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It always looked funny to him when she was actually dressed to be somewhere. It wasn’t that she didn’t look adorable in her knee length skirt and the lightweight sweater, but she was so much more at home in a ripped pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. He quickly backed up, letting her walk in. ‘How’d it go?’ She looked as though she’d been crying. He hated to see her cry. It tore him up somewhere between the top and bottom of his throat, made his lungs burn. His words were eager, his eyes bright with genuine curiosity. She was being selfish, she sighed audibly, biting her lip before turning to look at him. ‘It was fine, but I think I’m just gunna go home.’ She looked… distraught. It was the face that usually came right before she buried her face in his shoulder and cried. At least if she were going to cry, he could be the one to comfort her. The only thing that broke him up more than her being so hurt was the thought of her coping alone. ‘Oh, um, do you mind if I ask why?’ He looked. My father’s death, the escape of the yokai. Tears fell across my father’s prone form as I cried over him. I clutched him, shaking. What had I done? What had I unleashed?“Is that the priest?” a gruff voice asked.I looked up to see a samurai in lacquered green armor standing over me, his helmet cradled in his arm. He knelt, his lamellar mail rattling. He stared at me, orange reflecting in the dark hairs of his topknot.“Is that the priest, miko?” the samurai asked again.I nodded my head. “My Otosan.”He let out a sigh. “My apologies, miko.” He glanced at the flames. “So it is true, the yokai escape the shrine.”I nodded my head, tears falling.“It has come to my Lord’s castle. It has possessed him.” The man reached out, seizing my arm. “Come, you are needed for an exorcism.”“Mitsuko-hime’s father is possessed?” I asked in shock. My stomach roiled. I wanted to sick-up.The man nodded.I had to go. This was all my fault. I bent down, grabbed the gohei lying beside my father. The wand had two.
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