all just to keep her by her side.
Of course she’d leave her. Azula scoffed, shaking her head. Who would ever want to stay after doing all of that?
Her body suddenly felt heavy, an increasingly distressing feeling rising in her. She was wrong. She hurt Ty Lee. She lost her. It was her own doing– No .
No.
Azula could do as she pleased. She was the Princess. She was perfect. She was powerful. She could resist these unnatural feelings for girls. They were likely confusion anyway. And why on earth would she feel things for a girl who betrayed her?
She’d forget her–let her rot in prison like she said.
Azula got up angrily, rifling through a drawer beside her bed. She pulled out a portrait sketched in charcoal pencil that Ty Lee drew of them when they were children. In the portrait, Ty Lee was smiling brightly and Azula had a soft, subtle grin, they were holding hands–a clumsy heart drawn messily around them.
Azula gasped as she touched the portrait, smoothing over it with her hands. Then her eyes flashed to anger, tears running down her face faster than she could stop them.
“Ugh, ugh !” she called out, wincing as her heart pounded so loud she could feel it in her head. She let out a strangled scream as she burned the portrait in her hands, sobbing angrily and bitterly.