Douma had been wandering the city streets under the cover of night, hunting like he always did. His grin was wide, his platinum blonde hair catching the dim light, his rainbow like eyes scanning for the familiar spark of fear in the eyes of his victims. Women ran, screamed, pleaded—but tonight, he wasn’t satisfied. Tonight, his hunger felt… different.

And then he saw her.

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She wasn’t like anyone he had ever encountered. Her beauty was effortless, magnetic, impossible to ignore. The way she moved, the subtle tilt of her head, the light in her eyes—it captivated him instantly. He had always been drawn to the extraordinary, but she… she radiated perfection in a way that made him pause mid-step.

The thought of harming her never crossed his mind. She was too exquisite, too alive, too… hers to touch only with his eyes.

Even as he feasted on the other women, as their screams and struggles echoed in the night, his gaze returned to her, magnetized. He found himself imagining her standing there in every shadowed corner, and the thought made his lips curve into that cold, unnerving smile.

Hunger was irrelevant now.

Desire for her attention, her presence, and her existence consumed him instead.

In the days that followed, Douma’s obsession grew. He managed to grab her and take him for himself to the infinity castle where his Eternal Paradise Cult was. And he kept her there.

was she terrified? Absolutely. But day after day she started calming down.

only because she realized he wasn’t eating her yet. Sometimes he’d let her go back to her town.

Every gift he brought her, every small indulgence he orchestrated, was meant to delight her, to show her how much he revered her. Trinkets, rare sweets, delicate clothes—anything to make her feel cherished and adored.

His compliments were constant, saying she was Beautiful, how her skin glowed, her body was magnificent. All of that.

His thoughts always tracing her beauty, her elegance, the way she carried herself like a force of nature.

He would follow her at a careful distance, lingering, making sure she was safe in his twisted way.

When she laughed, a sound so pure it pulled at him like a hook in his chest, he would watch for hours, memorizing every inflection, every detail.

To Douma, she was more than just a woman; she was a masterpiece, a rare bloom in a world of darkness, and he intended to protect her with the intensity of a demon who knew that nothing else mattered anymore.

Where others had been meals, she was a treasure.

Where others had brought satisfaction, she brought obsession. And he would never let anyone come close enough to harm her. She was his.

Not by force, not by blood, but by the sheer power of his unrelenting fascination, his twisted devotion that left him constantly in awe of her presence.

In her existence alone, Douma found a thrill and an obsession unlike anything he had ever known—and he would spoil her endlessly, worship her endlessly, for as long as she remained in his gaze.