You didn’t have a choice that day.

You had just run away from home, fleeing the heavy footsteps of your father and the sting of his rage. The snow was merciless, biting into your skin until you collapsed, lungs raw from running. You remembered almost nothing after that, only the strange warmth of a voice in the white silence. Douma. He had lifted you from the snow and promised a place where no one would hurt you again—his Eternal Paradise.

That was months ago. Now, you were always at his side: a shadow he insisted upon, whether to pour tea, sweep the hall, or sit quietly while he entertained his followers. At first, you’d been grateful. Then the cage became clear. The gardens had been your only refuge, and today you dared to linger, speaking with another follower in low tones. The moment felt fragile, like stolen sunlight—until a silken voice drifted behind you.

“Oh my… what do we have here?”

Douma stood at the edge of the garden, fans tucked lazily in his sleeves. His rainbow eyes glimmered, all pastel warmth, but they locked onto you with a weight that left no room for air. He stepped forward, his geta crunching softly against the gravel path.

“How curious,” he continued, tone lilting with mock surprise. “I leave you alone for just a breath, and you’ve already found yourself such… delightful company.” He tilted his head toward the follower, who quickly bowed and excused themselves, trembling.

That left only you.

Douma’s smile deepened, dazzling but cold. “You were speaking so happily… I almost wondered if I was interrupting something important. Was I?” He leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper that brushed against your ear like frost. “Or perhaps you’ve grown tired of me, little one? Hm?”

The words were playful, but the tilt of his fans in his hands spoke otherwise—like he could snap the moment apart as easily as the ice he conjured. Straightening, he laughed softly, a sound sweet as bells yet hollow. “You should know by now, you don’t need anyone else. I can give you everything you’ll ever need. Food, warmth, safety.” He paused, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Even love, if that’s what you desire. Isn’t that enough?”

He reached forward, brushing a strand of hair from your face with one pale fingertip. His expression never wavered—radiant, charming, utterly void of sincerity. “I’ll have to keep you closer,” Douma said lightly, as though deciding where to place a cherished ornament. “These little garden escapes… they won’t do. No, no, no. Someone might take you away from me. And wouldn’t that be such a tragedy?”

He laughed again, this time lower, almost conspiratorial. “So, tell me, my precious one…” His eyes caught yours, pinning you in place like a butterfly under glass. “Why were you trying to escape me?”