Chapter Text
“this is the first day of my last days
i built it up, now i take it apart”
wish - nine inch nails
Mai is bored.
Endlessly, mind-numbingly, heart-wrenchingly bored.
So.
Fucking.
Bored.
She lets out a sigh and turns her head to stare at a new brick in the wall. It offers no solace, no cure, nothing. Her eyes roll to the back of her head for a split second, and she relishes the flash of pain that sparks through her head.
There is nothing for her here. Nothing on the three dark stone walls, nothing on the grimy metal bars, or the cell door to her left. There is nothing on the dusty floor beneath her, scuffed from the endless pacing that begins her every day.
Now, though, she is sitting on the floor, knees brought up to her chest like… Like some sort of insecure child. She loathes herself for how she must look, but her legs are aching, and pacing has finally started to bore her, just like everything else.
Not for the first time today, she mutters a prayer through her chapped lips. She doesn’t believe anything will come of it, of course. It’s just something to do.
And if, by chance, her prayer is heard? That would be nice, too. Maybe someone would come for her. Maybe something divine would intervene and cart her off to freedom. She raises her left hand in front of her face, noting with slight disgust that her black nail polish had finally rubbed off completely, and uses her fingers to count off her more reasonable options.
One - Zuko is off with his new best friends, the Avatar’s rebellious group. He’d chosen his side, and it wasn’t hers. Two - her family wouldn’t have the clearance or authority to free her, even if they could scrounge up the guts. And… Ty Lee, one of her only friends, is locked up just like her. She’s probably in the same prison Mai is in right now. Maybe they’d be able to meet, if Mai was ever allowed out with the general population. It didn’t seem likely.
She looks at her fingers, grimy and toughened by her new life. That’s three.
Mai puts one more finger down.
Azula? She’s the reason Mai is in this hellhole. Can’t really expect a rescue from her.
Extending her remaining digit to the ceiling above her, Mai finishes her prayer. The only way she’s getting out of this is if the spirits themselves bust down her cell door. She imagines the great spirit of Agni entering the prison, a walking figure of fire. She’s not really sure what Agni is supposed to look like, but she knows it would be able to melt the iron bars like ice to water.
Somehow, that all seemed more likely to happen than gaining Azula’s forgiveness.
Ugh. So fucking bored.
Her hand drops back to her side, and her gaze returns to the bricks in front of her. She chooses a new one to occupy her focus. Searching for something, anything, on its face proves fruitless, as always.
One day, she’ll get through every brick. Then what? Will she just… start over? Play this game with herself for the rest of time?
Maybe she’ll start making stuff up, to keep herself occupied. If the bricks don’t tell her anything, maybe she’ll give them stories to tell. Stories to tell her.
Ah, she doesn’t need to do that. She probably has enough fiction in her head to keep the insanity at bay. Her mind flits through the novels she used to read, the stories Ty Lee used to tell her.
Not that Mai would ever say this out loud, but she would give anything just to hear that idiot’s voice again.
Another sigh escapes her mouth. She can’t start thinking like this. Can’t start thinking of her. She’d rather feel nothing at all than… whatever it is that her friend does to her.
Her mind is so tangled up, so full of thoughts and feelings that she’s tried to compress into a ball in the corner of her head. She can’t let the threads start getting loose.
She thinks about her mother’s sewing needles, meticulously organized by size and thickness, probably still in the small chest in the sitting room of her Omashu residence. One by one, she resigns to turn this awful mess in her head into rows and rows of neat, clean stitches. Mai silently hopes the needles she uses are sharp enough not to feel a thing.
There is nothing for her here. Nothing on the stone walls, nothing on the metal bars and door behind them. Nothing on the dusty floor beneath her. There is nothing in this fucking prison cell, not even her.
Mai forces her mind towards her past. What choice does she have, when she has no future?
She was nine. No, maybe ten. She was kneeling at the dinner table.
It had been a silent meal, accompanied only by the sound of her father thumbing through the pages of his reports, until Michi spoke up with a slightly annoyed tone. “Alright, Mai. Let me tuck you into bed.”
Mai’s eyes flitted up to her mother, who had not tucked her in for years now. She guessed it was some kind of trick, some kind of lesson she had to learn.
She wondered why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
Standing up and yet keeping her posture stiff and straight, she followed her mother into the hallway. Honestly, she couldn’t even remember the last time the woman had been in her room.
Her mother perched upon the edge of Mai’s bed and smoothed out the robes on her lap. “Come on. I have a story for you tonight.”
This almost piqued Mai’s interest. Stories were strictly found in books, on paper. Why this? Why now?
She carefully climbed into bed but stayed atop her covers, not wanting to stretch and wrinkle them in front of her mother. She hesitated for a moment before asking, “What kind of story?”
Tutting, Michi turned to her. “A proper girl doesn’t ask questions unless they’re necessary. Was that a necessary question?”
“No, Mother.” Mai’s face was still expressionless, though inside, she felt her heart hardening, her organs condensing into a very tight ball, of sorts. At least it was something to focus on.
Her mother offered a slight smile that did not reach her eyes. “Correct. Now, you’re familiar with stories about yokai, yes?” She only paused for a beat before continuing, “Silly myths and folklore, most of them. However, there is one that my mother told me long ago. I think it’s time I do the same for you.”
Wrinkling her nose ever so slightly, Mai recalled her experiences with her grandmother. None were particularly pleasant.
“Once upon a time, there was a very wealthy man living in a village. He attributed his wealth to his stinginess; he lived alone because he could not bear the thought of having to pay to feed a family. And one day, he met a woman that claimed she did not need to eat. Thrilled at the thought of a hard-working wife who needed no food, they swiftly married.”
Mai narrowed her eyes. She didn’t know exactly where this story was going, but her mother’s intentions were clear.
“He was happy with the arrangement, for a time,” her mother went on. “The woman never ate a bite of food in his presence. However, he started to notice his rice stores dwindling. He decided to secretly watch what his wife did while he was away at work. And he discovered the horrifying truth about her: under the curtain of her long black hair was a gruesome second mouth, with blood-red lips and endless sharp grey teeth. He watched as she cooked an immense amount of rice, fashioned it into onigiri, and fed that ravenous second mouth.” Mai’s mother turned to look directly into her daughter’s eyes. “He was so appalled that they divorced right away, leaving the monster to a life of loneliness in the wilderness.”
Nodding slowly, Mai failed to conceal the bite in her tone when she said, “And what am I to learn from some monster story for kids?”
“Now, Mai. I should think you should take to heart the lesson about what a man wants from his wife… to avoid… unseemly circumstances, of course.” Michi had now averted her gaze, but her jaw was set and her brow furrowed.
The pit in Mai’s stomach tightened further, feeling much like a strike from Azula’s fist on the playground. “Yes, Mother.”
Her mother stood then, smoothing out her robes and taking a deep breath. “Goodnight, Mai. Maybe I’ll tell the cooks not to make onigiri again for a while. I’m sure you’d agree, after your performance at the dinner table tonight.” With that, she left the room and shut the door.
So that was her true motive. The thready heartbeat in her ears, shallow and yet deafening, made Mai’s head ache.