Truth in Punishment

By: PointyEdgesofaSign

A/N: I own nothing. Done to sedate Vachir and his wish that the truth be told. I did not write this, I merely was the conduit for his words. Review if you think he should continue, and please say more than just 'yes' or 'no'.

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I am noticing some of you have become rather dubious about my motives and what actions they will lead to, and I will endure these accusations, for you will see that not only am I completely sane, I am actually a rather decent soul.

Now, to continue, I was nothing short of ecstatic when the leopard was placed in his hold. The elder tortoise praised my work, but I barely heard him until he turned, smiling, to me, and asked the others to leave.

"I noticed you have taken a liking to one of the messengers. May I ask why?" he inquired. I had no problems explaining in every bit of detail I could muster why Zeng was so perfect and pure and beautifully helpless.

"Well, if you are going to pursue him, you should know that others' opinions may act as a major barrier in your relationship, but if you truly love him, I am certain you will find a way around this. Good luck, young Vachir," he warned, and I nodded, thanking him for the information.

That night, I waited into the small morning hours, my faith in the messenger never once faltering. The rustle of flapping wings was my reward as he clumsily landed, panting, at my feet. Kneeling, I lifted him gently to stand, feeling subtle yet defined muscles flex within my grip.

"You came," I breathed, hardly believing he was real, that immaculate vision of perfection, wreathed in a crescendo of light, growing brighter as it neared him, shimmering off dainty feathers only to reflect upon the floor of the prison I had built him.

"I said I would, didn't I?" he replied, harmonious vocal chords playing against my senses until all I could do was nod in agreement.

"I guess I should apologize for earlier. I hadn't meant to fly off like that, I was just startled," admitted Zeng, and my mind screamed for me to reassure him.

I fell to my knees to do just that, telling him that it was alright, it was my fault for behaving so gruffly, and begging his forgiveness.

"Of course I forgive you, Master Vachir," he assured, my heart fluttering within my chest at speeds I was unaware were physically possible.

"You do?" I questioned, praying he would speak again, and he did, the sound like the sweetest liquor to a lowly peasant, indulging my ears in a sense too pure to be real.

"Of course I do," he spoke, laughter nervous and forced. Was he afraid of me? Why? What had I done to provoke this fear?

Whatever it was, I was determined to set it right, because fear did not suit his ethereal features. A being like him was made to be cherished by all, and never to fear. A being like his was a god in disguise.

"So," he began, looking around the building as I swelled with pride. He was admiring my work! "did you want to talk to me about something?"

Oh! I had nearly forgotten what my purpose there had been!

Yes, even the ruthless, cruel, angry Vachir can be a forgetful person. It's hard to believe, right?

Sighing, I nodded and grasped his wings within my own paws, feeling him trembling ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. I looked at the wall behind him, too nervous to risk his eyes, those cerulean pools in which I nearly drowned whenever I gazed into them.

"Zeng," I began, my hands steady, my eyes, fixated upon the wall just past his head, my posture rigid, as I crouched before him. "I know I am not from a wealthy family. I have little I can offer you. But what I can offer is my undying dedication and protection from the cold world. Please, accept me. I lo-"

I was cut off by his startled gasp. Maybe he hadn't thought of love. Maybe he wasn't ready for my confessions. Maybe the whole ordeal had been a folly hope right from the start.

Whatever the reason was, in the next moment, he was weeping bitterly before me, wings pulled from my paws as a metaphorical rug from beneath my feet.

"No, Vachir," he sobbed, though why he cried, I was not certain. "I don't love you. I don't want you. Good bye."

And he flew away.

I'm not sure how long I knelt there, eyes wide, breath shallow, trembling lightly as I tried, in vain, to discern what had happened, but the next thing I knew, one of my men, my second in command, tapped my shoulder to ask me what was wrong.

Again, that time is a blur, but I know that I awoke, several days later, to the concerned faces of my closest friends and the dull decorum of my room. At the time I had built it, it seemed so beautiful. I saw every color, every shadow, multiplied in beauty as I imagined Zeng's feathers against them.

When he left, so did the world's beauty.

I couldn't wrap my mind around it, Zeng, pure, defenseless, gentle Zeng, had left me. Though, in all honesty, it's not really possible to leave someone you were never with. That didn't even occur to me. All I could think of, all I could dream of, all I could breathe was him.

And that's how I stayed.

For years, I stayed there in my prison, laughing bitterly at the irony that the prison I had built was my own containment. I grew distant from my men, banned all decorum from the prison walls, ignored my prisoner, Tai Lung, whenever possible, and thought of how Zeng and I could have been.

I was so certain, back then, of why he had cried. Zeng had cried because he hadn't recognized his feelings. He had wanted to stay, and sooner or later he would figure it out that I was who he wanted. Those had been sorrowful tears at the thought of leaving, confused tears at the thought of staying, angry tears at the words he'd spoken, and joyful tears at my admission. I knew, any day, he would have come flying through the cedar doors. I had chosen cedar because I remembered reading the wood's aroma was good for geese. It made them feel at home, as though they were in a warm forest in summer, no matter where they really were.

Every day I would pray for his return, that he would come back and tell me he was wrong, that he was sorry, and that he did love me. Every night I dreamed none of this had ever happened, and we lived together on a farm, two or three adopted children running around, learning Kung Fu and playing tag.

And, in the silence of sleepless nights, my anger fermented.

It took nearly twelve years for me to realize that he wasn't coming back. It took me twelve years for my love of him to change to hatred of myself. It took twelve years for me to give up.

And once I had, I realized it was his fault. It was his fault I was stuck in that damned prison I had built. It was his fault I saw no beauty, only reflections of myself, my mistakes. It was his fault I no longer felt joy, relief, excitement, or love. It was that day that I had died, and time had changed my love into a twisted husk, a sickly reminder of what pain was. It was his entire fault.

And I hated him for it.

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Okay, so I've been sick for a while and unable to update, but no more! I'm all better and ready and revving to listen to Vachir's story, and tell it to you! And for those of you who still think I"m writing this, I'm not. Vachir's damn gost won't leave me alone for five minutes! It's annoying when you've got to pee or something, but, yeah, sorry for the delay in updates. Flus are not fun.