#bloodbenderamon

She watches him, standing on the raised platform, just as strong and proud a he's always been. He doesn't blink or grimace as they read off the charges against him, but instead stares coldly at the crowd. A crowd full of those who despise and condemn him, those who wish to watch him die. To have him suffer as much pain as they had been put through. Not her, though.

She stands, silent and invisible between two men, one jeering and the other throwing something at the stage, though the object falls short. She can’t believe this is what his life has come to. That he had gone down this path. Sure, the end of her life had been brutal and painful for both of them, but she never thought he would hold on so tightly to her memory.

Yet, he had, and now he stood facing the consequences of those actions. She agrees with the crowd that what he did was terrible and cruel, but she never would have thought that it would lead to his execution. Then again, she'd never thought it'd come this far. Never thought he would take it so hard.

Even as he stood there, hands clasped (tied) behind his back, he looked as handsome as she remembered. Tall, strong, looking ready to take on the world for his cause. Before, it had been her, and she remembered how he would whisper to her that he would move mountains, oceans, and all of the spirit world for her if she had asked.

Her non-beating heart pounded, as she watched the officials fasten a rope around his neck. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she began moving, running, racing towards him. Passing through the people in an effort to get to him. for years, she had longed to be with him, but not like this. Never like this. He was supposed to live on, and be happy. To remember her with love, not agonize over her death. He wasn't supposed to die like this, never like this.

The crowd grew quiet, and her heart beat louder than a drum. No. This couldn't be happening, it shouldn't be happening. Not to him, her lovely Noatak. The silence held all of eternity in that moment, as the executioner pulled the lever. The floor of the platform gave away beneath him, and he dropped, just as she screamed in her silent world.

She choked, sprinting through the platform and kneeling upon it, her hands shakily reaching out to touch him. Still warm, but ever so still. Not even jerking. Tears began to flow from her eyes as she stared, not even realizing that she was crying. All that she could think of was no, this wasn't real. This wasn't real, it couldn't be. It hit her like a ten ton boulder, and she crumpled, invisible to everyone as she awkwardly cradled his head, stroking his thick dark hair, pressing kisses to his skin. Her darling, her love, her Noatak. Dead. Because of that damn Equalist war. Because her death had pushed him to it.

Her death. Her. She had killed him. She had killed her only love. Indirectly, yes, but it was all her fault. Her mind blanked, that thought echoing across all of time inside her mind. It was her fault that he was now dead, that the crowd was cheering.

She wept harder, holding his body (corpse), crying out in agony that only a tortured soul could manage. "Please, I beg of you, Spirits, change this! Let him live, I love him. My darling, my Noatak. I'm so sorry, my love, I'm sorry, I’m so sorry..." -Mika

--------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't often he had dreams like this one. Dreams where his life had never been ruined, dreams where that firebender had never taken his family from him. They were always dreams he loved and hated, all at the same time. They told him of a future he could have never had, and told him of the past that he must live with. They were his wonderful nightmares.

They usually started out the same way. His wife- oh, his beautiful wife, how he missed her- glowing with pride as she held a small bundle in her arms. The baby. Their baby, who had never seen the light of the sun, or the shine of the moon. His darling wife would pass him the little bundle, and he would hold it, staring at it with love and amazement. This thing, this tiny little babe, was the one thing he had always loved, yet never saw. And it was so beautiful.

The dream would skip around then, flashing to images and scenes of his perfect future. Helping his child, a son, eat from his messy seat at the table, covered in mashed peas. Holding his son's hands, as the toddler tried to walk, and then watching his first wobbly steps toward his wife. Watching as his son flung the water from his glass onto the ceiling, his first act of bending. Teaching his son the ways of water, of change and fluidity, of the moon's phases and the ocean's calming rage. Never teaching him of bloodbending, for fear of pushing his son away like his own father had done so.

He watched in the never to be experienced flashbacks as his wife became pregnant again. A daughter this time. A beautiful piece of her mother, with his eyes and her mother's sweet disposition, she quickly became a daddy's little girl. He watched as he held her, guarding her from the monsters under the bed. Watching her jump on her bed, cheering for him after he had saved the princess from a terrible beast (a spider-fly).

He watched as his family grew older; his son becoming a strong young man that the local girls would fawn over, his daughter becoming an intelligent and witty young woman that the boys chased after. His wife, his darling wife, growing older with him, never losing an ounce of beauty, though she would laugh when he said that.

The skips between scenes became longer, more time passing between each moment. He saw his son succeed in business, and his daughter marry. He watched his first grandchild come into the world, a darling little girl whom he doted on. His life, his family, his wife. they were all here, living and breathing, and for a second, he would forget that this was nothing but a dream.

The next part destroyed him. It started out with his daughter and grandchild on the living room floor, playing. His son and son-in-law would be talking off to the side, and he and his wife would be seated happily on the couch, watching. He never expected the next part to come, not ever. Not in his perfect world. The door slamming open, and tongues of red hot fire rolling inside, like the fiery tongues of the Devil himself. The flames would wrap around his daughter and her family, pulling them to where he could never follow. Next, the flames took his son, his strong little boy, who reached his hand out for his unmoving father as the flames dragged him away. He wanted to move, to pull him back, but something kept him still.

From the center of the angry flames, stepped the man. The man who would never leave his thought alone, the firebender who had destroyed this world for him. He would watch as the man stepped forward, almost smirking. Grabbing his wife, the man would leer at her, never moving from in front of his eyes. Slowly, tortuously, the man killed his wife. Burning her, marking her beautiful skin, letting her screams ring in his own ears as the man burned her alive.

It was usually when her screams had stopped and he could see her burned body, laying so still on the floor before him, that he woke up. He would cry silently in his bed, clutching his pillow, as he realized that it was just another dream, another nightmare.

After a while, his anger for the firebender would return, and he would dress for the day in full gear, before going out, his presence frightening his recruits. They had learned what happened when they annoyed him on one of these days, and it wasn't pretty. It was never pretty, to be the object of frustration of someone who had just experienced a wonderful nightmare.