Azula was lying in the empty room her brother had once occupied—ten minutes ago, before the plane took off—ten hours ago, before everything was in a van and moving—ten days ago, before everything was in boxes—ten weeks ago, before any of this happened, before he had to go, before they were anything but kids having fun, torturing Zuzu with wacky shenanigans.

It didn’t feel like anything now. The room was empty space, a black hole that only lead to a vortex of black feelings and depression. Everything that had been left had been stripped clean, as if any sign of Zuko was a curse, a mark of death.

Azula turned her head to peer under the bed. Nothing there either. No, her brother was orderly and neat, and probably wouldn’t forget anything. Even if he had, she’d seen her father vacuuming everything in sight, going over it like it was a crime scene.

She tried to figure out why he’d been forced to leave. Because he wasn’t the only one who’d lost a mother, because he wasn’t the only one with scars, because he wasn’t the only one who needed something that didn’t smell of smoke for just an instant as you walked in.

(No one else could smell it, but she’d seen him cringe walking into the house, and for just an instant she might’ve as well, and then it was gone.)

Because you didn’t see it happen. You weren’t there. You didn’t have the chance to save her.

She turned away from the dark red walls of the room onto the beige carpet—a much more neutral color she was willing to deal with right now.

Something cracked outside the window. Azula sat up, peering through the broken frame (no one had asked how it had broken, but a night of spying on her brother had shown some of the scars he carried were of his own doing, and only half as accidental.) She was surprised to see the face of Katara, pushing the frame up so she wouldn’t have to squeeze through broken glass. Azula did not stand to help, nor did she stop her.

“Sorry,” Katara whispered, half way through the window. “I just wanted to…”

Azula shook her head, finding the carpet a better image. “I don’t mind. I was just thinking.”

In the years of friendship Katara had shared with Zuko, she’s also shared a few instances with his sister. They could almost be friends. Almost.

Katara laid down beside her, folding her arms behind her head as she stared at the ceiling.

“People never look up,” she said.

Azula closed her eyes. Did she have to deal with this? “What?”

“They never look at the ceiling or the sky. Why?”

“…Okay. I don’t know.” She couldn’t help but notice her eyes were literally pressed to the floor.

“It’s weird, like looking up means you’ll see unending possibilities, and no one’s ready to face that. They’d rather just stay in their own little world, with walls on all sides.”

Azula dared herself to look up. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Zuko’s still in the sky right now.”

She managed, finding only the dull off-white of the ceiling, lost in dark light. “And then he’ll land, and he’s gone.”

Like he’s dead.

She didn’t say it. Katara didn’t either, but her face contorted for a moment while she thought it.

“He’s in the sky. Like a star. Or the sun.”

Like he’s burning up all over again.

Another grimace. She’d thought it too.

“Maybe not.”

They sat in silence just a little while longer. Katara stood up, brushing her fingers against the furniture before hopping back out the window, like a phantom of a ghost of someone who was never actually there.

Azula fell asleep on the floor, waking up stiff and groggy. She opened her eyes, groaning as light hit her.

Like the sun, who can still see me, who fights off the dark.

She got up and left, closing the door behind her.