She is Chaos [korrasami]

I

This is a SEQUEL to 'My Duty' I suggest you read that one first otherwise you'll have no clue on what's going on.

___

The room felt much smaller than usual. Like there was something outside pressing against the windows, aching to come in. Maybe it was the noise. The agressive tapping against the glass. Tap. Tap. It was probably the noise. Tap. Tap. Tap. A thousand, million taps at once.
The language of water.

And yet, the air inside seemed distilled. It was heavy. Hanging, like when she waved her hand and felt something heavy.

The wood of the sill was cool and clammy, like the paint would rub off if she pressed too hard. Maybe she should, the frame was peeling anyway, perhaps if she put her nail at the ends she could pull back a corner, slowly, slowly. It was like pulling off tape or a label stuck to a box. Slowly and carefully, starting with a small tag on the end. Then it broke. A long piece trapped between her finger tips. The paint was quite damp, even though it was buried deep on the inside.

There was moisture caught in the glass to her left. She took notes how it bubbled up in the sun and evaporated in the cold. On nights like then it bubbled against the glass and leered longingly as the outside runs with clear streams. Washing away the sut and grim.

The view was murky, close range was difficult. With so much movement before her eyes, she would have to focus, carefully.

Depth is tricky. She'll focus on the carts down below just and she could barely see the geraniums in a crate next to them. They were bobbing up and down under the weight and pressure. Their little heads flopped for a second before they are hit and pushed back down by the small gushes of wind.

She wrapped herself in it, feeling surrounded and safe. Wrapped in sound as vibrant as a drum, wrapped in cold as foreboding as stone.

The room was smaller than usual. Colder. She buried her chin into her cloth shirt. It must be the noise. Rhythmic pounding. Could she decipher the invidiudal taps? Like they were voices in the chorus? She thought she heard something in there, a soft soothing voice or a desperate scream, but perhaps it was her imagination playing up again.

The language of water. Tonight, a message that she didn't understand.

Her head turns to the side and she leans back, hands planting onto the writing desk so she didn't topple over. And there she was. Cocooned in a barrage of sheets with her black hair spread across the pillows. A smile spreads across her lips. Asami.

It's the little things that make Korra smile. yet, these little things keep her away at night too.

Acompanied by the little scenarios her brain descides to display when the sun sets.

She could feel the waves of blazing heat forcing her to back-off everytime her mind played tricks. The bright hot flames producing evil cackling sounds as she watches the charred silhouette flaying in the middle of it all. The cries, the shouts, yells.

Then she wakes, hand out in front of her like she's stopping something, sitting in her own pool of sweat.

When her eyes close again she forces her thoughts to change to something more pleasant. They start to flash and roll like a camera and then she's in a meadow. The leaves hellhound-red in colour and the rest would be scorched-orange. With Asami by her side, they'd watch as the leaves drop one by one to the ground. It would be late Autumn and the cold bite of the wind made an appearance, freezing whiskey noses and apple-frosted cheeks. They'd turn around and the cottage would be there. If anything, that cottage may be their hideaway, together hand in hand. But then the front door opens, her parents are there again, sprawled out on the floor like they never left.