She watched the girl, Xul, crumble for days. She was only 16. There wasn’t really much she could do aside from holding her close and telling her that it would pass eventually.
It was a rough job really, the job she did, trying to help those suffering from what everyone else called the ‘the insanity’ they were “crazy”, “sick”, “unlovable”. She much preferred to call to think of them as those who just needed someone to tell them are cared about…loved. A good number of her patients were in a state of distress pretty much all the time, Xul was one of them. These patients (young and old) were usually abandoned, she’d never let Xul fall into this category.
Despite it all, a lot of these people had made astounding recoveries under her care. Though a few of them were what she called ‘the regulars’—those who’d recover and then relapse and come back for further help. She welcomed them back with just as much care—if not more—as the first time.
Currently, Xul screamed at Azula telling that she didn’t know anything…and that she didn’t understand what she was going through. She would kick and holler, thrust and jerk, and throw punches. All in a struggle to free herself from Azula’s arms. Once free the girl would usually end up hurting herself in some way or another.
And so Azula let the child hurt her as opposed to herself.
Most of the time the princess would come out with a few scratches and bruises—most of which concentrated on her arms. However during the worser episodes, the girl would call her a demon and struggle twice as wildly.
At first ‘demon’ almost hurt worse than the girl throwing fire at her. Azula hadn’t done anything bad to the child—not that she could recall—nothing worthy of getting called a demon. As time passed Azula had come to realize that Xul’s mind was likely altering her face—twisting it into something demonic…something that caused Xul distress.
That thought had led to another; what had Azula done to have the girl hallucinating her as a monster? Perhaps it was just a coincidence.
On the mornings when Xul decided to call her a demon she would hand the girl over to her father as it was more distressing for her to be in Azula’s arms than not.
She called with clarity the first time Xul had broken. It started slow—if Azula hadn’t been through it herself, she probably would have missed it—the girl wouldn’t sleep well. She wouldn’t mention why. Days later she’d drop hints, stating things like “I was afraid” or “I think he wants to hurt me”. He was never any specific person.
Eventually, when it became crystal clear that the girl wouldn’t be sleeping nor recovering anytime soon, Azula would offer to sleep in her room. She’d sacrifice a night or two of her own sleep to ‘guard’ Xul so that the girl could rest.
She couldn’t touch her nor offer any gestures of comfort and soothing as even a tap would startle and set the girl off. So Azula would sit in the dark and wait for morning to come.
On one of the first nights she’d done this, Xul had bolted awake throwing blasts of fire at nothing.
It wasn’t nothing to Xul. And though she couldn’t see it herself—to a degree—it wasn’t nothing to Azula either. It hadn’t been nothing when she had thrown her comb at Ursa.
Azula was pulled from her reminiscing by Xul’s choking sobs. Each one caused Azula’s stomach to knot more tightly. She squeezed the girl’s hand tightly. Xul was just like Azula. The way she was lying there helplessly waiting for her mind to stop causing her such persistent agony. One of her hands was pressed so firmly to her head it had to be physically painful.
She looked terrified.
She looked like Azula had.
And yet she was different form Azula. Azula had no one…not a single person trying to help her pick up the pieces. Not a single person until Xul’s father. Azula wouldn’t let the girl be alone—she’d have at least one person.
And she did. If she didn’t have Azula, she had her father. If neither were present she had a friend or two. And if not a friend, Azula made sure the girl was cared for by only her best staff.
She wouldn’t be bound or restrained…unless it was absolutely necessary. It almost never was.
Xul screamed that her head hurt. That they were too loud. That they were all trying to talk to her at once and it hurt and was confusing.
She clung to Azula so tightly that her nails broke skin. Azula ignored the dull stinging, it wasn’t important right now. Not when the child was crying so loudly into her shoulder. Not when she was squeezing her eyes shut to block out what wasn’t really there.
None of Azula’s patients bought tears to her eyes like Xul did.
The girl is so much like her.
Of course she is. Azula is her mother.
She blamed herself for Xul’s fragile state. Who else could the child have inherited such faulty genes from?
Azula hugged her daughter closer. She wouldn’t let the child…her child struggle how she did.
Xul’s sobbing slowed to soft muffled cries as Azula ran her hand over her back in gentle circles, promising her that it would be okay. That it would soon be over and they could take Xul’s much anticipated trip to Ember Island.
Nothing was more satisfying than seeing Xul relax in her arms and smile up at her.
It was a rough job really, the job she did, trying to help those suffering from what everyone else called the ‘the insanity’ they were “crazy”, “sick”, “unlovable”. She much preferred to call to think of them as those who just needed someone to tell them are cared about…loved. A good number of her patients were in a state of distress pretty much all the time, Xul was one of them. These patients (young and old) were usually abandoned, she’d never let Xul fall into this category.
Despite it all, a lot of these people had made astounding recoveries under her care. Though a few of them were what she called ‘the regulars’—those who’d recover and then relapse and come back for further help. She welcomed them back with just as much care—if not more—as the first time.
Currently, Xul screamed at Azula telling that she didn’t know anything…and that she didn’t understand what she was going through. She would kick and holler, thrust and jerk, and throw punches. All in a struggle to free herself from Azula’s arms. Once free the girl would usually end up hurting herself in some way or another.
And so Azula let the child hurt her as opposed to herself.
Most of the time the princess would come out with a few scratches and bruises—most of which concentrated on her arms. However during the worser episodes, the girl would call her a demon and struggle twice as wildly.
At first ‘demon’ almost hurt worse than the girl throwing fire at her. Azula hadn’t done anything bad to the child—not that she could recall—nothing worthy of getting called a demon. As time passed Azula had come to realize that Xul’s mind was likely altering her face—twisting it into something demonic…something that caused Xul distress.
That thought had led to another; what had Azula done to have the girl hallucinating her as a monster? Perhaps it was just a coincidence.
On the mornings when Xul decided to call her a demon she would hand the girl over to her father as it was more distressing for her to be in Azula’s arms than not.
She called with clarity the first time Xul had broken. It started slow—if Azula hadn’t been through it herself, she probably would have missed it—the girl wouldn’t sleep well. She wouldn’t mention why. Days later she’d drop hints, stating things like “I was afraid” or “I think he wants to hurt me”. He was never any specific person.
Eventually, when it became crystal clear that the girl wouldn’t be sleeping nor recovering anytime soon, Azula would offer to sleep in her room. She’d sacrifice a night or two of her own sleep to ‘guard’ Xul so that the girl could rest.
She couldn’t touch her nor offer any gestures of comfort and soothing as even a tap would startle and set the girl off. So Azula would sit in the dark and wait for morning to come.
On one of the first nights she’d done this, Xul had bolted awake throwing blasts of fire at nothing.
It wasn’t nothing to Xul. And though she couldn’t see it herself—to a degree—it wasn’t nothing to Azula either. It hadn’t been nothing when she had thrown her comb at Ursa.
Azula was pulled from her reminiscing by Xul’s choking sobs. Each one caused Azula’s stomach to knot more tightly. She squeezed the girl’s hand tightly. Xul was just like Azula. The way she was lying there helplessly waiting for her mind to stop causing her such persistent agony. One of her hands was pressed so firmly to her head it had to be physically painful.
She looked terrified.
She looked like Azula had.
And yet she was different form Azula. Azula had no one…not a single person trying to help her pick up the pieces. Not a single person until Xul’s father. Azula wouldn’t let the girl be alone—she’d have at least one person.
And she did. If she didn’t have Azula, she had her father. If neither were present she had a friend or two. And if not a friend, Azula made sure the girl was cared for by only her best staff.
She wouldn’t be bound or restrained…unless it was absolutely necessary. It almost never was.
Xul screamed that her head hurt. That they were too loud. That they were all trying to talk to her at once and it hurt and was confusing.
She clung to Azula so tightly that her nails broke skin. Azula ignored the dull stinging, it wasn’t important right now. Not when the child was crying so loudly into her shoulder. Not when she was squeezing her eyes shut to block out what wasn’t really there.
None of Azula’s patients bought tears to her eyes like Xul did.
The girl is so much like her.
Of course she is. Azula is her mother.
She blamed herself for Xul’s fragile state. Who else could the child have inherited such faulty genes from?
Azula hugged her daughter closer. She wouldn’t let the child…her child struggle how she did.
Xul’s sobbing slowed to soft muffled cries as Azula ran her hand over her back in gentle circles, promising her that it would be okay. That it would soon be over and they could take Xul’s much anticipated trip to Ember Island.
Nothing was more satisfying than seeing Xul relax in her arms and smile up at her.
