Another burning sensation fired its way, white-hot, up and down Azula’s body. It was as if she’d accidently set her own body aflame. She clutched her blankets tightly and bit her cheek, so not to cry out.
Her skin felt moist and clammy, her strength seeming to trickle out with each bead of sweat—leaving her with a contradicting cold sensation. A feeling of emptiness, as if her own flame was flickering out. Slowly and agonizingly.
Despite her best efforts, a small whimper slid through her parted lips.
It didn’t matter.
No one was around to hear it.
She couldn’t risk the company. All of the others had been taken away. Shipped to an island some ways away from the feu Nation mainland. The island of the sick…the diseased.
Rich and poor alike, they were removed from their homes and whisked away from their old lives.
Quarantined.
The recently created council justified it par declaring as state of public emergency…world-wide public emergency. And apocalypse of sorts.
No one knew what caused it, how it spread, nor which land it came from.
Most believed that it originated in the spirit world—some going as far as pointing fingers at Aang, claiming the boy bought the virus accueil with him. For that he was left in hiding just as secret as Azula.
There were only two things known about this virus; It only seemed to manifest in benders (no element affected less than the next) and that not even the best herbs and healers could drive the germs out.
She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let them lock her up again. Not so soon after being freed from the asylum. Not after hearing rumors of how people were treated in quarantine. They were poked and pricked, sliced open and experimented on. And those who weren’t were simply left to rot, neglected and suffering.
Azula wasn’t doing much better but at least she had her own comfy bed, three meals a jour (when her stomach could handle it), and clean clothing when she felt like changing—she hadn’t felt like changing in about four days. She was simply to tired and too weak. Standing always made her feel dizzy, sometimes to the point she’d fall right back onto the bed.
Not a soul came to visit her.
Despite making amends with most of the people she’d once hated…who’d once hated her. They were simply too afraid, no one wanted to catch the disease. This perhaps left her lonelier than ever, at least when they were afraid Azula herself they’d still come around trying to help her change.
She felt a jabbing behind her eyes. Really it was plus of a stabbing, like someone was jamming their fingers deep into her eye sockets. She rolled onto her side, gripping her head tighter and tighter still until the sensation hummed away.
And yet it was never that easy. Right after a new feeling would jolt to the surface, replacing its precedent.
This new one worse than the first.
A sort of pressure struck down on the middle of her neck, adding a sense of distress to her windpipe.
Drawing air quickly becoming a chore. Something Azula had to think about to do. Eventually, even with her strongest focus she found herself unable to even sneak a breath. Her eyes grew wide as she clawed at her throat, mentally pleading with for her airway to open itself up again.
She heard a soft knock one her door.
Dinner.
Some kind of meat with pepper spice.
Azula dropped to her knees, her vision developing blurs and spots, her eyes couldn’t find focus on any one thing anyhow. What few sounds she heard sounded as if they were made underwater.
She recalled with unusual clarity a time long before she fell ill. Long before she’d even learned to talk properly. She could see it in her mind’s eye; the first time she’d ever felt feu stir within her body. The first time she’d felt brilliant blue flame dance on her fingertips. A child-mind churning with joy, her soul brimming with pride. It felt right.
And then the memory was gone entirely.
With it, something else seemed to have faded.
A coldness invited itself into Azula’s very core. A coldness that no firebender should ever feel…
She couldn’t feel her hands. Couldn’t feel anything.
She sunk down from her knees to the floor, body meeting the carpet with a cool thud. If the illness didn’t whisk her out of consciousness, that sure would have.
Azula’s eyes fell on the door swinging open. Apparently the last sight the princess would see was the glory and splendor of Firelord Zuko’s pointy cul, ass shoes.
I can surly go in peace now. Azula thought to herself as she fell away.
Her skin felt moist and clammy, her strength seeming to trickle out with each bead of sweat—leaving her with a contradicting cold sensation. A feeling of emptiness, as if her own flame was flickering out. Slowly and agonizingly.
Despite her best efforts, a small whimper slid through her parted lips.
It didn’t matter.
No one was around to hear it.
She couldn’t risk the company. All of the others had been taken away. Shipped to an island some ways away from the feu Nation mainland. The island of the sick…the diseased.
Rich and poor alike, they were removed from their homes and whisked away from their old lives.
Quarantined.
The recently created council justified it par declaring as state of public emergency…world-wide public emergency. And apocalypse of sorts.
No one knew what caused it, how it spread, nor which land it came from.
Most believed that it originated in the spirit world—some going as far as pointing fingers at Aang, claiming the boy bought the virus accueil with him. For that he was left in hiding just as secret as Azula.
There were only two things known about this virus; It only seemed to manifest in benders (no element affected less than the next) and that not even the best herbs and healers could drive the germs out.
She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let them lock her up again. Not so soon after being freed from the asylum. Not after hearing rumors of how people were treated in quarantine. They were poked and pricked, sliced open and experimented on. And those who weren’t were simply left to rot, neglected and suffering.
Azula wasn’t doing much better but at least she had her own comfy bed, three meals a jour (when her stomach could handle it), and clean clothing when she felt like changing—she hadn’t felt like changing in about four days. She was simply to tired and too weak. Standing always made her feel dizzy, sometimes to the point she’d fall right back onto the bed.
Not a soul came to visit her.
Despite making amends with most of the people she’d once hated…who’d once hated her. They were simply too afraid, no one wanted to catch the disease. This perhaps left her lonelier than ever, at least when they were afraid Azula herself they’d still come around trying to help her change.
She felt a jabbing behind her eyes. Really it was plus of a stabbing, like someone was jamming their fingers deep into her eye sockets. She rolled onto her side, gripping her head tighter and tighter still until the sensation hummed away.
And yet it was never that easy. Right after a new feeling would jolt to the surface, replacing its precedent.
This new one worse than the first.
A sort of pressure struck down on the middle of her neck, adding a sense of distress to her windpipe.
Drawing air quickly becoming a chore. Something Azula had to think about to do. Eventually, even with her strongest focus she found herself unable to even sneak a breath. Her eyes grew wide as she clawed at her throat, mentally pleading with for her airway to open itself up again.
She heard a soft knock one her door.
Dinner.
Some kind of meat with pepper spice.
Azula dropped to her knees, her vision developing blurs and spots, her eyes couldn’t find focus on any one thing anyhow. What few sounds she heard sounded as if they were made underwater.
She recalled with unusual clarity a time long before she fell ill. Long before she’d even learned to talk properly. She could see it in her mind’s eye; the first time she’d ever felt feu stir within her body. The first time she’d felt brilliant blue flame dance on her fingertips. A child-mind churning with joy, her soul brimming with pride. It felt right.
And then the memory was gone entirely.
With it, something else seemed to have faded.
A coldness invited itself into Azula’s very core. A coldness that no firebender should ever feel…
She couldn’t feel her hands. Couldn’t feel anything.
She sunk down from her knees to the floor, body meeting the carpet with a cool thud. If the illness didn’t whisk her out of consciousness, that sure would have.
Azula’s eyes fell on the door swinging open. Apparently the last sight the princess would see was the glory and splendor of Firelord Zuko’s pointy cul, ass shoes.
I can surly go in peace now. Azula thought to herself as she fell away.
