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Day Three: VoicesDay Three: Voices
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Zuko pushes the heavy drapes aside a little and peers out of the window, gazing at the horizon – at how the rising sun, this pale disc obscured by the mist, painting the dark blue night sky soft pink. The door to his chambers is creaked open – he can hear the servants bustling, coming and going out in the hallway, talking, some singing.
His fist clenches around the curtain, the tendons standing out, muscles tense under the skin.
She used to sing, too, her voice echoing in the vast rooms during those days after the Comet, when, for the time being, the palace was hauntingly quiet, when nothing was certain, when he was still bedridden, still healing – then she would sing, stealing a little sliver of life into these old, dark rooms. She would sing old Water Tribe songs, taught by her grandmother, stylish Earth Kingdom tunes she heard in Ba Sing Se, traditional Fire Nation ballads she must have picked up traveling the outer islands, where they were