I have bathed this dagger in fire, because I am the Lord of Flames.

I press the hot blade against my throat, and lift up my chin as I stare at myself in the mirror. They say that my face is fair, and that black silk falls upon my shoulders. That my posture is perfect, and my judgement, divine. They bow to me on their hands and knees, prostrate themselves before my power. And all I can think about is how I would like to crush their heads under my foot.

Because I know what they truly think of me. I know better than to believe their flattery. Their fear is as evident as a burning temple in the night. The lovely embers, the smoke, the fire rising amidst the cries for mercy.

But fear is weaker than hatred. It is passive, ridden with submission. While hatred is a tireless conqueror.

I move the flat of the blade across my skin, smile at my own reflection at the thought of my wife.

Every day, she tries to subjugate me with her hatred. She punishes me, waits for me to fall to pieces. Her every gesture, her every glance is dedicated to my ruin.

The child she loves most is the one who reminds her least of me. I see the way she holds Zuko in her arms. How she strokes his head, whispers soft words in his ear. Azula sits by the pond, kills the koi fish with a sharpened stick.

She is just like me.

That is the reason Ursa cannot bear to look at her. She scolds her, wants to fix her. To turn her into a different person. Because she sees me in her daughter. And wants no reminder of the beast she is forced to call her husband.

My skin is being scorched. I take a deep breath, keep the dagger in place for several minutes. Let it burn right through my flesh.

I remember that day, when she first called me her love. I can still hear her voice in my brain. So tender and trembling. Asking me to stop that carriage. I complied, because of the string she had suddenly tied around my heart. She fastened a knot, tightened it with the promise of devotion. I was in ecstasy. For days I paced around my bedroom like a madman, feverish, anxious to make her mine. Anxious to possess her love, which I had never hoped to obtain until that moment in the carriage.

At our wedding, I held her hand as she finally pledged herself to me. I studied her, tried to decipher her emotions. But there was no smile upon her face. Like she had just condemned herself to death.

I look at my wound, it is shaped like a tower. A prison, a place of misery. I make the edge of the blade slide right under my chin, watch myself bleed.

When I speak to her, she sits still and just listens. Gives me no input, except to say that I am cruel. In the way I raise our children, in the way I rule my empire, in the way I try to make her yield, to make her love me.

I bring her a flower, she weeps for the gardner I torture after she refuses to let me place it in her hair. I adorn her with gold, she sheds tears for the cities my armies have pillaged. I kiss her mouth, and she swears my lips taste like fire and blood.

At night I make love to her. During the act, she remains silent. She lets me do to her whatever I please, patiently waits for me to satisfy my lust. Sometimes, she holds me, kisses me back. Sometimes, she even whispers my name.

Ozai.

But most of the time, she just lies there, with a vacant look in her eyes. Her body belongs to me, but her mind is out of reach.

Blood streams from my chin, all along my throat, down my chest. I want to cry, but don't know how. My eyes are dry, like my heart. A heart shrivelled and wilted, like refused flowers.

I wipe myself clean with the palm of my hand, lick the blood right off the blade. I paint my face in red, the red of my robes, the red of my soldiers, the red of my anger.

My advisors never beg for my indulgence. Ursa never asks me if I love her. I am incapable of both. Incapable of indulgence, incapable of love. Incapable of giving what I have never received.

I will not crumble. She will not destroy me. I will no longer crave her affection. From now on, I will crave what she has already offered me. Her hatred. And I will return it tenfold.

I see a shadow on the wall. I turn and find her standing by the door. Reveal my mask of blood.

"What have you done to yourself?" she asks me, horrified.
I rise to my feet, walk over to her. Hold out my hand to stroke her face.
"I won't let you win," I tell her.
"What are you talking about?"
"You won't destroy me."
"Ozai…"
I put the tip of my dagger to her belly.
"Stop this," she says, and I grin.
Slowly, she reaches for my arm, takes my dagger away. Throws it aside, and I let her.
"Stop this, my love."
I will not fall into her trap again. I will not let her do this to me. Hoist me up high, to better watch me fall.

She puts her arms around my waist, embraces me with all her strength. Rests her damp cheek against my breast. Her warmth is inebriating. I want to give in, I want to believe her words. To trust her thumping heart, knocking at the door of mine. For her, I would execute all my generals, make all my armies retreat. For her, I would step down from my throne. And throw myself in the fire.

But she does not love me. She is nothing but deceit. So I will endeavour to make her pay. I will tear her down her before she consumes me.

Closing my eyes, I kiss her head. Tint her hair with my blood.
This game she plays, I will play as well.