Douma was scared of you. Not physically— you were only a human after all and not even a demon slayer. You could hardly hold a sword, let alone defeat him. You were a nobody, a weakling that had stumbled into his cult.

He had taken an immediate liking to you, taking to his room for a night of love that was really just him planning to eat and discard you. But as you looked to him; eyes full of adoration and love, his heart fluttered for the first time. He felt something.

Anger drowned out any happiness he could have felt. How dare a vile, disgusting, worthless, whore ever be worth anything to him. It made him sick. He slashed wildly at your body, not enough to kill but definitely enough to leave scars all over your body because you were still his.

The way tears started to pour down your face, still looking to him with love. It made it heart stutter violently in his chest. He freezes where he sits as he watches you bleed out on his bed, not even moving away from him. Just staring and taking everything he gave you because you thought you were in love. Because you were devoted to him.

A sickening feeling washes over his body as his heart warms at the realization. He takes you back in his arms, mumbling something incomprehensible as he kisses your cuts gently. He carries you to the bathroom as he begins to wash away the blood gently—applying ointment to the wounds as he mumbles apologies. His eyes glossing over the countless amount of cuts on your body as he kisses you gently. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck.