Gray, the most despicable of all colors, dominated the landscape. Horizon to horizon of nothing but a gray wasteland. Rolling, ominous clouds raced through the sky. Lightning illuminated their bellies, silent and oppressing. Azula spun slowly in a circle taking in the strange location. One brow rose as she spotted a white stone wall. No more than 4 feet high, it did little to dispel the feeling of gloom beyond its border. The wall spread as far as she could see in either direction with no end and no gate. She could feel a breeze, icy and demanding, clawing through her soft clothing. It sapped all inner heat leaving her feeling vulnerable. The wall seemed to respond to her agitation, glowing faintly, heating the air around her.

Azula walked determinedly toward the only sign of life, the whitewashed stones. Her steps thudded in the dusty ground leaving trailing tendrils of dust clinging to her bare feet, ghostly echoing her path. Minute rocks jabbed her tender soles and made her wince. Azula reached out her hands as she neared the structure. She placed her palms flat on the topmost brick but the heat had faded leaving nothing but the longing to be warm. She shivered, whether from cold or budding anger she could not decipher. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, someone was behind her. She whirled, hand extended a hand as if it held a blade, only to stop suddenly an inch from the most beautiful woman she had ever known.

"Mother," Azula gasped. Her voiced echoed eerily.

Ursa bowed her head in respect to her daughter. When she lifted her head once more Azula backed into the wall. Ursa's eyes were no longer human. Pits of blackness, smoking and smoldering from an unseen flame somewhere deep inside. She did not smile, and kept her hands folded in her large sleeves. Her brilliant royal robes were pristine but altered. Once a vibrant red, they looked now like crusted blood. Her skin echoed the gray landscape, but she still held a unidentifiable grace. She sedately glided past Azula to stand with her daughter at the wall and gazed toward the barren plain on the other side.

A thick fog had rolled in, obscuring the plain. Azula squinted, there were figures standing apart from one another in the gray mass, black against the fog. Waves of emotion purged Azula's empty soul. Pain, fear, hatred, anger, but most of all grief. She felt urged to find each lost individual and console them.

She shook herself like a dog. No, she wouldn't give in to her gender's tender feelings. She killed that part of herself years ago. She glared back at the silhouettes, but something caught her attention. One figure was wearing the Fire Lords crown. The new model, the one Azula helped design. Instantly she forgot herself and vaulted over the wall. Once her feet touched the ground a wave a depression hit with such force it hurt physically. It sucked out her breathe and electrified her muscles. She crouched in a ball holding her head as voices assaulted her mind. Tortured shrieks broke through and clambered around the dark recesses of her brain. Invading and violating her thoughts.

Azula gasped in air, and hauled herself up with great effort. She needed to reach the crowned figure, she knew she had to make sure he was alright. She didn't notice how the black figures began to shuffle their way toward her as if drawn by a magnet. Each step sent pain up her spine but Azula was blind to it as she frantically closed the distance. The wind buffeted her, nearly knocking her off her feet. The last few yards were grueling. Azula fought the wind tunnel surrounding her Father. She tried to blast fireballs but they were sucked up the vacuum and suppressed. She focused herself and called upon her lightning. Arm extending toward the glowing blue heart of the windstorm, the Avatar. She let loose, but nothing happened. Her hair lashed at her eyes and she was being shoved backward with the force of the storm.

She tried once more to propel lightning into the gale, nothing so much as a spark left her fingertips. She growled in fury as the twister shoved her back, feet skidding and tearing to pieces. Azula reached out futilely for her Father.

Azula's momentum brought her crashing into something solid. Black hands grabbed her shoulders, her knees, her ankles, arms, anything. She thrashed trying to dislodge the grimy digits. The black figures had caught her. Their grip cold and as hard as iron. The hands flipped her around to face a sea of faces. Iroh, Zuko, Mai, Ty Lee, were among the multitude. Hordes of snarling emaciated faces, with bruises, welts, and gaping wounds. All of them calling her name with vicious anger. Their eyes were the same as Mothers, black holes smoking. Azula screamed for her Father, forgetting he was unable to aid her. The mass of bodies now surrounded her. Lifting her off her feet, holding her limbs stretched as tight as they would go, she was at their mercy. Ursa appeared at Azula's shoulder, the one piece of calm in the maelstrom of vengeance. Mother pulled an object from her sleeve, a thin tube of metal with a hilt, dragons etched in a spiral around the cylinder. Azula's eyes widened, she knew what that was. She began to use her bending, finally scared, flames shot from her hands in great bursts. Or so she expected. For the second time her bending failed. Nearing panic Azula screeched for her Father. Ursa flicked her wrist and the tube heated red, a tiny fire burned within the tube. She plunged the tube into Azula's left eye.

%$#*^&*()_(*

Azula's body lurched up, blanket thrown to the side. She clutched her throbbing eye, hoping there was no damage. She tentatively opened her lid, but it was no use. Darkness was all she could see. In a rush she realized where she was, imprisoned. Fresh air floated over her sweat soaked skin making her shiver. Air could only mean one thing. It was time for the Avatar's annual visit.