THE HEAVY PALL OF SILENCE hangs above them, stretched taut to the point of tearing. there’s a mutual understanding somewhere, wayward ghosts wandering the palace halls of their youth, not yet ruined by the tarnish of time. she need only glance at them to see the similarities, plain as day. and if she got close enough, she could even reach out, with tentative hands and guarded eyes, peeling back the past to reveal the truth ⎯ children chasing their father’s praise, his wrath ever at their back. a phantom limb in place of the mother she never had. shoulders that cannot falter, bearing the brunt of their family with a smile. it’s uncharted territory, buried deep. too foreign for comfort, but too vast to still remain blind to. a beat passes, then another. this vulnerability is a sentimental trap, a detestable feeling she can’t quite place, severed from logic, but rankling nonetheless, as though vying for dominance. she feels powerless against it, the measly remnants of her resolve picked apart piecemeal, slipping through her fingers like loose sand.
❝ that’s rich coming from you of all people. ❞ like a mirror shattering on contact, her composure dissolves at last, broken in a flash and crumbling in its final death throes. ❝ poor little zuzu, needing to be coddled every step of the way, ❞ she mocks, laughing all the while, short, staccato bursts that rattle her entire frame. she’s had a lifetime of practice playing on his insecurities. yanking his chain or goading him on whichever chance she got. it’s better like this, less complicated, cutting him down rather than letting him in. because this what she does, who she is, every bit the monster forged from the fire of their father’s expectations, shaped into his very image. no point expecting otherwise. it helps that zuko is so easily baited, his temper quick to flare, despite her desperate, clumsy attacks. ❝ always having someone else fight your battles. first mother, then uncle and even that wretched waterbender. ❞ sick delight pours off of her in waves, wringing her voice into a violent clatter of shrill, hysterical peals that lend little dignity, sounding pitiful to her own ears.
a shaft of sunlight catches on the gold headpiece cresting her brother’s topknot and it only stirs azula further, renewed vigour igniting her ravings. ❝ but look at you now, a coward sitting on the throne. there’s hope for everyone, i suppose. ❞ it should have been her. she’d done everything right, everything that was asked of her and more, worked herself to the brink, all but scooped her bones hollow of any perceived weakness at their father’s behest, and it still wasn’t enough. what did zuko know of duty and responsibility, of handling power, of ruling? he’s as clueless as they come. too soft, too short-sighted, with no spine and no vision. between his inferiority complex and lack of leadership skills, she’d be willing to bet that sooner or later these deficiencies will catch up to him and he’ll have no choice but to buckle under the weight of a crown never meant for him. maybe it’s for the best. let him squander it. let his failures burn the fire nation to the ground, their sins along with it. and when their country’s banner has finally fallen, she’ll stand on its ashen coals, soundly vindicated, to the bitter end.
