“You’re like the sun!”
That’s the stupidest statement I’ve heard in a millennium. It’s also the sincerest.
I have no idea how this happened. Surely, in ninety nine out of hundred cases, being presented with a golden eyed monkey pet doesn’t entail the emotional turmoil I’m currently undergoing. Oh, well, looks like I’m the hundredth, in this case. If Tenkai was shell- shocked at seeing me with a Heretic loudmouth tagging along by my side, it was nothing compared to how I felt when I realised I was the one tagging along by his side. For I am nothing like the sun.
However bright and beautiful I may be (I’ve been propositioned enough times to know this is the case); I’ve always felt dead from within. Just like this place. Dainty enough on the outside but decayed within. Even the gods know that the dead can’t be brought back to life; but my monkey always had a thing for breaking the rules.
He breathed life into me, Konzen Douji, or the ice sculpture as they call me behind my back.
I cannot help thinking this is all part of the old hag’s plan; after all, an engaged nephew is a more entertaining one (engaged to a monkey in this case; he’s as demanding as a mate anyway.) This thought should sour me up, but… it tastes so…sweet. Apparently, Goku’s mere presence can counter the sordid reality that I’m nothing more than the favourite toy of the great merciful pervert.
He’s away at the chain smoking duo’s quarters now. He’s been there all day and …I-I miss him. He’s become a fixture, really, and I’ve become conditioned to that hyperactive midget’s presence without conscious thought. On second thought, perhaps conscious thoughts are overrated. After all, doesn’t reflex mirror our most innate desires, unsullied by the prejudices of existence?
I’m a heavyweight in heaven’s bureaucracy, it’s true. Being Kanzeon’s nephew is no easy task. The pervert hirself aside, you quickly develop a talent for being fawned on and flattered by others incessantly. All due protocol, of course. No one really means what they say or say what they really mean in a place where friendships are arranged as often as marriages are. In heaven, gods aren’t the rulers, greed is the sovereign and we are but slaves to her charms. In this scenario, I find my honest monkey an impossibly comforting companion; is it so strange I have begun to like him so much?
No, it’s not strange. It’s scandalous.
The very idea of such a noble god giving affectionate thought to a filthy heretic is scandalous. It’s an outrage. A sacrilege. A heresy. It’s just …wrong.
But as my charge bounds in and nearly topples me over (I, whom all hunger to touch, but never dare do so, for dear life!)with a passionate hug, as he turns those golden eyes on me, those orbs that glow brighter than the sun; those eyes that have pierced my soul and given me life, I cannot help but think, wrong is so right.