That night Azula dreamed.

After a long while of staring at the ceiling, the cold metal shackles biting her hands all the while, and enduring Ling-Ling’s attempts to make conversation, she had found herself in something of a sleep.

Her dream wasn’t unpleasant.

The dream was a bit of a blur; she was a little girl again. Ling-Ling and Heekul were both real people, her mother loving. Zuko had joined them in whatever game they were playing.

Azula, upon waking could most vividly remember the faces and the smells—freshly cut grass and her mother’s floral perfume lingered on the fringes of her imagination threatening to pour into reality. And they were smiling, everyone was smiling. Genuine, not hint of malice or cruelty.

If she were to have only one last dream before the upcoming operation took its toll…she’d choose to re-dream this one.

She shut her eyes in hopes of conjuring it up again. But the rottenness of her surroundings, the smell of death and decay—the general air of hopelessness and despair didn’t provide the right environment to purposely summon such a beautiful dream.

Heekul, Ling-Ling…her mother they all sang a sort of lullaby. Telling her to sleep well for tomorrow will be hell.

Zuko wasn’t having an easy sleep himself by tomorrow’s close, it was sacrifice his crown or sacrifice his sister. Mai was pushing the later of the two.

He racked his brain trying to uncover anything that might solve the situation—make it work completely in his benefit…in Azula’s.

Nothing had come to mind.

Not a single useful thought.

He too dreamed that night, but his dream was a horror; Azula stood before him clad in a white dress, hair done up all pretty, eyes clear and focused, a slight smile on her face. The wind tugged softly at her bangs, it was so sunny. Upon a second glace Azula stood there motionlessly, her pretty white dress splotched in blood. There wasn’t a part of her not drenched in the stuff. Her now hair disheveled eyes void of all color but black. The sun had faded, the wind halted. Everything was at a standstill until she opened up her mouth and let out an ear-piercing scream—more blood spilling from her mouth to the floor.

He woke up.

Just as her brother woke in the night, Azula woke that morning. She hadn’t really the chance to open her eyes when Tang-Shin strode up to her.

Heekul. Ling-Ling. Her mother. All of them gathered around to bid her a farewell.

The man was talking but Azula was focused on the tools in his hand. He bought the scalpel first to her stomach, just above her belly button, lingering there for a moment before realizing her clothing was getting in the way of his procedure.

He cut the cloth away leaving her feeling much too exposed. She trembled lightly as the cool air nipped at her bare skin. She tried to reimagine her dream again, just when she had a grasp on it, the cold of that metal scalpel tarring it away.

She felt it break skin, effortlessly.

Layer by layer.

She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He drew with his surgical tool a thin line reaching just below her breasts. The sensation was sharp and burning as her flesh broken and split. She hadn’t consciously called the tears to her eyes, but they were there no less. They came as the stinging sensation branched out from its core to her entire middle, her sides, and then some.

She clenched her hands together, the action did little to ease the pain. In fact it’d probably add to it somewhere down the road as she clenched tighter and tighter. Her nails had already dug fairly deep into her palms.

Another figure or two…or maybe three—at this point Azula’s vision was beginning to blur too much to tell for sure—appeared around her.

“Get me…” Tang-Shin’s voice was fading in and out. It was like her ears were filled with water…the man sounded so distant.

She felt another stab of pain, something…two things had punctured her body hovering above her ribs.

One of the figures—it was one of the twins…they were both there—handed Tang-Shin another tool. He stabbed it in what Azula could only assume was a vital organ. At that, the girl could take no more. She found herself fading out. It was better that way anyways, she had not a speckle of desire to feel that roachant ooze meet her body.

Kirah watched the girl pass out. She’d seen Hiru do it many of times—and all the patients before her. Her job was made no easier. Kirah had fled from the operating room one time. With the threat of becoming the next experiment hanging over her head, she hadn’t dared do it again.

She wondered if her sister ever felt the need to run. If that cold, hard expression was for show. Or if she really didn’t care at all what she was assisting.

Kirah watched Tang-Shin’s gloved hand dip into the roachant slop. That was where she had decided to flee the last time.

“Kirah,” Tang-Shin muttered, “go to room 0103 and get me some more roachant extract.”

She was more than delighted to leave the room. She left it swiftly…too swiftly. Swiftly enough for Tang-Shin to tsk and remind her of what a shame it would be to lose such a good employee.

Kirah reached room 0103, her hand hovered above the door knob before she bolted in the other direction.

Zuko tossed on his finest, most showy robe. In only an hour or two he’d be arguing for some other negotiation. A third option in which the crown remained in his hands and Azula safe. His thoughts shifted to offering Ozai’s release.

He had a whole army at his disposal and he couldn’t bring himself to use it. There were so many ways to take the emperor and his people out and yet…

He could practically hear Azula yelling at him; “even when you’re strong you’re weak.” The words never truly left him. They always seemed to resurface whenever he couldn’t bring himself to overpower anyone. They seemed more relevant now more than ever.

There came a knock on his door. “Not now Mai.”

“I’m not Mai. I have something I think you’d want…you need to hear.”

Zuko considered before pulling the door open.

Kirah pushed her way inside, helping herself to his bed.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to tell you not to hand over your crown. Don’t even try to reason with the emperor.” She paused before adding a quick “there is no point.”

Before Zuko could get any words in she continued. “There was a sort of miscommunication. Rather Tang-Shin went behind Akuzan’s back. Your sister’s life is has already been jeopardized, there’s nothing to bargain for.”

“Are you saying she’s dead?”

“She will be if you don’t man up and deploy your army.”

.o0o.

She could feel them crawling within her, tickling her insides in the most unpleasant and invasive way. And she could do nothing to get them out. If her hands were not bound she’d without question pry the stitching apart and tear them out herself.

To go with this crawling sensation was a never wavering need to throw up. Her stomach muscles bunched up and tense as if ready to do just that. But whatever was in that ooze, it wouldn’t let her body expel it. And so she was stuck with that nauseous feeling and no means to get rid of it.

Azula had no way of telling for sure how much time had passed. Zhu-Ling had mentioned the passing of a day. But that seemed like a long time back.

At this point Azula had lost the ability to even twitch her fingers and toes. Her arms felt so heavy (legs likewise), stuffed with that vial roachrat extract. She couldn’t see them, but she could imagine that they were swollen beyond belief based upon how tightly the cuffs and straps were becoming.

She felt like a child’s favored doll; abused, torn, and stitched. Overstuffed and held down by whatever work was put into keeping her together so the child could resume play. Completely naked as the child had lost her cloths.

Her mind was all fuzzy again—no medication needed, just a dose of pain and her mind’s own defensive attempts to ward it off. She welcomed the fuzz. It was doing its job, it’s not like she was going anywhere anytime soon anyhow.

The door clicked open. They were going to hurt her again. And like a lifeless toy, she couldn’t fight back.

The voice that crept it’s way over Azula was soothing, full of promise. “This ends today, I have a plan.”

More people came join the speaker. These people were there to marvel at what Azula was becoming. Tang-Shin there to help the process along.

Today, if Azula calculated right would be the day they stitched her eyes shut. She was rather fond of her eyes and hated going down without a fight.

Azula hadn’t quite thought that the last thing she’d ever see would be Tang-Shin brandishing a drill all too close to her eye. He looked strange, Azula realized. His face was bruised at battered. Azula hadn’t realize that she’d asked him what happed until he had tossed the drill in a bought of anger and was in her face, screaming that it was all her fault.

All her fault that he was no longer in the Emperor’s favor. All her fault that the man wouldn’t allow him to fight at his side. Furthermore that; “since I can’t help the Emperor, I will put all my time into destroying you.”

Azula found herself laughing. If she could get him in trouble without having to even leave one spot, her influence must be at its peak. And yet she knew that it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with him going against some order or another.

To ebb the unease away she spent time trying to connect the dots; he had told her that they were making weapons. He had told her that she was a bargaining chip. He mentioned the Emperor…or so she thought.

As Tang-Shin made another cut, this one by the corner of her eye, she put it together. Tang-Shin was to be making weapons for the Emperor, she was not supposed to be one of them. She was leverage, something to keep Zuko out of the way. Tang-Shin performed the operation on her anyhow. Zuko found out (Azula didn’t have the faintest clue as to how) and then the Emperor found out as well when Zuko refused to make any deals with him—or something like that.

Azula smirked to herself. After the Emperor found out, he got pissy with his good friend Tang.

From off in the distance Azula could hear an explosion. Perhaps she as imagining it. Perhaps it was the drill meeting her head. But she wasn’t in any pain…and Tang-Shin had turned around to find the source of the sound too.

Once again the man flung the drill at the floor, this time it shattered revealing a complex system of broken cogs and screws. Well it would have been a complex system if it weren’t in pieces. He was at the door when it busted in.

The scene was dizzying and played out all too fast for Azula. She watched man after man fall. Zhu-Ling among them. Her hands found themselves unbound, and then her legs.

Her own actions were just as murky—she remembered finding strength. Its source being anger and a drive for vengeance.

She threw Tang-Shin to the table with such violent force that even she was impressed.

“I recall you mentioning that this operation is something you only preform on…people like me?”

The man nodded.

“Wonderful, then I have a perfect subject to preform it on.” Azula gave him the cruelest smirk her features would allow. “It takes a truly sick man to do what you’ve done…yes?”

Tang-Shin offered her no answer.

“It’s a good thing you showed me how to do this, otherwise I’d go in blind.” Azula pointed out before carelessly taking the scalpel to Tang-Shin’s stomach. “I’m not left handed and I’m using my right hand to hold you down. So you’ll have to excuse my poor hand-work.”

Between the haze in her head and the use of her left hand, her work was extremely sloppy, not that she cared in the slightest. In this case, the messier, the better.

She could feel the man tremble beneath her. He went limp as his body split open. Azula looked around for the gloves. Deciding that her hand was already infested with the slop, she went to scoop it out with her bare hand. Hovering it there for only a moment she had a better idea.

“Forgive me, but you never told me how much to use, so I’ll just take a guess.” She shrugged before dropping the entire tin of slop into the opening she had created.

She felt a hand around her waist, it tugged her away from her victim. She’d forgotten again, to pay attention to her surroundings.

Not her fault, she decided, she was simply dazed again.

She expected the same hand to begin delivering harsh blows to her face. Instead came the soothing voice again. “You’ve done enough to him. You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop. Besides, your brother is expecting me to bring you to him” “…safely.” The woman added after a moment.

Azula felt her own body go limp, she slumped over with only the support of her newfound companion’s arm to hold her upright. Her arms and legs were suddenly feeling very heavy again, without that drive to destroy.

She was all drowsy again and bordering on falling asleep.

The woman…her friend now had her scooped up, cradling her like a baby, as she took to the door.

They found sunlight. Azula’s eyes were burning, she hadn’t seen light in so long. She missed it. The warmth was beautiful…wonderful. She enjoyed it’s kiss on her skin.

Yet the air smelled heavily of smoke and death. Would she ever escape it?

Ashes rained down from the sky, dusting the grass below. It was then that she realized the brightness…the warmth was in fact, not of the sun’s making. In fact, the sun was clouded over by a dense smoke.

Everything was on fire.

She wasn’t afraid.

Those flames were her salvation.

She closed her eyes.