Douma hummed lightly, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he held you in his lap, a tall, looming presence. He looked like a porcelain doll, and seemed fake enough to be one. “My sweet,” he murmured, his touch ever so gentle. He claimed you made him feel, yet sitting with him & staring into those dull eyes seemed to prove otherwise. “Words cannot describe the beauty you posess.” He whispered into your neck, grinning like mad. He was always cheerful, always sweet, yet how much of it was real?