cigarette smoke.

Toph Beifong

she emerges from a darkness that is so profound she does not know light. it's a sad existence. truly, but to her it does not matter, it is a constant reminder of a dreaded life in a world of the deceased.

it's as if she's in a new body. her legs are crooked and her words are slurred, her skin is sickly white, a color she has never known, and her eyes shine like moonlight, her hair is the color of coal and she thinks it's so odd.

two people she has only ever heard from are happy, it's a miracle, they say, she's fixed now. she wasn't aware she was broken. was the darkness a curse, wasn't everyone like that, shrouded in darkness with only sound and the earth beneath their feet there to guide them.

it doesn't matter, her world becomes dark again. she sees with her feet and the ground at her sole.

she knows now that everyone is used to that. that world of color and lights. she wants to see, and work. she wants to sweat. she is not helpless, a voice shouts. she is not helpless.

her hands run patterns on the ground and it follows her movement, like waves, she would say, if she'd ever seen them. she never has.

she misses the world of color, but she's used to this void.