Azula gazed into the flickering flame of the candle; it was the only light in the room. She sought comfort in it. The way it danced on the wick had a calming effect.
A slow and drawling sway.
Azula closed her eyes and let the smell of smoke—tainted with berry—tickle her nose. One breath after another. Slow. Steady.
She opened them once more. She flicked her finger in the direction of the flame, it dimmed to a shade of familiar blue and sputtered. She flicked her finger again setting the flame a flutter. She rested her arms upon the table, and her head upon her arms.