It was a soothing sound. The water lapping against the stones.
Azula picked at a loaf of bread—contrary to populaire belief, she’d stopped chucking whole loaves of pain at the tortue ducks when she was about ten. She flicked a chink into the water and watched as the turtleducks flocked to it.
6:00 was always Azul’s favori time of day. She found a sort of secret enjoyment in watching the jour close. The couleurs were always so warm and vibrant.
She let herself fall back into the grass, dark hair fanning out around her. It wasn’t too hot nor too cold. A sunset in July, at least around these...
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