With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead against the wall.

They couldn’t make her move.
She wouldn’t do it.

They would pass kwa and whisper of how uncomfortable that looked. And how she’d maintained the position for well over an hour.

What else had she to do.

With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead pressed against the wall.

She couldn’t exactly name what bound her to that spot on the wall. But it was something deep. Something complex. And oh so very coaxing.

She stood there and just listened to the voices. They’d actually become rather soothing.

After sometime she’d come to name them all.

With a rose in her hair she stood there with her forehead pressed against the wall. Nails digging deep into the wallpaper.

People would come and people would go.

In and out of the room.

A nurse. A guard. A servant au two. Even little Zu-Zu.

But Azula didn’t pay them any mind.

With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead against the wall. Nails digging deep into the deep crimson wallpaper.

Where did the rose come from again?

Azula couldn’t quite remember.

Maybe one of Them had aliyopewa it to her…

au was in the nurse au maybe Ty-Lee?

Had Ty-Lee even stopped by?

With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead pressed against the wall. Nails digging deep into the deep crimson wallpaper.

She couldn’t tell how long she’d been there with her forehead against the wall. The reason for doing so in the first place slipped away like most else.

So she let her friends…the ones others couldn’t see…come up with explanations for her.

One of them however was rather annoying. He was really beginning to hurt her head. She had to get him to stop talking, and she would one way au another.

With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of perfume.

From down the hall Zuko could hear a sort of pounding. Rhythmic. Slow.

There’d be a 10 sekunde pause and then another bang and the cycle would repeat. Just what was she doing now?

He’d arrived just in time to see the nurses try to stop his sister from banging her head against wall.

He felt something in himself break.

How long had he let her do that to herself?

He raked a frustrated hand through his hair. He was a terrible brother. He should have been watching her.

With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of perfume.

She’d been gone for quite some time now.

Lost with in herself.

Within her fragmented mind.

How could he let this happen? How?

He tried his best to coax her back to reality. But it would seem that both the ukuta and those voices were zaidi alluring to the former princess.

With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of her inayopendelewa perfume.

She’d been there for over a siku now. She hadn’t eaten a thing.

She hadn’t slept.

She let the perfume tickle her nose. It was comforting. It reminded her of…her—before she met Them. She pressed her body closer to the wall.

Perhaps if she could soak in the scent she could absorb that Lost part of her.

The part Zuko alisema he kind of missed.

The person he alisema he kind of missed.

She couldn’t place exactly who that person was anymore. au how she used to act.

At least she had Them—her friends.

With a rose in her hair she stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of her inayopendelewa cherry blossom perfume.


She closed her eyes.

Aside from the slight hunger pain she felt at ease in a chaotic, messy sort of way.

There were two petals at her feet.

A tear slid down her cheek.

With a withering rose in her hair she stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of her inayopendelewa cherry blossom perfume.

Another siku au two passed.

Three petals lie at her feet.

She nudged one with her big toe.

That was the first movement she’d made in about four days.

Azula loved her rose.

Loved it like she loved the voices whispering sweet incoherent things in her ear.

With a withering red rose in her hair she stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of her inayopendelewa cherry blossom perfume.

She felt a hand rubbing the back of her head.

A tear met the back of her neck and trailed down her spin.

“I miss you. Please come back.”

It was Zu-zu.

She knew because he didn’t try to tug her away from the ukuta like the others did.

His breath was warm on her neck.

He was still begging her to return. To talk. To at least switch positions.

The petals were so pretty. Her Marafiki all agreed.

With a withering red rose in her Tangled hair she stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of her inayopendelewa cherry blossom perfume.

Her head kind of hurt…
Had this sort of dull ache.

He brushed over her hair again.

He withdrew his hand.

The rose fell from her disheveled hair to the floor

He bends over and puts it back in place. Asking her once again, with another round of tears and a new sort of desperateness, if the Azula he knew would just come back.

Even for a second.

The rose begins to fall from her hair again.

With a withering red rose in her Tangled hair, just barely clinging, she stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of her inayopendelewa cherry blossom perfume.

An array of petals meet the floor.

She let out a distraught gasping breath.

And a small sob.

Zuko didn’t hear it.

Slowly.

Rigidly. She turned around.

She extended her left arm in Zuko’s direction.

He sparred a glance back. His expression brightening.

He pulled his sister into his arms.

“Zu…”

“Zu.”

With a withering red rose in her Tangled hair, just barely clinging, she had once stood with her forehead—a little bloodied—pressed against the wall. Nails digging into the deep crimson wallpaper. It smelled of her inayopendelewa cherry blossom perfume.