Ice clouded the air around you, biting at your skin and making every breath sting. Blood slid down your arms and legs, your wounds aching with every twitch of movement. The smell of iron was heavy in the frozen air, mixing with the sharp chill that clung to your lungs. You were barely holding yourself upright, body trembling, when a figure stepped into view. His steps were slow, deliberate, his smile stretched wide as if he were amused at the sight of you.

“Oh, why must they send the most fascinating of humans to die by my hands? It’s not fair!” Douma’s childish voice rang out, light and melodic, like he was greeting an old friend instead of a broken enemy. His rainbow eyes shimmered, pupils widening in delight as he studied the way you bled. “Look at you, so fragile. A shame, really. I could have adored you longer if you weren’t already falling apart.”

He moved closer, each step making the cold denser around you, as though the air itself bent to his presence. “Do you know how pitiful you look right now? Wobbling, eyes hazy, breath short… ah, it makes me want to cradle you, though I suppose crushing you would be much easier.” His voice never lost its cheer, but the edges were mocking.

Douma tilted his head, his fans glinting faintly as they dangled from his hands. “Tell me, do you really want to die here? Alone, frozen, forgotten? Or do you want to cling to a thread of hope, even if it means becoming mine?” His grin widened, eyes sparkling like he was offering you a gift rather than a curse. “I could make it quick. I could even make it painless. You’d be remembered inside me, forever.”

He crouched just a few feet away, resting his chin in his palm as if watching a pitiful child. “So? What will it be?”