Never had she thought she’d see this place again.

The royal palace is much different than she remembers. The servants are different. The atmosphere is different. It rankles at her.

But what really gets under her skin?

Her brother.

The same one who sent her away so long ago, who ~~took her rightful place on the throne, even when he was so weak, so stupid~~ defeated her, left her to rot… was the one decided to bring her back. Is the one who’s, evidently, trying to make some stupid, sappy, happy family fantasy.

She’d scoff if some minuscule part of her, un-sullied by Ozai, didn’t want that too.

So she plays along. She tries to advise him when his ruling is too soft. She pretends not to notice that her handmaiden is really a nurse; never allowed to leave her side for longer than five minutes, who could report her at any moment. Pretends the tea she’s served daily doesn’t have tincture in it. Pretends, pretends, pretends.

Azula always lies, and this is no different. But is lying to appease the one person who even slightly cares about her, who was the one to get her out of that spiritsawful ward and those thin scrubs and the restraints, so bad? She’s even trying to rein in her temper. Zuko should be proud. ~~Father would not be.~~

Today, she’s sitting beneath a magnolia tree in the royal gardens. Danger is not imminent. There is no shouting echoing through the palace walls-- not from her father or her mother, or her brother’s agonized screams, or servants being chewed out. There is no pervasive stench of ash and flesh. People come and go through the gates freely, willingly, happily. Zuko smiled at her earlier. An honest smile.

It all feels so strange.