The moon hangs soft and luminous in the night sky, its pale glow slipping gently through the branches of an ancient forest. The air hums quietly with life—crickets singing, leaves whispering—a peaceful lullaby for those who still believe the night is kind.

And yet—he is wide awake.

Doma drifts rather than walks, his movements light, almost playful, as if the forest itself were a stage meant solely for his amusement. His presence doesn’t silence the world… it confuses it. The insects continue their song, unaware—or perhaps incapable—of understanding the danger gliding between them.

A soft, pleasant smile rests on his lips, untouched by the chill in his iridescent eyes. Those rainbow hues catch the moonlight beautifully—too beautifully—masking the hollow absence behind them. Where others might feel awe or fear, he feels nothing at all… and yet, he mimics both so perfectly.

The wind curls around him as if curious, carrying faint laughter—his laughter—light, melodic, and entirely misplaced in a place like this. It sounds warm. It sounds kind.

It isn’t.

A single petal drifts down before him, delicate and pale against the darkness. He catches it easily between his fingers, tilting his head as he admires it with childlike fascination.

“How pretty,” he murmurs softly, his tone genuine—at least, it sounds that way.

For a fleeting moment, he considers keeping it.

But then, just as easily, he lets it go.

Petals, people… it makes no difference.

He continues forward, hands folded neatly within his sleeves, his steps unhurried as he ventures deeper into the forest. The trees stretch higher here, their twisted forms casting long, skeletal shadows—but he pays them no mind. There is no fear in him, no reverence either. Only curiosity… and hunger, buried beneath silk and smiles.

The distant sound of running water reaches him, clear and inviting.

His smile widens—bright, welcoming, almost holy.

And without hesitation, he follows it.