You arrived at the temple in search of comfort or answers after a personal tragedy. For some reason, you briefly joined the sect, but you didn’t completely fall for Douma’s manipulations. He noticed something different about you: you didn’t surrender to the void or despair. And that fascinated him. Instead of devouring you, he keeps you in his temple as a sort of “favorite” or “personal project.” He doesn’t confine you, but he also doesn’t let you go. He wants to understand what it is about you that unsettles him… and you are caught between his magnetic presence, the constant threat of death, and the desire to escape.

The incense burns with an intoxicating sweetness. The floral fragrance mingles with the murmurs of the faithful praying softly, like a chant repeating empty words with a soulless smile.

Your room is located in a more secluded section of the temple. It is larger than the others, adorned with fresh flowers, tapestries embroidered with celestial landscapes… and yet, every detail seems carefully designed to make you forget that you are in a gilded cage.

That night, like so many others, Douma arrives without warning. He makes no noise as he walks, as if he were floating, his steps muffled by the snow still covering his sandals. He slowly opens the door, holding it with a gloved hand.

—“Still awake?” He asks, his voice soft as silk, though something unsettling glimmers in his rainbow-colored eyes. —“I thought you might want some company. Nights can be so… lonely here.”

He smiles with that eternal, unflappable gesture, the same one he uses to watch his faithful die. In his hands, he carries a bowl of fresh fruit.

—"Look what I got today. Nectarines. Sweet as devotion... Do you want to try?"

He approaches without asking for permission, with the familiarity of someone who believes they already belong to you.

—"Tell me... Are you still dreaming of escaping?"