The night was foggy, as though the moon was pushing up dust from the ground and freezing it in time, sending silvery beams to illuminate it.

The previous nights had been calm. Tonight felt charged with an energy Katara could not quite place but felt in her bones. The air outside reflected how she was inside; anxious, and walking like an invisible voice spoke to her.

It was eerie.

It felt unreal, as though she were trapped between the edge of reality and fiction. Almost dream-like, she considered, in the way that as she walked. She could not hear the crunch of her feet nor hear the crickets chirping far away.

There was no noise, she came to realize.

There was nothing except the deep fog that rolled around her, obscuring her vision on all sides.

She did not know where she was going. She did not know if she was walking on land or water or air at this point, but some invisible string tugged her around, bringing her deeper into this state.

She exhaled and saw her breath, as though the temperature dropped from almost comfortable to the chilling numbers she'd expect from the Southern Water Tribe.

Yet, despite this acknowledgment of the coldness, and that she could realize that yes it was colder than usual she herself was not cold. She wasn't warm either.

She just felt...felt as though she were existing at this moment. An interloper where she shouldn't be. Someone teasing the seam between real and unreal, somehow crossing and existing in both while also not existing in either.

The answer came to her with startling clarity; she was in the Spirit World.

Or, perhaps the Spirit World was in her world. She could not be sure, but the lines between the area had been blurred to the point where Katara was unsure if she was alive.

As she touched her heart beneath her costume, she could feel it fluttering.

That had to be a good sign, didn't it?

She took a step and heard a splash. She looked down to see she'd reached the water.

She took another step, and another until she was up to her waist. The moon's reflection rippled in front of her but distorted enough that Katara reached out to touch it.

She felt a chill immediately, but nothing like the cold from the wind. It was sort of that unearthly, cosmic feeling, something she did not think she had words to properly explain.

She blinked and there was nothing in front of her one moment, and then the next, there was a woman standing there.

She was dark in features and in clothes. Her eyes were a warm amber color, one that despite her chilly appearance, made Katara feel safe like she was a mothering figure. She was eternally dripping with water, and it ran rivers down her face and hair, coming from nowhere to vanish back into the sea without a trace, no ripples emanating from her figure.

It took Katara a second but she realized that this spirit almost looked like...like Azula, at least in the face. They had the same pointed chin, the same calculating gaze, the same hair...though this spirit's hair was as black as night, almost with a purple hue shimmering beneath it. She was ethereal and beautiful and terrifying all at once, all the things Katara thought a spirit would truly be.

"The town thanks you, Katara of the Water."

Katara found her voice, as though it had been shut off before. She would partially regret what she did next, but she would argue that her brain was fried from meeting a spirit, so she wasn't thinking right.

"The town thanks me? What about the Painted Lady?" Katara snapped, horrified at once that she was arguing with a goddess who could smite her to dust. At the small smile on the face of the spirit, as though the spirit was humored by this human in front of her, Katara felt like she had to continue. "Why is it that I had to come and save them when they've been praying to their goddess for years? Doesn't she care at all?" Katara asked, shaking hard.

"The people prayed to their goddess and she delivered," the spirit said simply.

"No. I arrived and saw that something needed to be done so I did it. That wasn't..." She frowned, unsure why the spirit did not understand. "It feels as though the Painted Lady has forsaken her people."

"The people prayed and you came. You always come back," the spirit said, "Even if you do not remember."

Katara frowned, her brain frantically trying to process what the spirit meant. Katara looked down and saw her reflection; her paint-stained face rippled. Then, just for a moment, in its place was the face of a woman with no paint on her face but the same markings, but she was wearing Katara's clothes.

Katara startled and this time there was a splash in the water. Katara heaved, unable to catch her breath, snapping her head up. "I don't...I do not understand..."

The spirit began to fade into the mist. Katara leaped forward, her limbs not working quite right, as she noisily splashed through the water. "Where are you going?"

"Do you not want to know?" the woman asked.

Katara followed.

As far as they went within the water, Katara never went under. Her clothes and hair were not wet. She walked through the river as though she were walking on the path.

The spirit led Katara to the town.

It was cast in shadows, and the lines weren't quite meeting up. It was a reflection of reality, this one paused. As they walked, Katara knew no townspeople would notice them at all.

"You do not recall. I suppose I should not have been surprised. I had wondered when you donned that...it felt like kismet, I believe?"

Katara nodded uneasily, recalling how it had fit her soul when she'd first slipped this costume on. It had felt more than just a costume, it had felt like an identity.

The woman led her to where the shrine for the Painted Lady had been, but it was not here now. Katara walked to it, confused.

There was a bloodstain on the wooden planks.

Katara looked back, but the spirit just floated in the mist, face unreadable.

Katara knelt down, reaching out to touch the space.

She was bombarded with memories. They weren't her own, but it felt as though they were. She was having a hard time separating them from her mind, as though she was recalling in vivid detail something that has never happened.

She gasped, and her skin burned with agony. She stretched out her arms to see claw marks scarring up and down them.

And her head! It hurt like...like...spirits, she felt so woozy. She couldn't even think. She slumped forward onto the wood, her head lying right where the bloodstain was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pool of blood creep from beneath her head. She reached back to touch it, and as she raised her fingers to the pale light of the moon, she saw the sticky wetness of blood on her fingers.

Someone was standing over her. It was not the spirit. It was a man, wearing Fire Nation clothes, but they looked ancient, like the paintings she'd seen in the study from hundreds of years ago.

"Where are your spirits to save you now?" he sneered, spitting down on her. "Why would a Water Spirit save a Fire Nation town? It's the sort of people like you that sully our bloodlines."

Katara was yanked from that body. She was staring at the pair on the outside, an observer to this moment.

She started at the face of the man, this murder, fury lighting in her veins. Her gaze cast down to the woman, wearing a white dress that was torn and dirty. She saw the scar marks on her arms from where this man had wounded her.

She knew that this girl was dying.

As she traced up to her face, Katara could not breathe.

It was her face on the woman. Undeniably, it was her.

And though it went against any logical form, she could only murmur one quiet phrase, "That's me..."

She blinked and the shrine was back. The woman was gone. There was a smaller shrine in her place.

Not the one that was built today. It looked newer.

Katara touched her fingers to the newly painted wood and she was overcome by a thousand voices, all the villagers praying. Praying to her.

Praying to Katara.

But that wasn't...no, not to Katara...but also, simultaneously, to her.

Katara stumbled forward, the shrine now the current one. She touched the back of her head, the memory still fresh, and her head felt tender where she placed her fingers.

"I don't know what you mean," Katara said, tears burning on her eyes as she turned.

"Oh, but you do," the lady said gently, clasping her hands around Katara's. "You have returned to your village, even just for a time."

"But...I...I'm not... " Katara shook her head. "I'm just me, Katara."

But she at the same time was not. She knew, at her very core as it burned in protest, that she was the Painted Lady.

She shook hard. "I'm like Aang?" she questioned, her voice tiny and confused, "Or am I..."

"Your friend is a human with a spirit inside of him," The woman said, crouching down and petting Katara's hair. "You are completely human, make no mistake. Simply, a human that has lived thousands of lives, including one that was once a spirit. And though it's hard to hear, we often make the same circles, seek out the same things, live for the same reasons."

"I'm the Painted Lady," Katara echoed dizzily, "I was...I am..." She inhaled. "I was killed. I sacrificed myself for this town."

The goddess laughed, nodding, and her smile made Katara feel a little bit better. If even for a moment.

"What do I do now?" Katara asked. "If I'm...her...shouldn't I...but my tribe..." She felt torn in two. She was remembering living here now. She remembered how it was hundreds of years ago. She remembered her mother and father and a sister. She had a faint recollection of hundreds of lives in between, though none were as clear as that first one.

"You have done your part. Do not feel like you cannot live your life. It's what she wanted after all; to be human once again, live different lives. You have saved them. You have done your duty."

"Oh," Katara said, unable to say much else. "I was a goddess, but I wanted to be..."

"Human. Thus, you are, Katara."

"My name's not really Katara, then." She gave a dry laugh.

"But it is," the spirit said. "Mortals have a hard time understanding this, I do realize. You are Katara, just as you are also the Painted Lady. The essence of her, but not the literal spirit. Your souls are the same, but you are still you."

"Easy for you to say," Katara snipped, then flinched. "Erm, sorry."

The dark spirit chuckled. "It's fine. You've said worse to me. I suppose it comes with the territory sometimes."

Katara squinted at her. Another memory bobbed to the surface.

"You're...my mother-in-law. Or hers." She scowled, thinking. "The Dark Water Spirit. From Alcina's town."

The spirit dipped her head. She could feel the memories coming, like a wave rolling in, and she thought she'd be more prepared for it now.

Katara touched her own chest, gasping as she was overwhelmed with a love so vibrant it felt like she could think of nothing else. She cried for her love, the image of him just out of reach.

"Your son. My husband. I'm surprised he let me choose mortality again," she said. "Why would he not come to speak to me?"

The Dark Water Spirit blinked. "My dear, despite knowing the hurdles, he joined you in mortality. And has been, year after year. Sometimes, you find each other. Sometimes not." She turned to the sky, sighing. "You should be returning."

Katara nodded, unable to find a reason to argue, despite the questions swimming in her mind.

The spirit held out a hand. Just as Katara was about to touch it, the spirit pulled back. "Please, give my son my love."

Katara opened her mouth to ask who he was, but just like a flash of lightning, the face of her lover - the Blue Spirit - burst into her mind.

And Katara understood.

Just as she was the Painted Lady, Zuko was the reincarnation of the Blue Spirit, son of the Dark Water Spirit.

She touched the woman's hand.

When she blinked, she was sitting in her bed, her heart still pounding wildly in her chest.

XXxxXX

"Katara, may I speak to you?"

Katara blinked, hand tensing on the handle to the carriage.

"Oh, uhm, sure."

The other girls settled themselves inside as Zuko led her to the tree line.

The entire day had been a haze for Katara. It seemed each time she blinked she was somewhere else, her mind having completely taken over, putting her on auto-pilot.

That morning, the girls had awoken to the foundry in a tizzy. Zuko had announced, regretfully, that the best option would be to close for the moment and they'd do a full investigation on what caused the breakdown, though he suspected it was merely overworked machinery. He was completely ready with a list of locations that would take the men, as well as some apprenticeships, and informed the workers they'd have three days to gather their things and a week of paid vacation before they started their new jobs.

Most seemed not to care one way or another. A few were excited; they'd be moving closer to home. The general feeling was that one place couldn't be too dissimilar than another.

Zuko announced that Katara and Ratana would be helping the village today and the pair were sent down to the gleeful villagers, who believed the Painted Lady had helped close the factory.

Well, she had, Katara had thought almost sourly.

Each time she saw one of the villagers praying to the Painted Lady idol, Katara felt the strangest twinge inside of her. It was a flinch mixed with pride and joy. She wondered what they would all say if they truly knew their savior, the one they thought lived in some realm beyond them, walked amongst them?

Katara tried to keep her mind on the task of cleaning the water and teaching the villagers how to do so without waterbending or earthbending, as this was going to take months of cleaning, but whenever she had a free moment, her mind slipped.

The villagers had made good progress by the time they were called back.

Ratana paused at the gigantic statue they'd re-erected. Katara stared up at it too, her jaw clenching and her heart quickening.

That was her, hundreds of years ago. She had memories, some, at least. The ones from her first life, the one where she'd become a spirit, were the most present, as well as the years as an immortal. The other lives she's supposedly lived were less clear, hidden, dream-like.

It was all for the better.

Katara knew that reincarnation was a popular theory, but it was best that for most it was never confirmed. Having hundreds of years shoved into your brain was overwhelming.

She'd have to talk to Aang about this. He was the only other person who would understand, though their situations were entirely different. And her and Yue too! It was hard to imagine that there were so many forms of spirit possession, and yet, here they were.

There was Aang, who was one spirit that inhabited different bodies. He was timeless and unchanging, but with each new iteration, there was a new piece to his soul that made up one spirit bridge. He was not mortal, by all accounts. Yet, if you took the spirit away, Katara wondered if he could still survive?

There was Yue, which was more or less a spirit puppeting a body. It was impossible to tell where her spirit started and she ended, or if there were any remnants of Yue left at all. She was completely mortal, but could not live without the spirit.

And then there was Katara, who was formerly a spirit but was now an essence that jumped from one body to another. Though, she was unsure if she could be separated out, such as Aang was with his past selves. She imagined that when she'd die, there would not be a Katara in this state any longer.

It was a lot to wrap her presently very mortal mind around.

A part of Katara wondered how many people she passed were remnants of spirits who had done the same thing The Painted Lady had done? Then again, not many immortals gave that up, she reckoned. Perhaps she was unique.

Of course, there was one person who would understand...Zuko.

But should she even tell him?

She ran the risk of sounding insane if she did. She couldn't prove it, not by any real proof. There were only the images and the knowledge she held deep inside of her. She now looked at that scar they'd discussed and wondered if it actually was from a play fighting incident like he claimed, or if it was the wound that had murdered him in his first form.

Katara reminded herself to ask Alcina to retell the myth to her, which was now incredibly and startlingly relevant to her life.

More than that, Katara did not like the implications. She knew Zuko, who had loudly and clearly proclaimed he did not believe in fate, would like it even less.

What if the only reason they were meant to be together was that their souls demanded it? Was it real love if that was the truth or some fabricated idea?

The little incident last night did not mend all bridges. There were still issues and Katara was still unsure of her place, and of her safety, and of the next moves within the Palace. If she elected to tell Zuko, it may sound like a frantic last-ditch attempt to stay and all of it might be brushed away.

It was hurting her head and making her question every move.

If she could be spared of that...she might take it.

So, no, part of herself had made up her mind. She would not be telling Zuko about his past lives. There were so many reasons it was a bad idea.

But, most of all, if she were truly leaving...she wanted Zuko to be able to love someone else, not be thinking about if fate decided him to be with her. She didn't want that hanging over his head like it now hung over hers.

She was sparing him, she decided.

"You've hardly looked at me," Zuko said quietly. Katara bit her lip. She hadn't been able to meet his gaze, because when she did, she was seeing flashes of the Blue Spirit. Not his vigilante alternative, but of his prior life. The immortal side.

It was jarring, to say the least.

"I realize that last night...we...I'm so sorry."

Katara pressed her lips together.

"Don't apologize for that. I don't regret it," she said honestly, "It's not you. I'm just...it's something that's my own issue."

"Can I help?" Zuko asked. Katara sighed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"I don't think so, but thank you."

Zuko almost seemed like he was going to lead her back, but instead stood firm. "When we get back home, can we talk? Properly? Whatever is going on between us...I want to fix it," he said. "Just tell me how. I miss you. I miss being your partner in crime, I miss talking to you, I miss being your friend. Can we try?"

Katara's heart fluttered, though there was a seed of doubt of her own affections deep down. Still, she could not deny that her feelings felt real right now, and did anything else matter? If they felt true, they had to be, surely?

And he wasn't asking for her hand in marriage again. No, he was simply asking for an attempt. If he was willing to see where he'd gone wrong, to try to gain better conditions for Bahiravi and listen to her, if he wanted to talk...

Katara found no good reason to deny him.

"I've missed you too," Katara admitted softly.

Zuko pulled her into a tight hug. Katara's eyes prickled with tears as she pressed her face into his shoulder, wondering