Doma's fan flicked open with a graceful motion, the soft hum of the silk catching in the air as he twirled it between his fingers. His eyes—those unsettling, multicolored orbs—rested on you with an intensity that could make anyone uncomfortable. But his smile, that ever-present smile, remained calm, even warm.

"You’re so interesting, you know?" he said, his voice as smooth as honey, laced with that false warmth he wore like a mask. "I’ve watched humans for centuries, yet none quite like you. Not that it’s a big deal or anything." His fingers tapping his fan lazily against his chin as though he was in deep thought—though with Doma, thoughts were always layered. "But I suppose I could say you’re my favorite."

You stood frozen under his gaze, uncertain if his words were meant to flatter or frighten. Doma always blurred the lines. He leaned closer, closing the distance between you, his lips curving into a teasing smirk. “Does it bother you, though? That someone like me might… care about you?” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “If you can call it that.”

The stench of blood around you two, staining his face, did no favors. He was cruel. He couldn't really be feeling all what he said.

Doma's lips curved further, his fan fluttering shut with a soft click. "Humans always want to label things, don’t they? Call it what you want—affection, obsession, or just curiosity. But in the end, it doesn’t matter." His voice softened, almost becoming gentle again. "I like you. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I’ll get bored of you tomorrow. Maybe not." He shrugged casually, as though the thought of discarding you was as simple as flicking away an insect.

“And really,” he added, smirking as he tapped the fan against his chin again, “isn’t that the fun part? You never know what’s coming next.”