The universe saw it fit to welcome her into life with thunderous applause. Flashes struck across the onyx sky, her first greeting from the tumultuous world around her. Sounds cascaded around her like a symphony. Her mother's whispers she can't recall the words to, her father's promises long since forgotten. She recalls one distinct sound, though it might just be a memory of the other countless times she's heard it.

"Izumi."

The mother's hands are nervous. She holds her awkwardly, and the father smiles and takes the sleeping newborn from her arms. The raven-haired woman scowls and turns her head away dejected. The father sees, and, as always, knows. He puts his arm around her, and pulls her in, cuddling their miracle between them. She becomes melancholy again, and he must bring her back to the reality lying in front of them.

"I can't do this."

He strokes her hair and gazes into her eyes.

"There's never been anything you couldn't do."

His eyes drift over to the bundle, now firmly in the mother's arms.

"There will never be anything you can't."

She grows, and watches, and listens. She watches intently as her father feeds the turtle ducks, and when he holds out his hand so she can grab some bread, she reaches cautiously. She looks on in awe at the creatures swimming before her, captivated by their fluffy feathers. A shadow peers over them, and the mother turtle duck corals her offspring, swimming away hurriedly. She looks up and it's her own mother towering above. Her mother's eyes linger on the empty pond a little too long, so her father corals them.

"…It's almost dinner, let's go inside."

She's curious, soaking up everything around her, honey and poison alike. She watches her mother burn the flowers in the garden when they go for a walk. She'll pick one with lopsided petals, or one with a duller color than the rest, and turn it to ash. Her flames look cold, but the toddler is entranced by them. She reaches out to touch, and she feels her mother's warmth surround her.

"Not yet Izumi, but soon."

She dreams. Sometimes of wonderful spring days in the gardens with all the flowers and the vibrant butterflies fluttering around. Some nights her dreams paralyze her with fear, stricken by vivid visions of a monster burning the gardens and devouring the turtle ducks. One night she wakes up crying and makes the arduous trek through the long hall to her parent's room, her stuffed rabbit roo dragging close behind. The guards aren't around to impede her journey. She stands in the doorway until her father awakens, his eyes half closed, squinting at the tiny shadow staring at him.

"Izumi, are you okay?"

Through sniffles she recounts how the palace grounds were decimated by the ravenous beast.

With a sympathetic smile Zuko pulls the covers back and gestures for her to get in. She climbs in between them, a strangely familiar place. Azula stirs and chastises him for coddling her. But hours after her arrival she wakes briefly to find her mother's arms drawn around her in a warm embrace. The scent of lavender mixed with cinnamon surrounds her, and her mother's steady breathing lulls her back to sleep. The gardens are blooming with life once again, and the sun is brighter than ever.

Days pass quickly, each one seemingly shorter than the last. She starts to notice more. She can't help but see little details, can't help but dig her fingers into the fabric of this family, picking apart the tapestry of lies her parents have woven around her. They look so similar, like mirrors of each other. Their golden eyes are windows into the past, but they're fogged and blurry. For all their differences, they both carry old wounds. Her father wears his openly; he has no choice. It's his badge of resilience, proof of perseverance through a life of trials. Her mother's are covered by pale flesh, so far down that Izumi can't make out exactly what or where they are. But the expressions in her eyes, the shadows within them, tell of a woman carrying a heavy burden. A woman still bleeding, still in pain.

Her tutors are nice. She's shy, but inquisitive. Too inquisitive. She asks questions that are impossible to answer, ones that are to remain unanswered. She asks about her lineage, much to the discomfort of the lanky old man who instructs her on their nation's history. She asks about the war, and the previous Fire lord. He tells her things, but they aren't the things she wants to know. She's remarkably astute for her age; she knows omissions are just another form of lies. She presses him for the answer she desires most; her mother's background. She's persistent, and he tries his best to indulge her without divulging too much. She takes mercy on him, knowing that he's saying what he must to keep his head off the chopping block. Metaphorically of course, or at least she hopes.

Her parents are constantly busy. Her father controls their nation, and her mother controls her father. She isn't sure which of them is truly in charge. Her father wears the robes and the headpiece, but her mother was seemingly born to be in command. Everything about her exudes power. Her posture, her demeanor, her gaze, her voice. Father is lucky to have her at his side, managing the many components of the massive machine they call a country. But her mother isn't always the most tactful, and beneath her composed surface lies a woman struggling to be understood. The Generals understand her "advice". The soldiers understood her orders. But father understands her when no one else does. She thinks her mother truly fortunate to have someone who can keep her grounded, who can love her despite her abrasiveness.

Despite the demands of being Fire Lord, her father occasionally finds the time to tuck her in at night, hug her and kiss her. Her mother is distant and shows less affection with each year that passes. She doesn't sing to her, or hold her, or help her with her hair, or play with her. Sometimes she's not sure if her mother loves her much at all, or if she's just an accessory, another feature that comes with the palace and the crown. But Izumi doesn't see Azula watching her sleep from the doorway at night, the faintest hint of a smile on her face. She doesn't feel Azula pull the blanket over her, so she won't get cold. She's numb when her hand, awkward and unsteady, runs across her head,

One morning her great uncle arrives unexpectedly and takes her into his arms. He's strong yet soft and smells heavily of jasmine. He marvels at how big she's gotten and starts to regale her with tales of his life in a faraway place; a city within two walls. Her father comes to greet them, and the two men embrace. Her father smiles and so does Uncle. But there's something underneath the surface, seeping through the cracks in their lips. Their faces belie what's beneath; greater stories, greater tragedies, greater secrets. Her uncle takes her father aside and whispers things. She can't make out most of it, but she manages to catch the most crucial part.

"…Why don't you have her come stay with me for a while? It'd be good to get her out of this stuffy place, let her breathe and experience the world a little."

Her father looks conflicted. He glances back at her briefly, and sighs.

"Azula would hate me."

Uncle places his hand on father's shoulder, his eyes sad.

"I understand nephew. The offer is always open." He perks up and calls over to her. "Now, how about some lunch, eh? A growing girl needs to eat, and an old man needs his tea."

She musters a meek smile and follows them inside. The feast is great, as always. But not even the succulent pheasant hawk and the sweet cherry tarts are enough to distract her from her mother's absence.

"Good times become good memories, but bad times become good lessons." It's something she imagines Uncle would say. "Only fools waste time dwelling on the past." That's what Mother would say.

There's nothing she'd like to forget more than this morning. But this will be branded into her head until she dies; the first of many events to demarcate her childhood from an early onset adulthood.

She's made her first flame. She's a late bloomer, so late they were beginning to wonder. She could've laughed about it if the maids hadn't told her mom, painting the target on her back. It was an accident she swore. She hadn't meant to burn a hole in the burgundy drapes that lined her window. She was swatting at a bat fly when it happened. Mother's eyes are on her now, watching her every movement, scanning her. She's sitting on the opposite side of the table, but Izumi swears she can feel nails digging into her skin. The smile she gives her makes the neophyte bender's heart race. Mother tells father, who offers to get her a teacher. Mother is indignant and tells him she'll be her teacher. Father can never hide his feelings; concern is spread across his scarred face. His body tenses. He wrings his hands. She bares her teeth and snarls at him. He relents.

"Meet me outside at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Don't be late."

Izumi doesn't sleep that night.

"Again."

She throws a punch. The spark is pathetic.

"Again!"

She throws another. Nothing this time.

"Your stance is wrong, and your breathing is off."

They've been at it for hours, and she's still struggling to conjure anything satisfactory. Azula walks her through the basic katas again and again, but something's off that she can't fix, no matter how many times she uses her hands to correct her daughter's limbs. She's beginning to become irritated. How could a child of hers be so woefully inept?

Her mother summons her own flame, and hurls the azure blast at her feet, causing her to fall backwards. Azula smiles cruelly, and laughs. "Get up." It's not a suggestion, but a command.

Izumi fights the tears in her eyes threatening to escape, to reveal her weakness. She tries to steel herself, her knees shaking. Just as her mother looks ready to send another blast her way, her father intervenes, furious with the display before him.

"That's enough Azula!" He grabs her wrist and pins it back. She rips it from his grasp and storms off.

Her father's worried gaze makes her breakdown. She can't contain her own frustration, her feeling of shame, any longer. She runs back into the palace sobbing. She is a failure, not worthy of the gift of fire. She doesn't want anyone to look at her, to see just how worthless she really is.

She overhears them later that evening. Her mother is talking about her, her disgrace. Her father defends her, but his voice drips with pity, and Izumi feels her stomach knot in disgust. Tears pool in the corners of her eyes again, and she slumps against the wall, sliding to the ground until she sits behind the pillar, head downcast. She listens to the echoes reverberating around her, mocking her. She tries to shut them out, but she still hears tones of disdain and compassion struggling for dominance.

"…She's just so weak."

"She's your daughter. The potential is there, she just needs time to reach it. She's young."

"When I was her age, I was…"

"You're a prodigy Azula. Stop comparing everyone to yourself."

"Like you said, she's my daughter. What better standard is there? You're only excusing her inadequacy because she reminds you of yourself."

Her father's jaw clenches and his eyes narrow.

"You'll never understand. You were born lucky…"

"…I was lucky to be born," she finishes for him, rolling her eyes. "I've heard it a million times Zuko. Saying it again doesn't make it true."

He sighed, exasperated. "She tries hard. All she wants is your love, your approval. You can't treat her like that!"

She turns away and looks down at the ground, expressionless. "Don't you love her?" The question cuts deeper than Zuko realizes.

"Yes." It's quick and it's muttered, but she can't hide the truth.

"Then show her."

"I don't know how."

"Guide her. You know she can be great. But she needs you to tell her."

Azula's smile is slight, almost invisible. But it's there, lurking. It's unsettling.

"You're right Zuko."

Izumi's never heard her say that. She's pretty sure she's never even heard the first two words leave her mouth unless they were dripping with sarcasm. The expression on her father's face concurs. She runs off to her room before they can catch her spying. She lies motionless on the bed, her eyes unblinking, thoughts consumed with the torture that awaits her. Picturing the humiliation her mother will subject her to. Will she have to duel her own mom? Perhaps she'll burn her. Mark her like father. It would be fitting. Then she'd be as hideous as her bending.

She drifts off and finds herself once more in the garden. The monster ravages the space, leaving mutilated corpses strung across scorched earth. It slithers in the air, twisting its scaled body across the hellish sky. It dives at her, talons bared. She tries to run, but her limbs are sluggish; the ground is like tar. The beast laughs at the way she drags her short legs, helpless and desperate. She ducks behind the ruins of a pagoda and holds her breath. The beast peers through the debris, glowing amber eyes meeting hers. It's her final sight as the demonic creature opens its jaws and exhales, covering her in a blue inferno.

The Fire lady sits at the edge of the bed, watching her daughter twitch and whimper. Her hand rises to give Izumi comfort, then lowers, then rises again, then lowers once more. She doesn't understand why she's hesitating. She wants to show compassion. She wants so badly to help her. But struggling against her own demons, Azula cannot save her child from being consumed by the blaze.

Morning comes early for the princess when Azula shakes her awake.

"Come on, let's go."

Disoriented and disheveled she drags herself over to the ornate vanity. She can barely see, her lids drooping, tempting her to fall back into sleep. After a few blinks her vision is clear enough to make out her own face in the mirror. Grabbing a brush, she tries to work out the knots in her hair with lazy strokes. She should try to look presentable, even if the only one who will see her is her mom. Ever the insufferable perfectionist, her mother would probably lecture her about the importance of proper appearance for a princess of the Fire Nation, or the inefficiencies of improper hair management before she picked apart her terrible bending abilities. She laughs inwardly, her thoughts interrupted by the woman whose features she shared.

"Stop wasting time, I don't have all day. Besides, you look…passable," Azula smirked.

Izumi wasn't sure how to respond, or whether she should bother. Her mother was always like that. Everything seemed backhanded, especially her "compliments". The young princess knew her mother liked burrowing under people's skin, mainly her father's, but she was beginning to suspect that even her insults were often insincere. A lot of her mother's interactions with her and her father were akin to a fisherman with his catch. Azula's baiting grew tiresome sometimes, and it irked Izumi almost as much as her curiosity about why she did it, and how she was so good at it.

Satisfied with her hair, she stepped away from the mirror and walked out of her room ahead of Azula. As she turns the corner she's stopped by a strong yank on the shoulder.

"Hey! What gives?" She asks, confused. She looks up to see her tormentor, arms crossed, her signature twisted smile spread across her face.

"The sparring room is this way, dearest daughter."

Her heart pounds, her palms begin to sweat, and her knees grow weak.

Her nightmare is becoming reality.

Update: Sorry for the long delay you guys, rest assured this fic isn't dead and I've still been working on it. I'll probably release chapters in groups rather than one at a time, unless it's a particularly big chapter with a lot of developments. Chapter 2 and most of 3 are done, and I'll try to get them out before the end of the month. In the future, If there's ever long gaps in uploads, I'll keep you guys updated on my profile so you'll know I'm still around and when to expect more story. Also, thank you to everyone who has followed, faved, and or reviewed! I appreciate all the input and support.