You want her to love you—oh, how you want her to love you—but you don't know if she does because Azula does not say those kinds of things.

She just says "Ty Lee," in that way of hers and she tugs your hair a little bit harder as you mutter iloveyouiloveyou into her skin, because it is true whether you want it to be or not.

All is well, for the others. Zuko appears to have redeemed himself (though if that nervous clench in your stomach is any indication, it may not last long); Mai has her Zuko (her aura is pinker than you've seen it in years).

And you may or may not have Azula, but she, certainly, has you and that's all that you can know, really.

You're not completely sure who you are anymore.

You've always been the sort of person that knew who you were and what you felt and if you wanted to feel it.

But she makes you afraid and she makes you excited and she makes you happy, and you're not sure if it's the flame flickering through her veins or—or, you don't know what, but her touch feels like fire on your skin.

She makes you sad, you decide, as you stare at yourself in the mirror. It's okay to be sad, but you don't like it, because this isn't like you. (Or, you know, maybe it is. You're not so sure anymore.)

Your aura is stone-gray, and you can feel it like a heavy weight on your shoulders.

You don't notice her approach but, in the blink of an eye, she is there in the mirror like an angry spirit that will not be put to rest. Her eyes are no longer greedy—for not even you, the adoring lover, could ever deny her hunger for power—; they are insane.

She presses a kiss to your neck, and your heart feels heavy, too.

You watch as lightning shoots from her fingertips, as beautiful architecture crumbles around her (just the way everything else always has). As she bleeds, as she laughs, as she falls apart.

You watch as they lock her up.

"Ty Lee!" she screams, and you try not to hear her.

She is a memory, a ghost that slips into your bed at night and wraps her arms around you.

She digs longs nails into your skin. She whispers your name.

You cannot stay here.

You are banished, for one, and there are too many ghosts here, too many grasping shadows and lovely nightmares.

Mai is happy, or nearly there. Azula is a madwoman in an iron cell.

Your bags are packed, and the travel is arranged.

You do not know where you're going, but you know you're going away.