Ricochet

Ursa wasn't aware of falling, but somehow, her knees had given way and hit the marble floor, as she put her hands out in front of her to keep from completely prostrating herself on the ground. If a voice could be given to the emotions raging inside her at the moment, it would be something like shattering glass and a long, drawn out scream.

"That's it, mother. Bow, bow before your ruler."

She lifted her head to stare at the girl in front of her. She was herself in miniature, the same dark hair, those same brown eyes, but the look on her face was one Ursa herself would never wish onto anyone. It was sadistic. The tone of voice she spoke in was both malicious and cold.

How had this happened…she looked down at the tiles, thinking perhaps the answer would reveal itself if she stared hard enough. Her daughter, her own flesh and blood, it was impossible, it just couldn't be.

"Why do you look so shocked? You should have been expecting this. You should have seen this coming."

The comment seemed to shake her to the core, as the words themselves bounced off the walls, jeering at her for her shortsightedness. How…how was it possible, her eyes could only stare in horror at the body lying a few feet in front of her; her son, her precious son, drowning in a pool of his own blood.

"Aren't you proud? I've only been doing what you wanted me to. Like mother, like daughter, as they say."

Ursa stared in horror at the girl sitting on the throne before her. Eyes…those eyes, so empty and lacking in emotion. Her face was an impenetrable, flawless mask devoid of any and all feeling. This wasn't her daughter…this couldn't be her daughter.

"No…you are not my daughter, you're a monster!"

A monster…a monster…a monster...

A smile lifted the corner of the girl's mouth in perfect cruelty, and Ursa felt icy water dousing her lungs, strangling the breath in her throat as the next words sent her reeling.

"No, I'm only what you've made me into."

Ursa's eyes flew open, as she felt someone shake her, calling her name repeatedly. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath, as cold sweat trickled down the side of her face.

"Ozai?" She whispered, and she could barely make out his features in the dark. Almost in desperation, she reached out with her hands to feel, just to make sure he was real and the nightmare she had was over. Her husband did nothing to stop her, but she could feel the frown upon his lips from the way her hands shook.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts, as she pushed the covers aside, getting out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Ozai called after her, as she hurried to leave the room.

"I have to check on Zuko," she answered, and hesitated before adding, "and Azula."

She knew her husband disapproved as she hurried down the expansive hallway, her heart thudding in her chest, pushing her to go faster…faster. It was a dream, but the image of her son lying dead on the floor, was too vivid for her to let go, as she pushed the door open to his room.

There, she felt herself go dizzy with relief, as she gazed upon her son lying tangled among the bed sheets. With a tenderness only a mother could posses, she pulled the sheets straight, and covered him with the blanket.

"Mom?" The prince stirred, cracking his eyes open, and Ursa couldn't resist the urge to gather him up in her arms and simply hold him tight, reassuring herself that nothing had happened to him, that he was safe and sound. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, my love," she kissed his forehead. "Go back to sleep now."

It didn't take much convincing before her son was fast asleep once more, and she tucked him in before leaving the room, feeling her heart rate slow down to a steadier pace.

As she made her way more leisurely down the hallway, she hesitated outside her daughter's bedroom. A feeling of unnamed dread seemed to fill her, as she slowly turned the knob. A film of light entered the room behind her, as she approached her daughter, watching her sleep soundly.

Ursa let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She almost chided herself, as she watched her daughter's chest rise and fall gently with each breath. Her daughter was full of mischief; of that much she was sure, and behind those closed lids lay a pair of golden-brown orbs filled with passion and drive. But her four-year-old daughter was anything but a murderer.

Yet, as she reached out to caress her daughter's cheek, and move a few stray locks from her face, Ursa felt a shudder go through her as she wondered just how much of the dream was as impossible as it seemed.

End.