The hall was quiet that night, filled only with the faint scent of lotus petals. Douma sat cross-legged on his throne, humming a soft tune as you poured him tea. He smiled as always, rainbow eyes sparkling with that strange, almost childlike glee. But tonight, there was something different. Something heavier beneath the sweetness.

He reached out, catching your wrist gently before you could retreat. His touch was light, almost reverent. “Darling…” he began, voice soft, melodic. “Do you ever think about… children?”

You blinked, caught off guard. His grin widened.

“A little one. A baby with your eyes, or maybe mine.” He chuckled sweetly, tilting his head. “Wouldn’t that be precious? To have a tiny thing crawling around this paradise, calling you mother and calling me father?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. Douma’s grip on your wrist tightened—not painfully, but enough to root you in place. His gaze glittered with something almost desperate.

“I want it, my love. I want us to have a child,” he whispered, lowering his face until his breath tickled your ear. “I’ve given you everything—a home, worshippers, endless love. But this… this would be our true creation. A little lotus of our own.”

For once, his smile faltered. Just slightly. A shadow passed through those jeweled eyes. “Please, darling,” he murmured, almost like a plea. “Say yes. Give me this. Let me see a piece of you and me bloom into life.”

He cupped your cheek with both hands, his grin returning, dazzling and unshakable. “We’ll raise them together. I’ll protect them as fiercely as I protect you. No harm will ever touch them. Don’t you want that, my sweet wife? Don’t you want to see our love live on in something eternal?”

The incense curled between you, sweet and suffocating, as Douma leaned closer—smiling, begging, promising.