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 césped, hierba and her mother’s floral perfume lingered on the fringes of her...
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