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It’s always sunny on the beach, even when it’s not. It never rains here, even when it pours. Azula cherishes the sunlight, the rays on her skin and the comforting warmth. But sometimes Azula misses the storms; the thrill of thunder, the charge of lightning, the screaming of the wind, and the rush of enduring a downpour. Misses screams and shouts just because the voices are familiar and she loved the sound of them just because it reminds her that they were still there. It was always better than the silence that followed after; those blue skies and the bloated grey clouds crawling their way away from Caldera City.
She lives on Ember Island now but Ember Island is not home.
Ember Island is golden. It is black and green and blue as well. Its skies, twice a day, wash the landscape in vivid warm hues. They ripple in the water, sun shifting and distorting on its surface. A surface that is almost never still but always blue and almost always fringed by seafoam that gathers on black sand between pebbles and sea glass. Sand that gets clumped in the ridges of sandals and between toes and then tracked into a lush green jungle whose palm fronds, on the best of nights, are home to thousands of fireflies.
There is a palm tree.
It grows low and over the ocean waters.
Sometimes Azula likes to sit there and hold Seicho’s hand.
Home looked a little different. Home was also gold but with shades of red instead of blue. Blue was always sparse at home except for when she lit a fire in her palm just to watch it dance. Home looked grandiose and imposing. Home had black too. Not in the sand but in the Fire Nation insignia on flags and in wartime steel shaped in factories on the outskirts of the city. Home was massive and multi-tiered with golden dragons perched on the roof and a sharp metal fire to crown the highest point of the palace. Home looked jagged. Home looked like red carpets and massive pillars that she couldn’t get her arms half around.
There was a chair.
It was in the palace garden beneath the dragon maple.
Azula liked to sit there and study politics and firebending scrolls.
She lives on Ember Island now.
When she wakes up she gets a whiff of mango and brine. Of fresh ocean air and whatever meats are being grilled on the beach. Of whatever flowers are blooming in the jungle and whichever fruits vendors are pushing around in their carts and stalls. Now and then when the world is damp, the stench of seaweed overpowers all else.
Her bed smells like citrus.
That perfume that Seicho loves so much.
She thinks of home when she smells grilled meats because home smelled like grilled meat too. She used to stand at her window sill just to smell the meat and the spices thrown so generously upon them. Hotman Houzhang’s Burning Grill was a favorite haunt when she was still too small to see over the counter and mother gave Zuko a few coins to keep in his pockets if he promised to keep an eye on her and buy her something too. Her firebending hadn’t yet emerged but she still smelled like the smoke of the throne room. Father’s clothes smelled like smoke and cologne with a sprinkle of paprika. But mostly smoke, a whole lot of smoke. His smoke always smelled different than that of other firebenders. Hers smells something like his. Now and then when her chest constricts with longing she smells her own fire just to pretend like it is his.
Sometimes she can still smell it, that smoke and those grilled meats..
Sometimes she wakes up and thinks that she is at home in her old bed.
She lives on Ember Island now.
Seicho is a bit of a chef. She likes Azula to wake up to food. Insists that a day is only as good as the food that she starts it with. She likes to serve Azula breakfast in bed and on special occasions or when she is feeling particularly low Seicho will wake her up and serve her breakfast in a pool, floating in a basket. Fruits, mostly; freshly picked strawberries surrounded by mango slices and pineapple rings, coconut chips, and grapes, and cantaloupes with some starfruit for good measure. For lunch and dinner she gets heavily smoked and greatly spiced salmon and shrimp and sometimes calamari.
There is a spot on the patio.
It is small but she can see the entire length of the beach and the volcano.
Azula likes to light the bamboo torches and take her meals there.
When she was younger she would sneak strawberry mochi. She thinks that sometimes palace staff would ‘accidently’ leave it out for her to snatch. Sometimes she would snag a green tea mochi or one that tasted like coffee. Home tasted very rich. Very savory. And there was no shortage of food. Always an overabundance at the ready for nights when firebending training in excess required enough food replenish her energy and maybe to enjoy for pleasure now and then. There was so much taste at home that she is hard pressed to pick a defining flavor.
There was a spot at the table.
Closest to father.
Azula used to look up at him with wonder and inspiration.
She lives on Ember Island now.
Most days she can pick a spot…any spot, lay down, and feel the sunlight kiss her skin up and down. Feel Seicho kiss her skin from her finger tips to her elbow. She can pick a spot…any spot and feel either the sand or the dirt between her toes or beneath her soles and the whisper of a balmy breeze across her lips. She can lay beneath a palm tree and let the shadows of the fronds dance over her face. Close her eyes and let a sense of serenity lull her into a nap. Predominantly she feels affection. It comes like the waves lapping at the shore, violent and intense at times and lazily and soothingly at others. Azula has to forgo luxuries like those beach massages and jungle spa treatments but Seicho ensures that she is never wanting for or deprived of love and touch. Of a hand against her cheek or an arm slung over her shoulder. And to the best of her ability she tries to reciprocate. In her own strange way she thinks that she has managed.
There’s a path through the jungle.
It meanders up to a volcano.
Now and then Azula wanders off of it just to feel the thrill of being lost.
She was always charged. Humming with a sort of frantic, antsy energy that she never wore plainly on her person lest someone think that they could get the better of her. Life had a rhythm it, a horrid repetition that held comfort in its familiarity. Mornings came with intense training regimes until her muscles grew weak and shaky and sweat on her reddened forehead and cheeks was expected. Her training only came to an end when she collapsed, sore and breathless. Usually an hour into the afternoon. Nights were mostly tingly and numb. Her chest constricted with dread and her head aching under the pressure of expectations and knowing the consequences of not meeting them.
Home felt like anxiety and oppression.
Damn near every day.
But she still yearns for it all the same because…
She lives on Ember Island now.
One time there was a bird.
A bright blue and yellow thing with a green ring of small feathers around its neck. It sat on the open window sill and graced her with a song. Birds are common around these parts. They are all so very colorful and Azula likes to watch them circle the sky. But more than that, Azula likes to hear them whistle. Especially if the waves are crashing on the shore and the palm fronds are gently rustling against one another. Especially if she can hear distant laughter and wind chimes and the clicking of seashells on strings. Most of all, she enjoys walking with Seicho in the jungle and letting herself be enchanted by the croaking of lemur-frogs and firefly-crickets as far as she can tolerate the bugs anyhow.
One time she and Seicho caught firefly-crickets.
Enough of them to light a jar.
It was the first time that she realized that Ember Island feels like home.
Feels nothing like home.
….home sounded like a shout and a slap. Sometimes a roar of a flame and a roar of pain. Azula would hide in the palace library and read over the raised voices and stomping feet until a shadow filled the door and the shouts were aimed in her direction.
They always left an echo.
Sometimes she can still hear it.
Sometimes she yearns to hear it again.
Just to hear their voices at all.
She lives on Ember Island now and things are mostly okay.
They are better than okay.
Dare she say good?
Yes. Good.
She dresses plainer now, wears less makeup, and jewelry with faux gems but her life is richer now, full of sounds and aromas and sights. Touches and tastes.
Her life is lacking.
Lacking in shakes and tables and nights spent bunched up, covering her ears. Lacking in lonely.
Azula drapes her hands over the patio railings and looks down upon the beach, upon a dancing cloud of fireflies poised to find their perches in the palms. There is still some light in the sky, a thin trim of gold that separates the navy blue of the night sky from the blue of the ocean. She closes her eyes and lets the breeze rustle her bangs. “Here you go!” Seicho announces her presence. Ice cubes click around within the glass of mango-lychee juice.
Azula takes the cup in her hands, cool condensation adds a moisture to her palms. “Thank you.”
Seicho nods. “Thinking again?”
Azula hums. “Not really.”
She tries not to think to deeply. Not yet. It's too soon. Too raw.
The truth is, freedom is frightening--more so than she had imagined. And now that she isn't afraid or stressed she doesn't know what else to be. It has been months since moving from the mainland but every now and again she feels compelled to overexert herself, to overexcell until she burns out and reduces herself to a screaming shaking heap on the floor.
At least these days she has someone to sit with her until the fit passes. Someone to rub her back and comb her fingers through her hair. Someone to murmur soft words and remind her to breathe.
She is happy now but sometimes he needs a reminder; a walk on the beach, hand in hand or a hunting for seashells and class with pearls. A party in a small shack with a fire pit out front or an adventurous hike to a part of the island she has never seen.
Chan invites her to parties.
It had given her a chill when he mentioned that he recognized her…until he requested, “just don't ever compliment my outfit again.”
She had complimented his hairstyle instead.
And Ruon-Jian has been teaching her to surf. She has finally found something that does not come naturally to her.
Seicho introduces her to so many people and so many hobbies. Beading, weaving, sun printed textile art, and making small and mostly useless bamboo rafts. Her latest brilliant idea is cliff diving. Azula supposes that she is willing to give it a try.
She takes a seat in Seicho’s lap. “So when are we going inside?”
Azula hums, “maybe a few minutes, maybe when the sun comes up.” Probably the latter. Now that they have a mosquito net that they can draw she can spend a night under the stars.
Seicho rests her chin on Azula’s shoulder. “Sounds fine to me.”
Sometimes they exchange few words and that's just fine. A lot of times that's just how Azula likes it. But she doesn't mind that Seicho tends to ramble for chatter's sake.
It keeps her mind off of all of those strange things that she misses. The smell of father's cologne, that missing tile on the roof near her bedroom window, the cabinet that she and TyLee used to hide in when swiping mochi. The dragon maple and the royal spa. Her team of servants whose names she can still prattle off from memory. Lo and Li and her little nook in the palace library and that one pillar in the throne room that she and Zuko doodled on and occasionally giggled over with each day that passed without either of their parents noticing; fifteen years, a month, and seven days now. The last time she and Zuko shared a chuckle over it was four years ago a few days before the eclipse.
And her heartaches. Tickles so ferociously that she can feel it in her tightening throat. She tries not to let her eyes get watery in front of Seicho.
She tries not to feel that sense of grief and loss at all because it doesn't make sense. That home that she cherishes so much had damn near destroyed her. That old life that she longs for now and then was suffocating her slowly. But she misses it all the same. Misses the highlights. Misses the moments locked within those gilded walls. Misses the feelings within the memories that glide through her head when she thumbs her way through that booklet of family portraits she found in the family beach house.
And on her happiest of days, when the sun beams the brightest and the skies are the bluest, Azula misses home the most.