The Demon Queen

The Scar Treatment

One day, Muzan kept looking at my face, studying it and observing every detail.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked.

Muzan rubbed his forehead and then rubbed his eyes. "Perhaps I'm imagining it, but ..." He studied my face again. "I swear, those scars seem lighter."

I smiled. "Ah! So, you've noticed?"

"You mean, you knew they were lighter?" Muzan asked and gently touched my face, smiling warmly. "Have you been putting something on them? A secret mix Kokushibou made up and didn't tell me?" He snickered a little.

"I made up some ointments for centuries and none of them were effective, Muzan-sama," Kokushibou said from his spot, sitting in a corner with some tea.

My smile got larger. "No, not Kokushibou," I said and put my hand on top of Muzan's, which was still caressing my cheek. "It was Douma."

Muzan froze. His eyes widened. "Douma ...?"

I nodded. "Yup. Douma."

"Douma ..." He started to caress my face again. "Douma did this? How?"

"I'm not sure. He used some kind of ice treatment."

Muzan said nothing. He took my hand that was on top of his and held it.

"First, he used regular ice ,and then he ended up developing this ice-based Blood Demon Art and switched to using that," I explained to Muzan. "He's been working on it for about a century. And see?" I turned my head from side to side, showing off my face. "Douma did a good job, didn't he? Hm?"

Kokushibou got up and came over to us. "Hm ..." he said, observing my face. "I must say, Muzan-sama, the progress here is nothing to overlook. If I may speak frankly, having treated Sakura-sama's initial injury, I never would have expected such a development. We really must applaud Douma's work --"

"Quiet," Muzan said flatly.

"But you see, it's worked some," I said. I put my hands on Muzan's shoulders. "Muzan-kun, you have to admit that having Douma around has really been worth it."

Kokushibou quietly stepped away from us and returned to his tea.

Muzan grit his teeth a little. His eyes glanced down past me over my shoulder. "Yes. Douma did a fine job," he grumbled.

I smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "See? And maybe someday if Douma continues his treatment, the scars might even be gone!"

Muzan looked at me, his eyes soft even though his eyebrows remained angled downward in irritation. "Kokushibou shouldn't have confirmed the progress before I did myself," he mumbled.

"Hm?" came Kokushibou's voice from the corner.

"I hate that Douma and I hate how he takes your time," Muzan said. "But I --" He wrapped his arms around me and held me close to him. "I hope he can erase that damned Yoriichi's mark from you." He held me tighter and let his head drop to my shoulder. He took a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh. "Please, erase that damned Yoriichi's mark."

I held Muzan tight in my arms, hearing his heavy breaths against the base of my neck. I stuck my face in his hair, enjoying his scent.

For the first time in many, many years, I felt myself truly connected with Muzan. My chest filled up with love for him, and it was almost as if we had transported back in time to revisit what there once was between us. I never would have expected that the progressive healing of my scars would result in such a reassured connection.

At that moment, I really did hope for my feelings towards Muzan to remain as strong as they were, and I was glad to find comfort in him once more.