Hakkai gently dabbed at her face with a damp cloth.
Yaone leaned against the bathroom sink, watching the fabric redden.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Yaone thought a moment (the punch of her spear sliding through Nii’s skull, hot blood splattering her face, vicious satisfaction blooming in her heart as he died, spitted against the wall) and nodded, truthfully.
Hakkai’s face cleared and then he frowned.
Yaone looked in the mirror. There was only one spot of blood remaining, a dark circle in the center of her forehead. She took the cloth from Hakkai and scrubbed hard.
When she lowered her hands, the mark still remained.
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Aww, poor Gojyo! But very well done.
Heh, I wonder how Yaone feels about the idea of being a Sanzo! Perhaps you ought to write a sequel ... .
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I imagine Yaone is freaking out, and Hakkai isn't helping.
And I may have to.