What is reflection and what is simply reflected? News of the Painted Lady's return spreads all the way to the Fire Nation capital, birthing festivities and celebration among the people. And who could happen to stumble into the middle of it with a keen curiosity other than the unsettled prince Zuko, who decides he must see the woman of lore himself. Katara and Zuko are about to realize they have more in common with their alter egos than they would have ever realized, for just who is who under the full moon's lighting?

'.'.'.'

And who by brave assent, who by accident,
Who in solitude, who in this mirror,
Who by his lady's command, who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains, who in power,

Who shall I say is calling?

Who By Fire, Leonard Cohen

'.'.'.'

"I'm bored."

Very slowly but very surely, the fire prince felt his bottom lip curl into a hot, irritated scowl. It was a near match to his molten palms, which were beginning to clench at his sides. 'Not this,' he thought as unpleasant memories flooded his mind. 'I remember this.'

"And hungry."

"Mhmm," he half grumbled, turning to the window. His fiery breath flicked at the red curtains encasing their carrier, making them dance lightly.

The stoic girl grumbled back- at least as far as grumbling went, considering the monotonous temperament she kept. "This ride sucks."

He chose not to acknowledge that. Undeniably, Mai was becoming harder to please by the day. He could offer her the world, and still she would complain. While Mai had never been one to let her real feelings show, Zuko could practically see the impatience seeping through that ghostly mask of hers- if impatience could be considered feeling, that is. What was she so impatient about, anyway? Smothering, disinterested impatience...

He grit his teeth. She wasn't hungry and he knew it. She was miserable.

"Stop one of the servants and have them buy some fire flakes," she demanded dryly, tugging at the seam of the red curtains. The fabric was just sheer enough that he could see the pained look on the servant's face upon hearing the her icy voice. Any passerby would have assumed the look to be from the strain of carrying the royal palanquin, but Zuko knew better.

In truth, he didn't care what the servant felt, although he knew his next steps would portray otherwise.

"No," he grunted as he motioned for the carriers to stop. "I'll get some." Even if it wasn't a prince's place to walk anywhere ever, he had never been so willing to be treated as less than royalty if it meant getting out of that carrier.

He needed a breath away from her for a minute; her and everything else. Nothing felt right anymore, not even what had been so familiar a mere three years ago- the palace, his father, Mai. Everything he thought would bring him peace –or at least happiness if nothing else- was very quickly proving otherwise.

He had expected a lot of things upon his return. As trying and scandalous as the conditions of it had been, there was still that undying anticipation which rose above his worries. He had imagined the authority of being a welcomed prince would quench his perpetual drive for accomplishment. He had imagined being at home would fulfill everything he felt was lacking in his life, or at least give him some peace of mind; he had his honor back, after all.

'But at what cost?' asked the voice in the back of his mind- the voice which he had become very good at pushing away. He thought of his uncle with a frown, sighing sadly as he brushed past Mai.

When he looked at everything truthfully, home had changed in the three years he had been away. His father didn't treat him quite the same -there was a scar to prove that- yet Zuko couldn't put a finger on what exactly was different about him. He was just as cold and distant, and still just as dangerous. And Azula- she was even more off than usual. Of course, knowing the character of his family, he should have expected nothing less, but the only thing he had guessed correctly so far was that Mai would be there waiting as if nothing had changed; herself included. Zuko had even predicted the disconcerted arch of her brow when he parted the red curtain and stepped from the palanquin into the street.

What he hadn't expected, however, was that the newest market wares would draw his agitated breath to a halt.

His eyes widened.

The Blue Spirit was everywhere; or the mask was, at least. It was donned at almost every stand selling wares along with other strange costumes that seemed to blur into a mess of black and blue. Hundreds of those empty masks stared him down all at once, knowing everything he had done under its fabled guise. The Blue Spirit was a wanted criminal because of him. Zuko almost couldn't contain his outward shock and inward panic as a thousand wooden faces looked right through him.

When a voice beside him made him jump in the slightest, Zuko finally realized he was standing in a puddle and that his hem was soaked.

"OH!" the nervous voice squawked, and suddenly something very blue blocked the prince's vision. "Y-Your majesty! I see the Blue Spirit has c-caught your eye."

Although he couldn't quite see him, there was an old shopkeeper holding a mask in Zuko's rapidly blinking eyes, clearly hoping to distract him from what was going on in the market. "Y-You wouldn't want to miss out on the latest trend now, would you? Everyone is... Ah! I mean, uh.." he stopped himself with the realization that he was blowing his own cover, then began waving the familiar mask even closer as some sort of hopeful last resort. "I mean, it would be a specialty item, just for you!"

"Enough!" the hot-headed prince spat as he slapped the mask away from his face. Although his vision was freed from the gaze of the smothering mask, a thousand more surrounded him at every stand, whispering cold accusations with those dark eyebrows and malicious smiles. Zuko felt sick.

Trying not to look around nervously, the man resorted to more senseless and hopeless distractions, his wiry white hair whipping around with his words. "One for y-you and your fair lady, then? I-It would be my honor to please the prince..."

His mouth closed at the thought of Mai wearing that over-the-top mask, deflating a little of the anxiety streaming through his blood. "Right," the heavy sarcasm cut short as he tried to step away from the carrier and shake the water from his shoes. "Because any reasonable girl would love to parade around as a criminal."

The shopkeeper placed a finger up to interject, but Zuko wasn't finished. He felt the nervous need to cover any trace linking the Spirit to himself, even though the only two people who knew his secret were both dead.

Presumably, at least.

"You do know that the Blue Spirit has recently decided to take up thievery, don't you?" He took a threatening step towards the shaking merchant, sending ripples through the puddle they stood in. "There was a steep price put on his head, not to mention the wanted posters up everywhere. I don't think my father would be very happy to know you've made it ten times easier for him to sneak around. He's a dangerous... threat to... " his voice suddenly grew weak as he trailed off, unable to say the simple words.

He is an enemy to the Fire Nation.

Seeing the decline in the prince's potentially lethal lecture as his only hope, a fearful laugh escaped the old shop keep's lips. It was all he could do to keep from grovelling when he wrung his hands together and made a few low, rather frantic bows. "Please m-my lord, it is hardly our intention to cause uproar, but how could we deny our deity's honorable festivities? We all know the Blue Spirit himself is no thief… let alone a man! Someone simply used him as a disguise. You must know this better than anyone," Zuko's head snapped at him suddenly, and the old man fumbled backwards in terrified confusion before continuing, "... b-being as renowned in mythology as you are spoken to be."

The intensity of the prince's amber eyes drained after a long, silent moment. "Festivities?" Deciding it best to ignore the last comment, Zuko's worried look unraveled while the subtle traces of adrenalin bled out. "Festivities... for what? I don't recall any celebrations around this time of year."

Relieved to have escaped from probable wrath and potential jail time, the merchant drew the best convincing smile he could despite his lack of teeth. "The masks are in celebration of the Painted Lady's return to our land- the spirit of compassion and healing! Surly his majesty wouldn't withhold tradition and festivities?"

"The Painted Lady?" Inwardly his interest was caught, but the only physical show he gave from his indifference was the suspicious narrowing of his eyes as he looked at the shopkeeper. "Where has she appeared?"

"Near the villages on the river in the southeast province," the old man licked a finger and stuck it up into the air with squinted eyes. After a moment, he pointed off in what he gauged to be the right way. Zuko shook his head at the man's lack of direction, but said nothing. "Yep. The factories have been infesting the waters there something terrible. Perhaps the cries of the sick and dying have finally caught her ears again."

Infested villages? Dying people? Zuko was just parting his lips to demand why he hadn't been made aware of this when the man held up another mask in his face, one hadn't seen for a long time.

One he cherished.

Alongside the mask of the Blue Spirit was held a white, oval face. Her dark lashes and elegant eyebrows were painted on with the finest care, a beautiful addition to the deep red lines hewn around her void and empty eyes. Two smaller, red swirls twisted below her equally red lips, as if all the color had been drawn out of her face and into those vivid red lines. She looked calm and serene with her otherworldly beauty, even if she were just a mask.

Looking at the familiar face made something slow inside Zuko. The Painted Lady had been his mother's favorite myth, so naturally it had been his as well. She had told him so many wonderful stories about the spirit as a child that the young prince was sure he could still recite them by heart, although he would never admit to such a thing. He remembered the tragic story as though he had heard it yesterday.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" The man grinned unabashedly, and hinted slyly to his waiting carrier. Now Zuko understood what he meant by, 'one for the lady'.

"... She is," he finally decided. But as he took the mask and turned it over in his hands, gently tracing a finger along the wood's rich grain, something inside balked at the thought of putting it on Mai. It was just a mask, and he knew he had no reason to feel that way.

But he did.

She probably wouldn't want it, anyway. He was supposed to be getting fire flakes.

Zuko took note of the pale white faces in the mobile sea of deep blue and black masks. Amid the crowd of men with the blue mask, a few women donned a more elegant, pale face, the face he held in his hands. How hadn't he noticed that she was walking around everywhere until now?

He glanced back over his shoulder at the palanquin waiting for his awkward extrusion and then back at the shopkeeper, who was still hopefully holding that blue face out towards him. Below them, the puddle was tranquil enough to mirror those two eerie, spirit faces. The fire prince stared down at them, lost in his thoughts and the Blue Spirit stared back at him from the reflection.

Only the rippling of the water, caused by some stray rolling pebble, distorted the image and broke his trance.

"How much for the mask?" he asked without thinking twice about why he was paying or what he was doing.

',',',','

Red paint.

Willow veil.

Rice paddy hat.

And a half guilty conscience to top it all off properly.

Two glistening, navy eyes scanned the faces of her sleeping friends for a moment with just a twinge of a smile. Aang rolled over on his simple blankets, unconsciously scratching his full head of dark hair in his peaceful sleep. Sokka's head was cranked all the way back and he was drooling, as always. A line of it rolled down his temple into the complete head of hair that he too donned as part of their fire nation disguises. And Toph- well, she slept like a rock when her sleep was deep enough, and by looks of the drool bubble she breathed in and out, she wasn't waking up any time soon.

Reassured by the mutual drool and heavy sleep of her friends, she slipped away from the group for the third time that week- not as Katara, but as the Painted Lady.

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