She jolts upright, a mote of blue flame lighting in her palm to illuminate the darkened room and reveal the intruder. She doesn’t think anybody else had a key. Not even-
“Shealtiel?”
Or rather, his blurry mop of light hair disappearing into the deep shadows behind her table, as said 'intruder' tumbles to the floor with a startled squawking noise.
She makes a flicking gesture, and the flame hops from her palm into a lantern beside her bed, changing the light in the room from a flickering blue to a brighter and warmer natural yellow. Shealtiel climbs to his feet, awkwardly rubbing at his neck.
“...I’m sorry, I was worried, and you were being so stupid about it!”
The word 'stupid' is delivered with an accusatory finger jab. She sinks back onto the bed, scowling and avoiding his gaze.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Then let me look!”
“Fine, if it’ll shut you up.”
She regrets it as soon as she says it, but he doesn’t say anything, his face betrays no offense. He simply kneels in front of her and begins inspecting the injury, fingers lightly tracing over the damage to her jaw and neck. The touch alone is surprisingly soothing, but it makes her heart skip a beat.
She’s still quite certain he doesn’t have a key. Can he pick locks? She feels like it would have come up before now. And even in his boldest moments, he wouldn’t pick her lock if she wanted him out, would he? He was never this... pushy. Not like that. Usually he just restricted himself to pointed commentary.
“You’re the one who told me not to leave,” he finally says, “Remember?”
It interrupts her train of thought, and he says it so... quietly. Still not upset, not angry, just quiet.
“I know,” she mutters.
“Then why won’t you let me stay?”
He looks up from her injured arm, directly into her eyes. So earnest. So eager. It occurs to her then that their faces are close, almost as close as after the Flower Festival, when she’d almost-
“You know why.”
She averts her gaze, but his palm gently cups her cheek, and she doesn’t resist as he directs her to face him again.
“And you know I don’t care about that,” he says. It’s still not upset, or insistent, it’s just that same calm and even tone.
She expects the usual fear to stab at her, the usual urge to flee, but it doesn’t come. It’s just them. It’s comfortable.
“What do you want, Azula?”
Something spikes in her chest, but it’s not fear, it’s not that anxious pit of dread. It’s something quieter than that, something more pleasant. Exciting, even. Something thrilling.
She doesn’t answer, but her own hands rise to cup both sides of his face. He’s so close. She should just lean forward and-
Her hands tremble, and something cold and heavy twists inside her gut. Shealtiel frowns.
“Azula? Are you al-”
He never gets to finish the sentence. Blue flame erupts from her hands and spirals up her arms, and she feels her hands squeeze until he screams in pain. A moment later, his head twists, and his scream goes silent.
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And Words That Have No Form
Date: 2026-02-14 05:11 am (UTC)She jolts upright, a mote of blue flame lighting in her palm to illuminate the darkened room and reveal the intruder. She doesn’t think anybody else had a key. Not even-
“Shealtiel?”
Or rather, his blurry mop of light hair disappearing into the deep shadows behind her table, as said 'intruder' tumbles to the floor with a startled squawking noise.
She makes a flicking gesture, and the flame hops from her palm into a lantern beside her bed, changing the light in the room from a flickering blue to a brighter and warmer natural yellow. Shealtiel climbs to his feet, awkwardly rubbing at his neck.
“...I’m sorry, I was worried, and you were being so stupid about it!”
The word 'stupid' is delivered with an accusatory finger jab. She sinks back onto the bed, scowling and avoiding his gaze.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Then let me look!”
“Fine, if it’ll shut you up.”
She regrets it as soon as she says it, but he doesn’t say anything, his face betrays no offense. He simply kneels in front of her and begins inspecting the injury, fingers lightly tracing over the damage to her jaw and neck. The touch alone is surprisingly soothing, but it makes her heart skip a beat.
She’s still quite certain he doesn’t have a key. Can he pick locks? She feels like it would have come up before now. And even in his boldest moments, he wouldn’t pick her lock if she wanted him out, would he? He was never this... pushy. Not like that. Usually he just restricted himself to pointed commentary.
“You’re the one who told me not to leave,” he finally says, “Remember?”
It interrupts her train of thought, and he says it so... quietly. Still not upset, not angry, just quiet.
“I know,” she mutters.
“Then why won’t you let me stay?”
He looks up from her injured arm, directly into her eyes. So earnest. So eager. It occurs to her then that their faces are close, almost as close as after the Flower Festival, when she’d almost-
“You know why.”
She averts her gaze, but his palm gently cups her cheek, and she doesn’t resist as he directs her to face him again.
“And you know I don’t care about that,” he says. It’s still not upset, or insistent, it’s just that same calm and even tone.
She expects the usual fear to stab at her, the usual urge to flee, but it doesn’t come. It’s just them. It’s comfortable.
“What do you want, Azula?”
Something spikes in her chest, but it’s not fear, it’s not that anxious pit of dread. It’s something quieter than that, something more pleasant. Exciting, even. Something thrilling.
She doesn’t answer, but her own hands rise to cup both sides of his face. He’s so close. She should just lean forward and-
Her hands tremble, and something cold and heavy twists inside her gut. Shealtiel frowns.
“Azula? Are you al-”
He never gets to finish the sentence. Blue flame erupts from her hands and spirals up her arms, and she feels her hands squeeze until he screams in pain. A moment later, his head twists, and his scream goes silent.