#chenyu vale

Your husband drove you mad. He irked you terribly. How could he sit there acting like everything was alright, when you were one problem away from bursting at the seams? He was a boulder, stable and calm and all things unfortunately comforting while you were utter volatility.

You had long learned to tune out whatever tales were told in the tea house. Some of them you could stand; silly little inaccuracies that you paid no mind. After all, what caused little harm was not worth fussing over. However, the moment anyone spoke the words Chenyu Vale and particularly when paired with the word goddess, you knew no good would come from listening. It would only drive you mad- haunting you with the reality of what was and what is now, and how desperately out of place you felt in this new world. 

And this man, this terribly bothersome, ridiculous man that you reluctantly called husband, he would only sit there, listening on with a soft, almost amused smile on his lips as though they were not in the process of tarnishing your history. In the process of rewriting your story. 

The thing that bothered you most though, was how encouraging he became once aware of your displeasure. Every single time he would speak so softly, calming you against your best efforts and reminding you that if you wished to voice your truth, he would be right there to support you. 

How terribly it confused you. He was lovely. He was every bit as lovely as when you remembered him from millennia ago, long before any major conflicts, when you were simply two beings too foolish to admit to the love you held for one another. 

And at the same time, he was still the man who you were bound to now, still the god who had betrayed you. He was both your salvation and your misfortune.

How could you indulge in his love when the look of his face alone reminded you of just how greatly you resented him?

“Zhongli…” His name slipped from your lips, not his real one, just the one he used in daylight. It suited him, this persona that he had taken up, and to your annoyance, you did not mind the way it felt to say it. 

His eyes were on you in an instant, their soft, golden hue made you feel conflictingly comforted and too exposed all the same. 

He always looked at you like that- soft and intimate, like he was regarding something precious, like to him, you could do no wrong. There was a time when that look of his felt like the purest thing in Teyvat to you. Nowadays, it tends to make your heart ache with bitterness more often than it did not.

“I wish to go…” Your voice was nothing more than a quiet utterance, making you seem so very small for what you truly were. 

Then again, had this not always been your demeanor? Meek. Much too weak to have ever been of any real use to your people. Much too insignificant to protect the territory you once called your home, especially from him.

You had never been a match when it came to Morax’s raw strength.

He answered you with a contemplative hum, a decisive nod that was all too telling that he intended to indulge you. His eyes drifted over you, almost analytical in his exploration. They ended on your hands, clasped together just a little too tightly on the table, your untouched mug not too far. He tilted his head in its direction.

“You have yet to finish your tea, dearest.” He commented, voice silky and warm. You had to remind yourself that it wasn't a challenge. Rarely ever did he disagree with you. Perhaps, in the past, he was more willing to hold open discourse with you; his respect for you had never wavered, and your opinion was one he had held in high regard. If he felt the same in the present day, you did not know. 

He acted docile around you now. He had always been calm, always reasonable, but now only more so. You had become rather easy to upset after waking from your near eternal slumber, and he had no wish to become the subject of your ire. 

Though, when it did happen, he took it with a grace and patience that left you feeling disoriented.

“It's gone cold.” The hazy steam that emitted from your cup called you a liar in every language you knew, and even if it had not, you had never been the type to waste food or drink over something so minimal. 

Zhongli made no attempt to dissect your dismissal, though he acknowledged you with a low hum that told you he did not believe a word you spoke. He had given you an opening to speak, and you had very clearly refused. He would not push you further.

“Then we will depart.” He agreed. 

He took another slow sip of his tea, before standing and pushing his chair in. He took a moment to adjust his waistcoat- not that he needed to, he was always frustratingly put together. Once he was satisfied, his focus was you once again, and he held out a gloved hand to you, always a gentleman. You stared at his outstretched palm for a moment, pursing your lips just enough that it was perceptible to him. You were in a mood, you're sure he would note privately. 

When you did finally accept his hand, he lifted you from your chair with the grace and ease of a man who had done so countless times before. He leaned in closer to you, lightly bending at the hips just enough to press his face next to yours.

“Are you all set then, my dear?” His breath was warm against your ear, and you had to hold in an unsteady exhale of breath. What was more than likely meant to be a comforting gesture, felt almost intoxicating in your head. It only fueled your frustration with him, and all too unfortunately, brought out that deep rooted ache you still felt for him after all this time.

You nodded mutely, your jaw almost tight in the way it clenched. He hummed in acknowledgement, though he did not move. His eyes remained fixed on you, observing you much longer than you would have liked, as though he saw right through you. 

He probably did. 

Morax had rarely had any issues reading you in all the time that you had known him. There had been many occasions when he had been entirely capable of deciphering your very thoughts before you had even spoken them into existence. In this mortal form as Zhongli, he seemed much inclined to do the same.

He offered his arm to you, and you accepted with little reluctance. It was routine now. He guided you towards the entrance of the tea house, and the hostess bid farewell to you both. Until next time, she would say, without a doubt within her mind that she would see you two once more within the week. 

Zhongli brought you here often, and it was to your knowledge that he also made a habit of coming on occasion during his lunch break.

The walk back to your home- his home, was silent. He made some idle comments about the weather, how the ports seemed almost livelier this time of year, and even about the more vivid details the story teller had chosen to include that particular afternoon. His perceptiveness to your discomfort did not waver however, and for the most part, he seemed rather content to remain silent by your side.

The clink of the doorknob’s inner workings was only faintly audible when Zhongli opened the front door, allowing you to enter first. You had been living with him for the better part of a month now, living, existing, being known as his wife. You were well acquainted with the intimate space that was the home he occupied as Zhongli. 

It was now yours too. At least, that is what he told you, and what you were sure he meant with utmost sincerity.

His space was moderately agreeable to you. The interior was sleek, but classic, and he had no trouble keeping a tidy space. In those regards, your tastes were similar. Where you two agreed in design ended there, however.

The dark brown walls felt all too constricting to you. In another time, these features that screamed of his presence would have felt comforting. For you, he had always strived to be the most excellent host, and such elements were reminiscent of fonder times. 

Now that you were already on edge, already feeling the haziness that came with your weeping heart, you could not help but to yearn for the billowing hills of your home land. 

You slid your shoes off unceremoniously by the door, and crept into the open space of the foyer with a rigidness that could not go unnoticed. Your mind was eating away at your own sanity, little by little, and it showed.

You paused, freezing in place as though your veins extended into the ground. But instead of sensing the rhythm of life beating in sync with your heart as you did in Chenyu Vale, you felt cut off. Utterly stranded from stability and much too vulnerable. 

His eyes were on your back, and he did not follow you inside- not right away. He stood in the open door frame, his arms crossed and his expression much less serene than it had been earlier in the afternoon. Not that you could see him, you knew if you turned to look at him, effectively blocking the front door, you would only feel trapped. 

Like prey. Like you were being hunted. 

Again. 

He spoke your name in a low tone. Not the one you used now, as this fake mortal woman you pretended to be. Not any one of the multitude of titles you had accumulated throughout the years either. He spoke your true name, one only he was still living to utter, one that you yourself had almost forgotten. 

You could not breathe. Not when he said that. Not when he spoke to you like that.

“Are we going to discuss this?” 

Even in his seriousness, he was not unkind. You almost wished he would be. Surely it would make hating him all the more easier if he were cruel to you. He did not grant you such mercies. 

You only managed a meek sound in reply. One that acknowledged him, but refused to actually provide him with any answer.

He hummed audibly, a disapproving, though not scolding sound. The front door clicked shut, and his footsteps were intentionally loud enough to signal that he was approaching you. It was a purposeful choice. 

Had he wished to startle you, he would have had no trouble sneaking up on you. At least, that was the case when it came to sound. At this point, your souls were much too intertwined to allow the presence of either one of you to remain subtle. 

Though, if he truly wished to disguise his aura from your senses, you imagined that with enough effort, Morax would certainly be capable of finding a way to do so.

“You seemed to be fine just this morning. Had I known you were feeling unwell, I would not have suggested going out. Tell me, is it something I have done?” His voice was as smooth and silky as it had always been. So calm, while you felt like you were slowly falling apart in front of him. Those who did not know him so intimately might mistake him to be unfeeling due to his somewhat private demeanor- you knew this to be starkly false. 

Though composed to a fault, he was a man who felt and thought deeply. Thousands of years of companionship made it entirely impossible for you to ignore the care behind his words and actions. Morax was a being of intent, and so what he spoke and what he did were never without meaning.

You exhaled slowly, trying to take control over the panic that was threatening to overwhelm you. The greater part of you wished to sob and shake and let yourself crumble to the floor in a pathetic blob of fabric. But you could not. You could not stand to appear weak in front of him. Not after everything that had happened.

“It merely comes and goes…” You managed to mumble aloud. 

He was still a respectable distance from you, giving you room to flee if you felt the need, but that was something your pride could not handle. Even a distance from you, his presence felt overbearing. It weighed down on you, and still, you could not think of anyone that might bring you comfort but him.

Morax was all too aware of the disdain you held for him. You had not been shy in voicing your frustrations, and for his part, he had encouraged you to be expressive. He was patient with you. He always would be, or so he claimed.    

He took a step closer to you, though he still did not touch, like he was afraid that your skin might burn him. Or perhaps more accurately, he feared inversely that his own flesh might betray him and leave you scarred once more. 

“It comes and goes…” He echoed your words, not mockingly, but with a soft acceptance that could only come from a man who had long since learned to live in companionship with his grief. 

Fortunately he was still behind you when he uttered those words, and your eyes- though they were privy to many facets of his being that others were not- did not see the way he had to refrain himself from reaching out for you. 

He quietly exhaled, steadying himself for the consequences of this strange dynamic he held with you now.

“It is said that many centuries before the formation of proper human settlements, Rex Lapis formed a contract with the Jade Goddess of Chenyu Vale. Have you heard, dearest?” 

He carefully stepped around you, making himself visible in front of you, like one would for a wounded animal. 

Was that what he thought of you?

You did not miss the quiet reverence in the way that he murmured the beginnings of his tale, nor in the way he tilted his head as he watched you. 

He had always been subtle in his devotion. Zhongli, Rex Lapis, Morax, it was all the same. You had known him under dozens of names, and you shared an understanding under dozens more. Under each, his love was careful and calculated, present only in the ways he moved in the world, in the ways he moved around others. 

Why he punished you with the controlled intensity of his love now, you did not know.

A mute nod was all you gave him, enough to satisfy him in the knowledge that you heard him, that you were still present enough in your own mind to listen to him speak. You could not look at his face. Not now, not when you feared what you would see reflecting back towards you in his eyes. You kept your gaze squarely on his gloved hands, though even then, it was as if you were looking through them.

“The histories say that he promised her his hand in battle, in commerce, even extending to matters of the soul, and the heart. That is to say, that he would be there to ease her troubles, no matter what they would be.” 

You could not help the way your breath hitched when he spoke to you like that. It almost felt like it had been another life when he made you that promise. 

His hands had been warm then- pure gold yet still impossibly soft against your own in the ages where he did not keep them covered. 

You forced your eyes away from the black of his gloves. They had been yours then, now they were not. 

They had ceased to be yours long ago, on that fateful day when you had been forced to say goodbye to your Guizhong, and he had only let it happen.

No- don't think about that. You shouldn’t think about her, not when you were already feeling like this. It would only give you more reason to fear, to resent, to hate.

His silence was deafening. Had he been waiting for you to answer? The way he began to speak your name said otherwise, or perhaps he had simply grown tired of the way you had grown hollow-

“Surely, you recall the condition placed on this contract?” 

Finally, you found it in you to meet his gaze. The way he looked at you made your heart ache. Furrowed brows and the most troubled eyes graced his handsome features, because for some reason, this all-knowing god found your devastation vexing, a heavy burden on his soul when it should have been nothing more than minor inconvenience.

Again, you nodded, though this time you did not part your eyes from his. 

Of course you remembered your agreement. So ancient, and yet, you remembered every word that had been spoken. Every promise, every vow. It had meant something to you then- you were almost willing to admit that it meant something to you now. 

Almost. 

Instead, you answered before he felt the need to remind you further.

“She would come to him no matter how small the need…” 

You did not miss the way he seemed to relax when you spoke, no matter how subtle it may have been. A sharp inhale made its way through your chest, and his eyes followed the movement, unable to do anything less than examine you in full. He had always been good at that, seeing the full picture that was you, and simultaneously cataloging every little detail that even you yourself sometimes missed.

“Yes.” He agreed quietly, the word uttered with the simplest sincerity. 

You could almost hear his unspoken voice through your held gaze- Come to me. I am here. Ask anything of me, I wish for nothing more than I wish to see you at peace.

He took a step closer to you, lifting his left hand up to brush at the hair that framed your face. He was very careful about the way that he touched you; light while still being firm enough to be grounding, lingering simply for the fact that he wished to. 

The feel of the cold of his gloves against your skin momentarily shocked you, and you blinked slowly in response. When his hand trailed lower and he gently grazed the back of his knuckles against your cheek, you broke.

“I did not ask anything of you.” You bit your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. Your words were both an attempt at defensiveness, and a biteless accusation. 

If you had been able to tell him that you did not need him, you would have. Instead, you closed your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. Doing so at your age- after everything that you had witnessed in your long life, it would only feel embarrassing, unbefitting of someone of your status.

“You do not need to.” He pulled you in- not forcefully, he would never guide you with anything resembling brutishness- or so he claimed-  and you allowed yourself to lull your head into him. 

It was almost troubling to you how easily you had abandoned your resolve simply because the promise of his comfort compelled you so. After all this time, his silky voice was still a soothing balm to your weary mind, and his firm embrace was still stabling and warming to your hurting heart. 

It made you more of a traitor than even he was.

His heart beat was steady and calm against you, not a single flicker off beat, like the erratic pattern you were sure could be heard from your own. You briefly wondered if there had ever been a time when his heart rate hadn’t been constant- a silly thought. 

If it were not for the fact that he seemed to draw towards you so easily, you could have believed that he was all machine.

Perfectly powerful, unstoppable in his path- that is what he had been when he had broken past the defensive barrier that you had placed along the border of your territory. That is what he had been when he had come hunting for you.

You inhaled sharply, taking in the scent that was uniquely his. Earthy, like the grass in the morning after it had rained, mixed with a hint of the tea the two of you kept brewing throughout the day in your shared home. To your misery- and delight- he also smelled like you. You were certain you reeked of him, too. For someone you so dearly wished to hate, you two spent an awful lot of time pressed against one another in the darkness of night (and occasionally, extending into the light of day as well).

You exhaled against his chest, and tilted your head up, resting your chin against the thick fabric of his waistcoat. He wasn’t looking at you. His head was pointed forward, his eyes closed shut. 

He looked serene, calm in a way that you had seen many times before. Usually it had been during hot summer afternoons, when the two of you had been sprawled out against the grass, napping against one another like there was no care in the world. Occasionally you would peek your eyes open to look at him, oftentimes he’d catch you, other times, Morax would already be observing you when you looked. Never had he found any shame in it. 

But that was then, back when he still had horns, and back when you were still draped in delicate silks. When you looked at him now, you hurt from the way you mourned what had once been.

It was only once you had made space between the two of you, that he peered his eyes open once more. He gazed lazily at you, the hand that he had twirled in your hair was looser now, less of a proper touch and more of a linger.

You stepped away from him entirely, and he released you without protest. You averted your eyes from him once again. Though you had seemingly been pacified, you were not yet ready to confront your heart.

“It comes and it goes.” The words were out once more, this time with a finality that could not be challenged. He watched you, longing, grieving. You did not look his way to confirm it. 

He nodded in reluctant understanding, resigned acceptance, reduced to nothing more than a man who loved his wife more than she would allow. More than she could accept.

You walked away before anything else could be said on the matter. Not that he would start again- for all you held against him, you could not say that he did not respect you- if you did not wish to speak, then the conversation would have to be held another time. Space and time were two luxuries that he had no problem gifting you. 

Rex Lapis had lived three-thousand years without you, under the impression that he would never reunite with the companion he once held dearest to his heart. Surely, Zhongli could spare a few hours if it meant he would have you for the rest of eternity.

Your husband did not disturb you for the rest of the afternoon. Presumably, he was off in his study, you did not bother to check. 

It began to rain some twenty minutes after you had walked away from Zhongli. It was the quiet type, slow and unassuming, though still melancholic in nature. You watched the pitter patter of drops against the kitchen window for some time- you weren’t exactly sure how long. 

Left alone with only the company of your thoughts, you could not help but to become lost in them.

The morning had not been kind to you, nor had you been kind to Zhongli. You had wanted him gone so desperately, and now that he was giving you the space you had wanted, you could not find peace in it.

He felt guilty for the way you acted around him. You could see it every time he looked at you, a certain sort of helplessness hidden in the irises of his eyes. You had thought you would find satisfaction in it. After all, the scorching heat of the domain he had left you in, the ache of your muscles from running and fighting, the betrayal you had felt when he turned on you, when he had stopped you from saving Guizhong…every bit of pain you had endured at his hands was ingrained in your mind.

But you had always been weak, had always felt too much love. Love for your people, for your land, for the mother that had cast you done from the heavens, for Morax too. 

You felt utterly bitter that you could not take joy in his torment. 

Watching him, as he was now, restrained, composed in his sadness, it only broke your heart further.

His hands were no longer yours, not to you, but that did not mean that you did not continue to care for them, that you did not love-

You blinked away your turbulent thoughts, aware once more that you were in his kitchen, in his home, unable to do anything to change your current position. You found yourself looking towards the glass door that led to the balcony where your little garden resided. 

Zhongli had started it for you, bringing you home a small, potted little thing, likely meant to ease your transition into his space- did he truly think he could buy your affections?- One had turned into two, two into three, and soon enough, his meager balcony had become your little haven.

You spent most of your time tending to it. Gardening in the mortal sense was much different from what you were used to, and so, you spent your time finding a balance between dirt and tools, and connecting with the roots- letting your dormant powers flow essence and life into your earthy companions.

Recording your observations had become a regular habit of yours. The smooth flow of scribbled ink against parchment was an easy transition into further writings. You had been attempting to archive your knowledge- recounting practices, traditions, and remedies that had long been forgotten. It was the only way you could think to be useful, stuck in Liyue Harbour, playing housewife to a much faker funeral consultant.

You would return to Chenyu Vale once you were stronger, once you were familiar enough with the new order of the world. This arrangement was temporary, you had promised yourself. 

The abyssal corruption that had long plagued the land in your absence had yet to be entirely squandered. You had contained it, yes, placing sigils in every corner that you could before you left- and Alatus had given you his word that he would monitor the land. Still, your people, if you could still call them that, could not prosper as you wished they would when you were not there. 

It was not as though any of them would have known the difference. After all, you had not governed the land since the Archon War, and very few still spoke of your existence, fewer still worshiped you.

Even so, if you could bless their soil, protect their villages and tend to their ill, all from a distance, you would do so without a second thought. 

In the meantime, you would continue to transcribe the ways of the old.

It did not take you long to set up. Your notebook laid open on the floor before you, the door cracked open just enough to let the cold in. The rain was not strong enough to do any real damage. At most, a few drops had  made their way into the house, seeping into the edges of your pages or onto the floor.

You wrote from that point until the sun began to set and it became increasingly difficult to see your own writing. You had carried over your work to the kitchen counter, placing it on the rectangular island, and occasionally jotting a thought or two down as you mulled over what to start for supper.

Meals had become something of a connection for you and Zhongli. Neither of you needed to eat to survive, and yet, without fail, three meals were made each day between both of you, and two of them were always shared together.

You had begun to mince your vegetables when you heard him. Morax made his way into the kitchen, coming to a stop at the counter. He let the island stand between the two of you, careful not to provoke, uncertain if the tension from earlier had subsided. 

You did not react. It came and it went, that resentment you held for him. The morning had been an emotional storm. Now, you were calm, and you were content to exist in his presence once more.

He watched you as you worked, cutting while a pot of water came to a boil on the stove. It was horrifically domestic, this scene that you shared with one another every evening. 

You could not call him out for his staring, you did the same when it was him working over the counter. He hummed in appreciation, allowing his gaze to fall to your open notebook.

“Might I take a look at your work, dear?” He murmured quietly as to not break the tranquility of the moment. You did not bother to look back at him, only humming to voice your acceptance. 

Morax reached for your notes, nothing but careful when he handled them. He observed your writings in quiet curiosity. He had always shown interest in the things that you wrote. Your teachings and philosophies had always had a place in every personal library that he had kept- you had found some when you were first exploring his home, kept in the most pristine condition. Folded between pages, he kept notes. Some of which were his own thoughts, others you had written for him.

You had refused to acknowledge the tug you felt in your heart at the thought that he had kept them all.

He chuckled warmly, prompting you to finally place the knife down and face him. Leaning back against the counter, you quietly observed him- the subtle, amused smile on his lips, the light twinkle in his eyes. Zhongli looked up to you once he had finished the passage, and you felt a warmth blossom through you at the way he appeared so very relaxed.

“‘Jueyun chilis and slime condensate for internal medicinal use’? What an intriguing combination.” He mused, repeating the title that you had so neatly scrawled at the top of the page. 

You huffed, and abandoned your cooking entirely to stroll around the island and to his side. You gently placed a hand on the back of his chair, and leaned in close to take a look at what he had been reading.

“You’re laughing now, but I distinctly recall this exact recipe proving useful once or twice.” You tutted, idly flipping the page. 

He hummed in acknowledgement, humour and agreement seeping out from it and settling as warmth in the little space that was between you.

“Oh yes, that’s right, isn’t it?” 

When you turned your head away from your notebook, and back to him, he was already looking at you. 

Traitorously, you enjoyed this- the peace that came when he was at ease before you. You thought he looked younger like this, with his hair loose, his gloves off, and an easy smile on his usually composed face. It was almost reminiscent of days long ago, back when he had been cockier, more expressive in his demeanor.

“A good portion of my troops had fallen ill that spring, hadn’t they? And you, my dearest, though you came to our aid, you couldn’t stand to stay with me for more than a day’s time.” 

It had been a while since you had seen a grin like that on his face. Morax was teasing you, you knew this. Privately, there was a part of you that took great enjoyment in it. Still, you could not help the sigh that escaped you.

“I had my own responsibilities.” The words slipped past your lips weakly defensive. You had spent the majority of the Archon War in Chenyu Vale, unwilling to leave your precious lands under the direction of others. 

Despite falling victim to his beckoning and calling more than you should have, you had insistently claimed neutrality, holding onto it with unyielding conviction- all the way up until the incident. And then you had closed your borders, mobilized your troops, and from that point everything had gone wrong. 

His own lips had relaxed into a lingering upturn, his eyes scanning over you, perhaps sensing that certain topics were still not yet up for discussion.

After all, Rex Lapis had three-thousand years to come to terms with what had occurred in those few fateful days. You had spent those same years in an endless void of scorching heat, unable to think of anything else until a few months ago, when you had broken the seal placed over you.   

“Of course…please do not mistake my complaints for anything other than an old fool’s greed for your companionship.” He spoke softer now, more intimate and sincere in a way that you had not been prepared for. Once more, you could only ask yourself why he was doing this to you- looking at you in a way that was utterly disarming.

And then the water began to boil over the pot, and you were shaken out of the privacy of your moment. You nibbled on your lower lip a moment, before sighing.

“I should…” He shook his head before you could finish your thought. Morax’s hand was wrapped loosely around your wrist- not restraining- only letting you know that leaving was unnecessary. He stood, trailing his hand up your arm, slow, reverent, until it settled over your bicep, rubbing lazy circles into your sleeve with his thumb.

“Allow me to finish what you have started.” You hated the way his murmured breath sounded, and you certainly hated the way he gazed into your eyes with a warmth that bordered on intimacy. The heat you felt pooling in your stomach, surely that was hatred… 

Then he did the unexpected, and leaned down, and stole your breath away. His lips were warm against your cheek, and infuriatingly only mere centimeters away from your lips- a fact you wished to strangle him for. This horrible, wicked man, he had the audacity to linger there when he was done with you, inhaling the smell of you with no care or shame in the world. 

Devil of a man…

You blinked slowly as you watched him walk away from you, the most ridiculous of smiles on his face. Oh how pleased he seemed to be with himself as he went about continuing supper preparations, contently humming an old tune to himself that you were sure you could name if you cared enough to bother.

“Mori-” Your husband did not bother to hide his laughter at the way you complained, spitting the old nickname out of your mouth.

“Yes, my sweet?” He only countered you with serene amusement, as if he did not know precisely why you were complaining, nor why you were so very quick to follow after him. 

You stopped beside him, watching the way his hands worked with precision. He was pestering you on purpose, and instead of giving him the response you knew he was trying to coax out of you, you pursed your lips, and reached out to take over.

“You made us breakfast, it is only fair that I manage the cooking now.” You argued, glancing up his way when he moved the tools in his hands just out of your reach. He hummed, almost a tut, and began his work once more. With nothing better to do, your arms fell limp to your sides.

“Am I not permitted to feed my spouse?” He countered, a quiet calm to him that rendered you silent. 

A part of you wished to argue with him, to pick at every little thing he said until he had no choice but to turn to face you, but you could not find anything to say in response to his words.

“You know well that I take great enjoyment in doing things for you, so I wish you would just allow me to do so.” Morax continued before you could. It was not fair to you for him to say such things. The sincerity in his voice only caused you to frown, your eyes flickered over his face. Still handsome, still serious, still yours… You paused in your string of thoughts.

Still yours? That wasn’t right…

“Why do you speak this way?” You finally settled on the light accusation, the words were uttered with a thinly veiled desperation that even managed to surprise you. You meant it- after all this time, after everything, he still spoke like everything between the two of you was real.

Was it?

There was a long pause after you spoke, as though perhaps you had managed to break not just yourself but him, too. Whatever moment of sweetness the two of you had just greedily basked in was now all but forgotten. 

You heard his inhale, watched the way his shoulders pulled back, mentally and physically preparing for whatever you intended to throw his way. Only this time, it was not solely resentment that fueled you, no. Rather, it was the accumulation of centuries and centuries of unspoken words, longing glances, and unacknowledged feelings that made this entire situation feel so very wrong to you.

“Would you rather that I not call you my wife? That I would not say that it pleases me to serve you? I have only spoken two truths, so tell me then dear, why does it trouble you?” The resignation that he spoke with hurt. It was almost firm, as if he had resolved to be with you despite how your current temperament affected him, as if it were difficult to live with you now. 

It probably was.

Morax turned to you, golden eyes filled with emotions that could only be some mashed mixture of pain, restraint, and longing. How terribly you wished you were incapable of reading them. His gaze bore into you- piercing and unyielding, reading into every little bit of you as if they were made to do nothing else.

“We are not truly husband and wife…” you muttered, casting your eyes to the floor. You could not look to confirm what your words did to him, but the rigid inhale that he took was enough to give you an idea. 

He surprised you with his agreement.

“You're right, the bond that we share transcends that of mortal terminology.” His earnestness struck you like a slap to the face in all the worst and best ways. 

This was his conviction, uttered with nothing more than the same simple honesty in which one would state the barest truths of this world.

You shifted your eyes back up, and his own were already there to meet them. What was it that you were meant to say to him, when the look he gave you was enough to strip him bare before you, and to demand that you do the same in turn? This moment that he offered you, it was vulnerability. You were not sure that you were ready to give the same to him. 

He reached out for you instinctively- his hand stopped just short of you, hesitating just a moment before finally allowing himself to touch you.

His warmth seeped through your clothes and onto your hip. He guided you closer; not demanding, but inviting, pleading, and his other hand came to meet your curves as well. You could do nothing but heed his call. Naturally, in such a position, your hands had nowhere else to go but the firm plains of his shoulders, your eyes falling shut as he leaned his head down to place his forehead against your own.

You allowed it, willingly let him comfort and regulate you both as you were so prone to do- as you so terribly despised yourself for.

“We have been companions for so long… How many promises have we made to one another? Shall we go through them, one by one? I have tried patience in hopes that it might help you, and really my dear, it does not seem to be working at all.” His breath was warm on your face as he whispered those hushed words to you.    

“Mori-” 

“What is it that you need from me?”

You shut your jaw. What were you to say to such a question? How many times would you have to question your own ability to speak throughout the evening?

You peeked your eyes open slowly, and goodness was he close. You'd felt him, yes, but seeing him was something different. He followed, peeking his own eyes open until a sliver of gold met your own.

“You are unhappy with me. We ought to fix that. Shall we discuss the origins of this dislike?”

You feel it, the way your heart sinks ever so slowly as he speaks. You know what he means, what his words imply, and you feel utterly ill from it. He wouldn't speak of it if you did not bring it up, would he?

“Morax-”

“-That prison was never meant for you. You must know that, my dearest. I would never do that to you. You had simply stepped in front of him and I could not stop it-”

You yanked yourself away from him like his touch had scorched you. He had done so before, he would surely do so again. You were heating up, you were all too horrifically aware of it. There was a time long ago when you had enjoyed the sensation of warmth on your skin, and then you had been forced too close to the sun, denied respite, and now it frightened you terribly. 

Your husband frightened you. 

It stung terribly, to be spoken to this way. He had certainly tried to broach the subject on more occasions than one; Zhongli had prodded, had eased you into conversation, but it had never gone further than that- you would stop him, and he would not pressure you any more. So why, why was he doing this to you now?

“The way that things occurred, the way I went about it, that has always been my deepest regret.”

You nearly don't hear him, with the way your ears have begun to ring. He doesn't reach for you- a wise decision. You shake your head once, and exhale, though it does little to ground you.

“No- you…you do not get to say that. Do not speak of this, of that man- it was you who stormed my land.” You snap your head up at him then, and there is nothing but accusation and despair dripping from you now- anger, maybe.

Morax is hurting too, you can see it in his gaze, in the way he stands so awfully still where he had been holding you only moments ago. Still, that doesn't stop the harsh setting of his brows, an expression of emotion that you can only read as frustration. 

Perhaps you had taken his composure for granted. Perhaps, he had grown tired of the patience you demanded.

“What would you have had me do, dearest? You tell me not to speak of him, as though he is not the very reason that you were taken from me.”

He stares at you- he stares at you so intensely that it hurts. You think it's a rhetorical question at first, but he simply watches and waits for you to answer.

You feel utterly incapable of it. That heat is rising, your heart is pumping, and you think you must be panicking. Your throat is tightening, you're not sure how long you'll be able to breathe properly. This human form is limiting.

Your husband continues when you do not: “Tell me, what could I have done? I will admit that when it comes to you, I have done many things wrong. I should have been more careful with you, my dear, but that does not mean I am entirely at fault.”

You open your mouth to speak. Nothing comes out.

“You often neglect to acknowledge the fact that it was a member of your court who shot Guizhong, and that it was you who hid him from me.”

You don't expect him to throw the blame back at you. It was one thing to reminisce about your Guizhong privately. That alone you could barely handle- you’ve found it easier to cast away any related thoughts when they have popped up in your mind since you'd woken. 

It was another thing entirely to hear him speak of her after all this time.

“That was an act of war, dearest. It mattered very little how much I loved you- how much I love you now. On behalf of the Guili Assembly, it was my duty to respond.”

You shake your head, you shake it so fiercely you think it might fall off. It is too hot in his kitchen, too closed in, and too suffocating- lacking in fresh air. You need to leave, you need the open space, the cool breeze that has always felt just right in your mountains. You need the shade of your trees- so vibrant and lovely are they, so different from the ones in his territory.

But Chenyu Vale is now his, too, and you are sure it will kill you.

“No-”

“No?”

“You shouldn’t- I…” You don’t think you can breathe.

It’s too unbearably hot, it burns. You are too close to the sun, in that domain turned prison that never knew anything other than the eternal glow of the brightest star. There is nothing- the space is empty save for that horrid light that intensifies no matter which direction you go. When you try to move yourself, you cannot. Instead, the air pushes back, and it scorches you so horribly you think you will burst into flames. 

You’re on that empty field with Guizhong in your arms, she’s desperate, warning you- he is no good, I have learned of something that he does not wish for me to know. Rex Lapis will kill me, I know he will. Please take me with you. The God of Dust clings to you like you are the only thing connecting her to this world. You brush her hair back, you tell her it will be okay- you must calm yourself, my dearest friend. What has happened?

You’re crawling to your Guizhong. Her blood has painted you both in a fearsome red. It’s a beautiful colour, it makes you sick. The arrow sticking out from her shoulder tells you exactly who drew the shot. The shaft is made from that beautifully rich wood that you know so well; the hafting is made of the finest thread, tied with precision as you have taught generations. You need not see the arrow point to know that it is made of clearwater jade- whoever shot her, as she sobbed in your arms, could only have been one of your own. You try to reach her, you think you could still save her, the wound was not particularly severe- 

Her body is enclosed in stone before you are able to. There is no mistaking who is responsible for this, too. Guizhong had been right, then. It is not only your court that has betrayed you.

You’re running. You move through the forest like wind does through the valley, for you have known this land longer than any other. It’s duller than you remember it- void of the colours and sounds that you so desperately nurtured and loved for thousands of years past. Morax shouts your name somewhere behind you. He is fast, but in your Chenyu Vale, you are faster. 

Never before have your legs ached as they do now. It’s a long, throbbing sort of sensation in your calves. You’ve been running for days, and he is still behind you, still some few paces away with no signs of stopping. You’re sure you’d see him if you turned your head- you do not for fear that he may take the opportunity to catch you. 

He’s hunting. You know that he is, for you are his prey. He calls for you again, his voice is louder this time. He must be closer. You look back despite yourself, and when you do, you are in his kitchen, in his home, and he is coming towards you-

“I should not have gone there. I’m sorry, dearest, truly. Try to breathe.” 

You know that he is. You do not care. Your husband takes another step towards you, and your feet scream at you to flee.

The only thing you register after is the loud sound of skin against skin, the sting you feel on your palm, and the sore red spot on Morax’s cheek.

He says nothing when he freezes- not when he reaches up after a moment, not when he gently presses two fingers against the spot. His expression is unreadable to you then, and you are left to assume the worst- that he may retaliate.

You run before he does, before he realizes that he should be angry with you- before you have to fully think about what it is you’ve done.

You escape to his room, to his bed that you have stayed in for weeks. You wish to leave, but you do not know where you would go, who you would seek.

You resign yourself to sobbing in his sheets instead.

Zhongli does not come to bed that night. You are glad for it.

You’re not sure what you would have done if he had. Maybe you would hit him again, maybe you would reach for the comfort of his hands. You do not know.

You think of your Guizhong, you think of your Chenyu Vale. You think of Morax, too, back when you still thought the world of him, back when he was still yours.

You cry until you cannot anymore, and then you lay in complete silence, simply waiting for the sun to rise.