Southern Star

Chapter Five: Come Out, Come Out

"Hello, Song," said Ying.

Song Lee's mind was still sluggish, but it raced nevertheless as she bowed deeply to her friend. How had Ying come all the way from Ba Sing Se? How did she know her aunt? Why was she there?

Ying bowed as well. When the two rose, both were smiling. Aunt Yan Song was watching from the side, and she ushered her niece inside before closing the door. "What are you wearing?" she asked.

Song Lee did not like how similar her tone was to Song Lee's mother's, but she knew her aunt wished her no ill will. She replied, "A prison outfit underneath a stolen shirt."

Aunt Yan Song's expression morphed into one of such unadulterated horror that even Song Lee could identify it. "You've been in nothing but a prison outfit for days?"

"Yes."

"We must get you changed immediately."

"How is that the first question you asked her?" asked Ying.

"How long has it been since you've bathed?" asked Aunt Yan Song instead of answering.

Song Lee thought for a minute. "Not since the day we opened the tea shop in the Upper Ring."

Ying looked bewildered. "The what?"

Aunt Yan Song leaned forward. "How long ago was that?"

She thought for a minute more. "Three weeks."

Aunt Yan Song swooned, and Ying steadied her. "Before we go over all of the questions," said Ying, "because I'm sure there are a lot, do you want to bathe and get a fresh change of clothes? Your aunt and I can prepare some jasmine tea and food for you while you do so."

Song Lee straightened and nodded.

"Come along, love," Ying said to Aunt Yan Song, and the two left the front room. Song Lee left through a different door, walking straight through the house rather than to the kitchen. Her emotions were soaked with nostalgia. There were no portraits of her family hanging on the walls, extended or otherwise. In fact, other than the portrait of the Fire Lord that was placed inconveniently behind one of the bedroom doors, there were no more pictures of people to be seen anywhere. There were, however, many paintings of mountains and forests and oceans and all sorts of natural landscapes.

Song Lee exited the house through the back door. Despite Aunt Yan Song's status and wealth, she had never employed servants; everyone staying in the house was expected to look after him- or herself. Song Lee found the well behind the house and drew water up, carrying it back inside to the washroom and pouring it into the tub. Two, three, five trips it took to get enough water inside, and she did her best not to spill much of it on the floors. She knew that she wasn't alone, that Ying and Aunt Yan Song were mere rooms away, but it was quiet other than the sounds of the water splashing against the sides of the bucket and her own breathing.

Song Lee didn't bother to get her aunt to use her firebending to heat the water up, despite how bitterly cold it was from the still-freezing weather. It felt so nice to peel the prison clothes away from her skin, alongside her ruined underwear. It was less nice to actually sink back into the water. The chill sent a jolt through every nerve in her body, causing goosebumps to appear all over her skin and her most recent wounds to twinge. It made her flinch.

Though she had to fight back some mild shock, Song Lee could admit that at least the water was keeping her awake.

She scrubbed her skin and washed her hair and scrubbed her skin again and again and again, almost to the point of obsession. No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to feel clean, and it wasn't just because of the dirtied water. She didn't think she would ever feel clean. She felt bare and ugly and filthy, even more so within herself than without—like one of Uncle Iroh's analogies, as stupid as she had thought they were. She had no real purpose anymore, and other than stagnating in her aunt's house, she had no direction at all. After all that she had done to keep Zuko safe, and all that he had done for her, she had betrayed him. How was she supposed to live with herself after that?