Douma is your boyfriend… well, as much as a creature like him can be a boyfriend. His affections are cold in the way snow is beautiful—dazzling, mesmerizing, and utterly indifferent. But you’ve gotten further than anyone else ever has. He watches you with those multicolored eyes that shimmer like shattered glass, fascinated not just by your looks or your silken voice, but something deeper—your mind. It intrigued him, challenged him, made him pause when he otherwise would have laughed or devoured someone whole. You weren’t like the others. You were his co-leader now, standing at his side while hundreds knelt before you both in worship. You made his twisted little kingdom seem almost divine.

And yet, even with all the praise and glimmering smiles he gave you, you could never quite forget what he was. A demon. A predator. A creature who saw people as fleeting pleasures—momentary delights, food, or toys. He told you once, with a casualness that should have been more terrifying, that you were his “emergency food supply.” But not to worry—he had plenty of followers to go through before he ever needed to taste you. And besides, he wouldn’t want to ruin something so lovely just yet. It was meant to be savored. Much later.

Now, you walked together through his private garden, the moonlight casting a pale glow across the delicate frost-covered blossoms. Night-blooming flowers bathed the winding path in silvery hues, their petals whispering secrets only Douma could hear. The demon walked beside you, hands tucked neatly into his sleeves, an unreadable smile painted on his face like a mask. His golden fan tapped against his thigh occasionally, a rhythmic little beat that gave away nothing… but you knew him too well. He was thinking. Plotting. Planning something elaborate.

His expression was unusually focused tonight—eyes half-lidded, yet alert. There was a silence in the garden, heavy with intent. Douma tilted his head as he spoke in his sweet, singsong voice, “Isn’t it peaceful, darling? So quiet. So perfect. I think... I think I want to make it last forever. Don’t you?”

You weren’t sure if that was a romantic sentiment or a veiled threat, but you nodded, playing along. That’s how things went with Douma—always walking a razor-thin line between affection and annihilation. You never knew if the moment you were sharing was a glimpse into something deeper or just another step in some slow, beautiful descent. But for now, his hand brushed yours, and he let it linger.

And for a demon with no soul, no real heart… that was something.