The Candle.

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm fairly new to this site, and have really enjoyed the experience so far. This place is awesome! This is the modified version of a fanfic I wrote a while ago about Princess Azula set a month after her breakdown. ATLA and non-ATLA fans alike, here it is. Enjoy!

The Candle.

Azula peered thoughtfully at the great black wall before her. The air was cool and dry, and the entire room was pervaded by the eerie silence that had become so well known to the former princess. Azula felt the icy floor with her pale fingertips as a familiar lump began to force its way into her throat. Here she was, the former pride of the Fire Nation, merely a prisoner trapped inside of her own shattered mind. "I need to sleep," she thought, "Dr. Pho said I needed rest." As she began to pull herself off of the stony floor, Azula looked up towards the flickering candle that was her only connect to the outside world. The bright orange flame seemed to dance back and forth in the unforgiving darkness of her cell.

"Hello," whispered Azula, her voice cracking in an attempt to hold off her quiet sobs, "Coronation tomorrow." There was no response. Azula's lips curled into an uneven frown and the light sting of hot tears filled her golden eyes. The fallen princess stared blankly at the candle, her vision clouded by salty liquid. "Answer me!" she moaned, "Why won't you answer me?" Azula took several deep breaths before stepping back into a refined stance, her hands placed out in front of her as if she were ready for a duel, and her teary gaze still fixated upon the warm glow of the candle. "Stupid hair!", she spat as she swiftly brushed a single wisp of black hair from between her eyes. Azula squeezed her eyes shut as she lunged toward the candle, two fingers outstretched as if she were sending off a blast of fire. The girl opened her eyes to find the flame, still flickering playfully within the iron sconce. Azula stared into her pale hands and began to cry even harder. How had she not remembered that it had all been taken away from her? Her throne, her pride, her honor, and her bending were gone.

For what felt like an eternity, Azula stood watching the flame more intensely than before. The cell seemed to become smaller and smaller by the second, and the frightened prisoner let out a worried shriek. She was running out of time. Azula stood up straight and put on an artificial smile before speaking to the flame again. Large, warm tears still filled her eyes, and Azula felt a slight tickle as they rolled gently down her cheeks and off of the sides of her face. "Mother," she began quietly, "I'm sorr-" Before the girl could continue, an icy chill ran down her spine. Azula turned around to find a horrific sight. At the end of her cot sat her mother, adorned in the very finest silks nature could offer, the golden crown of the Fire Nation sitting daintily atop her head. The frightened young lady jerked her head towards the wall upon which the candle had been situated to find only the quiet darkness staring back at her. "What do you want?", screamed Azula.

"Nothing," replied the vision in a composed and indifferent tone, "I wouldn't want to miss my daughter's coronation now would I?" There was a deceitful hint of contempt in her mother's eyes. Azula gently wiped her eyes as she moved cautiously towards her cot. "Well?" inquired the vision, "Go ahead. Sit." Azula felt her stomach churn as she took a seat next to her mother.

"Why are you here?", asked Azula frightfully.

"I already told you, 'Zula.", smiled the Fire Lady, "I don't want to miss your big day." The broken princess felt her palms begin to sweat and her blood ran cold. This was too good to be true.

"Well,", replied Azula nervously, "Th-thank you, Mother."

"I do love you. I really do.", replied the vision.

"I-I love you too. Are you proud of me?" Azula wore an expression of utter desperation. There was a long pause before the vision spoke again.

"Oh, 'Zula.", said the vision dryly, "I am proud of many things. But you, my dear, are a monster. Look at yourself. Pathetic. You look like a peasant, with your eyes cast down! All you do is destroy things, just because they are standing." This caustic tone was all too familiar to Azula. "You're weak. And do you know why?" Azula felt the tears starting to come back. She placed both of her hands onto her head and began to scream curses on her mother. "I asked you a question!", yelled the vision.

"I don't know, Mother!", she yelled, "Why am I weak?"

"Because you are a lie. And nothing more. There is no coronation." Azula began to scream louder as she turned to look her mother in the eye for the first time since she had appeared in her cell, but the vision had disappeared. The crying wisp of a girl turned back toward the wall opposite her cot. Once again, the orange glow of the flickering candle mocked her with it's movements.

"Mother!", she begged, "I didn't mean to make you unhappy. I really didn't. I didn't meant to lie! I wanted you to be proud of me. Please come back!" The flame's dance persisted and the silence in the cell was unbroken. Azula curled herself into a ball upon her cot and began to rock back and forth, all the while crying for her mother to return.

The End.