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“ We have different definitions of luck, you and I, “ Azula growls, voice carrying upwards. the glare of the sun does little to help her identify her target, but it clicks soon enough; the little blind brat that travels with the &͟&
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practicing her stances, flames shooting up into the air with each new form. a new day is not one to laze about, but to grasp within her hold until it is perfect.
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azure flames licking at scorched earth⸝ she bends over — flames fizzling into nothing more than embers after a moment⸝ fingernails digging crescent moons into the fabric of pants leg.
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