Zutara Week: Mask

Mask (n.):A mold of a person's face, often made after death.
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Her skin, normally as caramel-colored as a candied treat, was whiter than snow. The cherry flush to her cheeks were drained and gone forever, leaving behind no trace of ever having existed. Her long and slender limbs were stiff and straight, unfamiliar to the curved and flexible movements before. Her fawn-colored hair had lost its shiny, sleek luster and was hanging limply around her face in her traditional Water-tribe style. Even her hair-loops seemed to wilt against her face.


She was nestled deeply into her native water-tribe blue fabric and traditional white water lily petals surrounded her on all sides. The boat she rested in was hand crafted by her brother, which took weeks of work to make. It was made of mahogany, an exotic and rare tree pulled from the center of the Earth Kingdom, compliments of Toph Bei Fong.


Her family surrounded her on all sides, their tears falling continually from their cheeks. Gran-Gran's grey hair was chopped haggardly, and faint cuts were visible all over her legs and arms. Hakoda stood before his daughter, her limp hand gently cradled in his, the tears sliding down his cheeks and the pained look on his face were the only ways to know he was in pain. Sokka had Katara's other hand and looked down on his little sister with pity and sadness, but with a slight joy almost undetectable to the untrained eye. Suki was behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Tears slid from her eyes, falling onto Sokka below. The unbreakable Toph Bei Fong was also at the funeral, her eyes wet and full of sadness.


The sun slowly set on the group, the pink shades of the night sky slowly hardening into a dark blackness around them. Hakoda and Sokka both reluctantly let go of her hands and gently set them back into the boat. Each took a side of the canoe in gloved hands. Both looked at the other, hesitant and waiting. Finally, Hakoda nodded. Sokka and Hakoda heaved, their grunting the only sound echoing through the bleak and cold Southern Water-tribe landscape. Soon, the boat scraped off of the blue ice and found purchase in the water. It began to float away calmly, barely making a ripple across the water. The boat drifted farther and farther away and the whole group could be heard crying and moaning.


The only thing left in her tribute was a blue and white mask, in the shape of her face, painted with the moon and the stars, and her mother's necklace resting beside it on a cherry table.
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His skin, a pale-white color that rivaled that of the man on the moon, was completely devoid of its color. The redness of his skin had vanished with his spirit, leaving him with a granite-white face. His limber arms were limp and flexible, so different compared to the strength and sharpness of his movements before. The midnight black hair had lost its floppiness and its color, but it was pulled up into the formal topknot of the Fire Lord.


Scarlet silk blankets and buckets of orange fire-lilies surrounded his body as he lay on the funeral pyre. Uncle had hand-carved carved and gathered all of the cherry wood used to create the platform and tinder from the palace gardens.


His people surrounded him on all sides, tears streaming down their faces for their loss of a great ruler. Ursa found her way over to the pyre, her long hair pulled up into a short, tight bun. She wore nothing but white and had a white flower resting gently in her hair. Her eyes were redder than she had ever seen before. She stood on one side of her son, her bell sleeves covering up her arm while she held her son's hand in her own. Uncle stood on the other side, his hand closed around his 'son's' own. He was turned to face the crowd and made a monologue he knew the young Fire Lord would be proud of. Sokka and Suki were in the crowd in each other's arms, tears streaming down their faces. Toph Bei Fong was on the stage beside Iroh, a slight smile on her face.


The sun slowly began to rise behind the palace, the warm yellow sunlight slowly approaching the gathered crowd. Ursa and Uncle turned to one another and removed their hands from his. They gently placed them back beside him on the pyre. In unison, they stepped away to opposite sides of the stage and slowly brought their fists into a beginning firebending position. With one nod, they both punched out one fist and blew the flames into the wood. The orange flames licked the dark wood, crawling quickly up to the tower. Black smoke plumed up into the air, billowing out like a sheet in the wind. After a few moments, the only thing you could see was the orange flames engulfing everything.


The only thing left in his tribute was a full mask of his face, painted yellow and orange after the sun and the dragons of fire, and the duel broadswords on a cherry table resting next to her mask and her mother's necklace so both may be together.