Here's something you can write about whenever you have time or feel like: Zuko and Katara are celebrating their anniversary in their bath tub drinking champagne and making love.
Another Year. Another Life.
It wasn’t the anniversary he wanted, but it was an anniversary, nonetheless. He could commemorate the loss of a loved one, couldn’t he? Call it an anniversary? Drink to the day… drink to her?
He’d had too much already, but champagne had always been her favorite. He didn’t care if his wife wouldn’t approve. Mai never approved of anything really, unless it involved his silence and her peace.
Leave me alone.
I guess I don’t know you.
I didn’t ask for your whole life story.
Those words rang in his ears day in and day out, but on this day, he could drown the noise out. His thoughts were, instead, filled with brown skin and blue eyes, mirages of the woman he loved in his teens and twenties, still loved.
Imagining Katara was easy— especially here.
He’d drunkenly wandered from his chambers, passed the rooms where his sour wife slept — alone? with another? did he care? — to the guest quarters in the palace’s west wing. Katara lived here, a decade past, though at the end of that time, she was more so living in his bed and between his sheets.
Still, this was where it started, those years with her, another life.