The Butterfly Effect

Toph

It isn't often she mourns for her sight, but this is her wedding, after all. Despicable as it is, it's likely the only one she'll get. Just a glimpse of the decorations, of her dress, of Sokka's face, would be enough. Perhaps it could clue her in to what he's feeling.

It would certainly help her tonight. She and Zuko are scheduled to sneak out again tonight; they're supposed to meet Aang at eleven, just about when most of the evening servants switch shifts with the night ones, the ones who prepare for breakfast in the morning. Key word: scheduled. She isn't sure they can pull it off this time.

It's been just under a week since... the last time. What happened after. Can they sneak out again? Will they be caught? Feisty as she is, is it worth the risk? She doesn't want Zuko to suffer the same fate she does, though she's inclined to believe the king wouldn't punish him in quite the same way he does to her. Her wounds have stopped bleeding, thankfully. She knows how to bandage and take care of them just so: so they don't become infected, so they don't leave scars. Goodness knows she's learned over the course of a lifetime. This is her terrible secret. This is what she can't let slip, not to anyone.

Except...

Everything always circles back to Sokka nowadays, it seems. And yet it's a worthy thing to wonder; how will he take the scars that run up and down her back? How will he handle the knowledge that his new father-in-law has laid his hands on his new wife in this way? Knowing he has lodged his wretched fingers into her skin and scraped? Any sane person would run away screaming. Her jagged skin will be the downfall of the Earth Kingdom.

Then again, Sokka has been through more than she perhaps gives him credit for. His own mother died when he was but ten years old, and no king for a father can be the most attentive. Still, he had his sister, and Toph has no one. Not even Zuko knows this little tidbit about herself, and, however close they may be, he has not had the privilege of seeing her bare backside.

She carefully folds the cloak she's holding and places it on her bed, patting it softly. If only life were as smooth as the fabric. "Ahn," she calls. "How much time before dinner?"

"About an hour, my lady," comes the answer from her closet. She must have just gotten the laundry back from the cleaning staff.

An hour. Toph sighs and hikes up her skirts, dragging herself over to the study area of her chambers. There's a desk, some papers that require her signature, a few stamps — and a blank sheet of parchment. Ahn's personal writing pen, she knows, is placed delicately on top, awaiting the moment it will be used to write Toph's vows to her betrothed.

Vows. What a heinous idea. As if marrying Sokka isn't bad enough, as if pledging herself to him for all eternity and promising to be his wife and mother of his children and partner in all things isn't enough, she has to somehow come up with a way to say all that in some form that doesn't scream I was forced into this!

Perhaps she should start with something of a warning for their wedding night. Oh, my love, my husband and partner, don't be alarmed when you see those old wounds. They hardly even hurt anymore! She can almost picture the look on his face. And yet, even though he is still a stranger, she knows that he won't back out. He has too much honor in him to be disgusted at his wife's markings, to call off the marriage agreement. The thought almost makes her smile.

"I think we should work on the vows, Ahn," she says, gesturing to the parchment. She hears her maid rummaging around in her closet, setting things down and fighting her way out of the mound of dresses.

"Now? It's a bit... late, isn't it?"

"Well, you know what you always say. Better late than never."