•○❅|❅○•

You blink once. Then twice. But it didn't matter, everything stayed dark. For a moment, you thought you were still asleep, caught in that thick fog between dream and waking, but your skin prickled with the slow, crawling awareness that you're very much awake. Something's off. The silence was too loud.

Wait, when did you go to bed...?

You shot up from the ground. 'Was that--Wait, wait, wait. Was that all dream?' You reached out to your left. Your hand slapped against a wooden leg. Was that your--was that your coffee table? Oh god, was that really all just a dream?! Relief shot through your heart like a bullet. A breathless laugh left your lips. Were you back home? Then that's means-

You twisted your body around, expecting to collapse on the edge of your couch, but instead you were met with a vacant space. You breath caught as you fell back onto the floor. "No I'm-" You reach out again, arms swinging around to find any part of the soft cushion. When you found nothing, you tore your attention back to the table. 'But my coffee table!' You reached out for it again, fingers brushing over the air instead. Until you lowered your arm. 'No. No I'm home. I'm home.' You scrambled up to your wobbling feet.

Please, no. You scurried across the room. You slipped and dropped right in front of the wall, knees meeting the ground before your palms. Please. You stayed there, head hung low until finally, you mustered up enough courage to outreach your hand. You touched around for the one thing you prayed wasn't there. Your fingers squeezed around the edge of the door.

The world of hope collapsed before your feet.

You shoved the door aside to reveal the shimmering outside. The sun beamed down, so fiercely bright after the pitch-blackness behind you that it burned into your eyes, forcing them shut with a wince. You raised a hand instinctively, shielding your face as the light poured in like molten gold, spilling over everything. When your vision finally adjusted, you caught sight of the lake below.

The water below shimmered like liquid metal, every ripple catching the sun and throwing it back up at you in sharp, brilliant flashes. It was alive with movement, gleaming like a thing made of stars and glass. You're still here. 'It wasn't a dream. I'm really still here. All that--oh god.' To hold yourself together, you clutched your shirt at the gut wrenching realization. You were still here, with him. All the--the hugs, the pain, the taunting, the almost killing you, it was all real.

Tears of defeat started to pour from your sockets. You were really kidnapped. You were really trapped. You took a moment, letting the tears fall. 'What am I going to do?' You wiped away the drops with your wrist. 'How am I going to escape? Will I be able to? I really just want to go back home.' Your vision cleared back up with a couple hard blinks.

Wait a minute...

You wiped your eyes one more time before staring down at the walkways.

There, dotting the walkways like ants on threads, were people. Distant figures gliding along the paths, their shadows stretching long against the planks. They didn't rush. They didn't look up. Just walked, as if pulled along by invisible strings, weaving through the bright haze like they'd always been part of it.

A quiet breath left your chest. People! Real people! For a moment, that was enough to make your hands feel a little less shaky. You're not alone! They could help you! "Hey!" You shouted, swinging your arms above your head. "Up here!" Eyes directed themselves from the ground to the open room above. You laughed in triumph. "Help--please help!" Your motions shifted to signal behind you. You did this for a solid five seconds before a few hands raised and waved. Your futile efforts ceased.

'What are they-? No, help me!' Attention drifted away from you, and back down to the earth. Then it came to you.

The thought formed its way into your mind like frost blooming across glass.

They can't understand you.

Creeek...!

You tore your gaze away from the people to the door behind you. There were voices. Separate voices. Not Douma's.

The simple mention of his name made your skin quiver with panic.

You opened your mouth to call out for help again, but you stopped. What was the point? They wouldn't understand. Plus... Douma might already be one step ahead of you. He always seemed to be... So instead, you looked back outside.

You need a plan. No more wallowing in hopelessness. You need to get yourself out of here. By yourself. You rose from the ground and started to think. Running would be useless. If he's the leader of this... Cult, he could merely send a follower or two to capture you and drag you back. Or he'd do it himself so he could throw you off the third floor.

But what else could you do, besides run? Wait it out? Until the moment is right? How long would that take?

You groaned into your hand. There was arguably no better option. You scanned the room. Maybe there was something in here you could use, just in case things got rough? Not to kill anyone, obviously, just to buy yourself some time to escape from the clutches of anyone. You passed your ripped hoodie splayed on the floor, towards a drawer.

Last night felt like a fever dream. Your memories of him replayed over like a broken record. You didn't want to think about it, but you found yourself drifting back to image of him while you rummaged through the cupboards.

Douma was overflowing with ecstasy from the continuous tender gestures, he ended up gripping your hoodie too tight and accidentally tore the back of it. You were too shaken to really indulge the incident or his modest apology. You just remember nodding before you took the shredded clothing off.

Nothing. You searched another dresser.

He sat close to you the whole time. With his knee touching yours and his face leaning in more times than you liked, before he leaned away with a bigger blush each time. You leisurely ate as he mindlessly ran his mouth about himself. Spouting outright ridiculous information you didn't need to know.

A candle...? No, that's useless. Hm... What about the wardrobe?

Like how he dances, forbidden to smoke--but succumbs to a water pipe every now and then--and to drink. Then, saving others in need is his specialty.

Okay... Here's something.

He is pretty beautiful and a perfect fit the whole 'god' role, but that's absurd. Though, you could tell he really thought it was true. He was rigorously persuaded in this belief--this idea. It gave you chills. He really thought he was a god. I mean, people in cults usually think they're in the right, but this was just idiotic.

You pressed the cold metal object into your palm. Your fingers instinctively wrapped around it. It was a letter opener. This is perfect. You shut the doors to the wardrobe. 'So... Sneak by the people, flee downstairs and run across the walkways to find a road. Great.'

In the end, you fell back onto your bed to rest your head. The last thing you wanted to do was let your guard down and sleep, but his stupidly soothing voice took affect on you, even if you tried to fight it. You fell asleep.

You redirected your body towards the door, just as there was a knock. Your spine stiffened. The warmth in the room drained, like a plug had been pulled. Your eyes locked on the frame, heartbeat tapping against your ribs. The air pressed down, carrying something off. Then-

"Hey, hey! May I come in [Name]?"

Shit!

Your eyes whipped around the room like a trapped animal. Does he know?! No, he couldn't! Everything felt too loud: the creak of the floor, the hum of silence, even your own breathing. 'Okay, breathe, breathe! Just hide it! The letter opener, where? Oh! Drawer, drawer!'

You lunged toward the drawer--nearly tripping over yourself--and shoved the letter opener in with fumbling hands, slamming it shut just as footsteps creaked too close to the door.

"I brought you new clothes! I don't like your old ones. Don't take it the wrong way, they're... Definitely interesting. But also, they stink and I already ruined a pair. So, I got you fresh ones!" Douma's tone was loud and sing-songy with every syllable exaggerated and every breath a dramatic beat. He laughed mid-sentence, interrupting himself with giggles as if his own jeer amused him.

Did you have anything else to hide? No...? Then let him in! Wait--Shoot, the door! What if he gets suspicious about that?! "Hellooo? Oh dear, don't tell me you're still asleep." You jumped to the opening and shut it just as he uttered to himself, "I'm just gonna have a look-see." Another light flooded the room, but this time it was from a lantern out of the door behind you. You slung your body abaft.

"Ah! There you are!" He pried the door open just enough for his body to pass through. He looked different. I mean, still--absolutely breathtaking and unsettling, but his clothes were different. His head bore a black crown, its front plates trimmed in gold, with black ribbons cascading from either side. Draped around his shoulders was a black cloak, accented by two purple-and-black cloths bearing a rectangular pattern on each side. "I brought you a nice set of clothes!" He crept forward with that same wide grin stretched across his face. One hand held a lantern that casted long, flickering shadows across the walls. The golden light danced across his pale features. His other hand held some neatly folded clothing.

You didn't move, or respond. You couldn't. That heavy, invisible pressure had returned, sitting on your chest and weighing down your arms. Your breath felt shallow, your throat dry. You just stared, and felt your heart start pounding against your ribs. You could feel your blood start to boil.

He had kidnapped you. Hurt you. Threatened to kill you. And yet he was acting like it never happened. Just bouncing right back in with the same sunny tone. You could've screamed in his face and he probably would've just tilted his head and chuckle. He came closer, stopping just short of you, clothes extended like a peace offering. "I had my heart set on getting you something radiant with an elegant design! But none of the women's robes would perfectly be capable of enclosing around your belly! So, I opted for menswear."

...What?

Your belly--?

You examined Douma's euphoric face with a scowl. On top of everything he's done, another thing we're adding is taunting. You snatched the clothes from his palm. The fabric was softer than you expected. That pissed you off more. His smile only deepened, as if your anger was the most charming thing he'd seen all day. "I was hoping I could give you a tour of the place," He said calmly, almost like he hadn't just insulted you. He knelt and set the lantern down near the low table, it lit the sharp angle of his jaw. The small crooked smile still straying on his lips.

"I don't want you to feel trapped in here." He added, straightening up and brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeves. "So go on, get changed. I'll be waiting right outside." A soft blush colored his face. Then he pivoted, cloak swaying behind him like smoke. You looked down at the clothes in your arms, then at the back of his head. But you haven't showered or bathed... Since you got here.

"Wait--"

He paused mid-step at the door, one foot slightly ahead of the other. A single hand landed on the doorframe. "Do I not get a shower...? Or a bath?" You glanced down at your shirt, the fabric clinging near your under arms. Discomfort crawled over your skin. He turned his head first, then the rest of him followed. His gaze dropped briefly to your clothes before flicking back up. "I suppose you do need one." He murmured, tapping his chin, "Alright, I'll have someone prepare a bath for you. But for now, change. By the time we're done, you'll be able to freshen up!"

Then came the smile. His friendly and serene smile. Not bright, no flash of teeth, no overdone joy. It was steady and infuriatingly gorgeous. Then he turned again, sliding the door shut behind him.

You stayed standing for a lingering moment, your fingers twitching. You finally let your eyes fall to the pile clothes in your hands. There were socks on top, folded neatly. Below that... A sash? And a robe? Wait--no, two robes. You squinted slightly, trying to make sense of the arrangement. One robe looked thinner and plain, maybe something meant to go under. The other was a bolder red, heavier in your arms. You raised a brow at the unfamiliar style before stepping toward the center of the room. Kneeling, you placed everything carefully down on the low table. Your fingers lingered for a second on the fabric.

You were still, only your eyes wandered around the room. Taking a walk around this place with him wasn't exactly appealing, but it could give you a better layout, let you mark the exits, maybe catch a moment to question him. You glanced back at the robes. Right. First things first. Let's put this on.

Turns out, it was a robe. Or--a Japanese robe? You forgot the name, but now your wrapped in this slightly tight clothing with a lopsided sash. Whatever. When you finally stood back up from slipping your socks on, you gave your hips a little shake and brushed the creases out of the robe.

Now back to him... You shuffled to the door. But you stopped, your hand hovering over the edge of it. You didn't want to see him. Or talk to him. Or walk beside him like some kind of shared moment he probably wanted. But you had to act normal. You had to look like you were fine. Like you weren't planning anything. He couldn't suspect a thing. And only then, would you be able to strike.

But how would you run in this? It restricted a bit of movement near your legs. Hm... You'll have to figure that out later.

You inhaled deeply and slid the door open. The tree greeted you first, unmoving just beyond the rails. Your eyes followed the measly light of the day until you turned to your left. Douma had been looking elsewhere, but turned at the exact moment you did. Your eyes met. His face brightened in surprise, and before you could process the movement, he snapped his large fan open with a loud flick--which startled you.
He began fanning himself while his cheeks bloomed into a shade that nearly matched your robe.

"My! You look so cute!" His voice pitched a little higher than usual. You grimaced at this. Before you could respond--say something rash--he skipped towards you. "Here, let me fix the belt!" He tucked his fan away and stepped around you. You stiffened, but didn't try to move away as he untied the knot. He didn't rush to tie it, he took his time, doing whatever else with it. You couldn't see. Finally, he gave it a tug and mumbled a satisfied, "There we go." You expected him to move away, to stand back next to you and start the tour, but instead he dwelled behind you. The pause might have been nothing, if it wasn't him that was pausing.

Then, without warning, his hand drifted upward and his fingers threaded lightly through a section of your hair. You swerved away instinctively, but he didn't stop. He put his hand right back on your head and smoothed it back as if he had every right to. "Much better." He circled back to your side, only to be met with your glare. His expression brightened instantly as he extended his arm toward you. "Come now." You glanced down at the offered arm, then at him, making no attempt to hide the disdain in your eyes.

Now he just thinks he can touch you? Honestly that was already established... Well--you're not touching him! Screw acting like you're fine!

His smile didn't falter. "We do have quite a few stairs. Need I remind you, you're still not all the way back to health?" Damn it, he was right. You could walk better now, but stairs? Ehh... Reluctance settled heavy in your chest, but you reminded yourself again that every small display of compliance could serve its purpose. Slowly, you raised your arm and hooked it through his.

He began to walk, and you followed.

•○❅|❅○•

"Ah, last room! Saved the best for last!"

The room was dark, lit only by a faint, eerie glow that spilled across the wooden floor. At the center stood a raised platform, framed by deep purple and green curtains draped to each side. Hanging above were paper talismans, swaying slightly in the still air. A large, plush beanbag sat in the middle of the platform like a throne--deep violet and sunken in the center. Behind it, a folding screen painted with faded floral patterns leaned quietly in the shadows. The rest of the room faded into darkness, details swallowed by the dim.

"This," Douma announced, voice swelling with pride, "Is where I bring my worshippers to the light of salvation." Only then did he finally let go of your arm to step further into the darkness.

So this is what he's been talking about. This is where he saves people.

You glanced at him from the side, catching the flash of the largest grin you'd seen on him yet, too white. He seemed completely at ease here--like the darkness was his element. You followed in after him, slow, wary, and he closed the door behind you.

You'd already thought about the exits. There were many. But all led to one solution. Flee downstairs. Which was hardly a plan, there were too many white spots to fill. Still, you could think about it more here... Provided if you got the chance.

"Come sit with me." He moved past you and plopped himself onto the beanbag throne. You stood there for a moment. Where do you sit? Maybe next to him? When you walked over, you took a single step onto the platform. But he halted you with a raised hand and an easy smile.

"Ah-ah. This area is restricted from mere humans. Only I am worthy enough to sit up here." You stared at him for a long beat, your face giving away an unimpressed glare you couldn't suppress. Then you stepped off the platform and lowered yourself onto the floor directly in front of him.

"There we go!" He said brightly, voice dripping with glee. "Now, I'm sure that little head is cramped with questions. So please, ask as many as you'd like!"

You did have a lot, more than you could count, but the fact that he acknowledged the past caught you off guard. So far, he'd dance around it like it never happened. Now it was as if he had flung open a door and dared you to walk through. Questions started to swarm your brain: angry ones, puzzled ones, scared ones. But above all, one rose higher than the rest.

"Why are you doing this?" The words tumbled out like water breaking through a dam.

Douma tilted his head, one brow arched in curiosity. "Be more specific, will you?" That got under your skin more than you'd like to admit.

"Why are you holding me hostage?! And being so persistent with those weird crushing hugs? I--why did you try to kill me?!" Your voice rang through the hollow air, bouncing back at you in an echo that only made the moment more dramatic.

He didn't flinch. His eyes widened only the slightest fraction. You sat with shallow, uneven breaths, chest rising and falling as though your outburst had drained something from you. A part of you wanted to scream again just to break his silence, but before you could, he moved, slowly leaning back with a composure that made you feel small.

"I could let you free," He said, words sliding off his tongue. Then, in a sudden spring of motion, he shot forward and tapped the tip of your nose with a playful boop. "But in all truth, I'm merely looking out for you. I would hate for you to get eaten. You're lucky I was the one to save you and keep you here. Otherwise, you'd already be nothing more than a delicious meal for a demon wandering out there."

The childish poke to your nose made your irritation flare, but his words immediately shoved it aside.

Eaten? Demon? Your mind snagged on the phrases, tripping over them like roots in the dark. Is he serious? What's he even talking about--wolves? Bears? That doesn't make sense. If anything, you would've just died of hypothermia and maybe been scavenged later. Why is he emphasizing that so much?

You stared at him, silent, waiting for some sign that he was joking. He only kept smiling.

"As for the hugs..." His voice softened as he spoke, warm in a way that made your stomach twist. "I've already explained it to you. I like you, [Name]. You make me feel so... happy. And when I hug you, I feel warm."

His confession sounded so simple, so matter-of-fact, that it almost disarmed you. But the memory of his earlier violence cut through any illusion of tenderness like glass underfoot.

"You tried to kill me!" You snapped, anger catching in your throat. "That's not what someone does if they--like a person! Or whatever the hell your problem is with me!"

Douma's gaze lowered, trailing back to you with unnerving restraint. For the first time, his smile faltered, slipping downward until it was gone. The air seemed to thicken instantly, pressing down on your chest. A cold shiver ran down your spine.

"Kill you? That's not what happened," he said, voice stripped of its cheer. "If I did, you wouldn't of have time to scream. I was just giving you a warning." His eyes clouded, and the subtle threat curled in the air like smog. "But look at you, alive. All due to me."

He shifted closer, looming over you until his presence filled every inch of space. You froze where you sat, as if even breathing too loudly might set him off.

"Though, you still continue to insult me. Belittle me. And I gave you shelter, warmth, safety," he continued. "I didn't have to. I could have walked away and let the cold, or a demon, do the work for me."

He keeps saying that.

A crooked, eerie smile slowly unfurled across his lips, stretching wider than before. Your own eyes widened as he leaned down, face drawing nearer until his breath ghosted against your skin, forcing you to confront just how little space separated you from him now.

It's not like he saved your--wait. He did.

"But I didn't. I kept you. Doesn't that mean something to you?"

For a fleeting moment, you considered it.

Yes, in many ways, you would've been dead if it wasn't for him. You should be grateful in a way. But then you remembered, he is forcing you to stay in a cult because he likes you and almost killed you--wait no. Warned you, because apparently if he wanted to kill you, it would have been fast.

You contorted your face into a glare, despite how fast your heart was beating in fear at his creepy clarification.

"I may be obligated to thank you profusely, but that doesn't excuse the fact that you've... Just--it doesn't excuse everything you've done!" The words stumbled out in fragments from the haze of panic clogging your throat. You had to pause, catching your breath. The derealization hit, and you stuttered through the end of your sentence as though language itself was failing you.

So much had happened to you already. Too much. When was it going to stop? You just wanted to go home, to see something familiar, to crawl into your own bed and shut this nightmare out. The constant strain was unbearable, and it felt like your mind was unraveling.

Douma saw it too.

"But I've only done all of this to help you. To guide you." His tone was as light as ever, but the words made you cringe. You turned away, unable to stomach the proximity. "I'm truly stumped! I don't know what more I can do to get you to see that!" He finally leaned back into the cushion, throwing his hands up in a helpless shrug.

Maybe he was right. Or maybe you were so far gone in confusion, so desperate for anything to make sense, that you almost wanted him to be right.

Maybe you weren't losing your mind. God, you were going crazy. Ugh, just bullshit him. Anything to end this conversation faster so you have more time to escape and more time to plan.

"I'm... Sorry. I guess I was so focused on getting home and figuring out how I got here... I wasn't realizing your... Help." The words tasted bitter coming out your mouth. You forced yourself to glance his way--only to find his smile already waiting for you. It bloomed wide, disturbingly pleased.

"There we go! We're finally meeting eye to eye!" Douma scooted forward again, that dumb blush he always seemed to have now back on his face. "But there's just one more thing I think we're not on the same page about yet." He lifted a finger knowingly, as though he were making an important announcement.

Your stomach tightened. You slowly tilted your head, suspicion prickling up your spine. "...What?" You asked carefully, watching him like one might watch a snake in the grass. Please, not another hug. Oh, who were you kidding? You'd have to do it anyway.

He leaned forward, closing the distance with ease until his nose nearly brushed yours. Your breath shortened, your body pressed back with your spine bending to carve out the tiniest bit of room. His rainbow eyes shimmered with intensity, and his voice dropped into something quieter.

"The matter of feelings," he whispered. "You like me, don't you?"

Your chest tightened. What? No. No, no--what was he saying?

"I've seen the way you looked at me. Like I was a dream." He lifted a hand and pointed, inches from your face, as if to pin the truth to your skin. "You like me too, don't you?" His repetition carried a tremor, almost as if he were wishing the words into reality.

Your first instinct was to snap back with a sharp no. To deny him. But then the thought struck you: if he believed you liked him, if you let him believe it, maybe he'd lower his guard. Maybe it would make escaping easier.

Slowly, with all the hesitance of someone stepping into a trap, you nodded. "Maybe a little...?"

His reaction was immediate, explosive. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bubbling out of him like a manic in euphoria. His chest heaved as he clutched at himself, trembling fingers pressed to his heart as though it might break through his ribs.

"Of course you do, I--" His head snapped back toward you, eyes wild and dilated down to sharp pinpricks. "Say it again. Please!"

Before you could pull away, his cold hands snatched yours, squeezing them with desperate force. You gasped, the chill seeping straight into your bones. His grip was trembling, but not with weakness. With excitement. His gaze bored into you, canines flashing.

Panic thudded in your chest. Was that the wrong choice? Oh man. What if now he wouldn't leave you alone? What if he thought he had permission to touch you whenever he wanted? This was bad.

"Uh... I like you a litt--"

"Oh, my heart!" He interrupted, practically shouting, his voice cracking with delirious joy. "I feel like it's about to explode! I can't think, I feel so dizzy! My fingers are tingling and my body is warm!"

His outburst made you flinch, shoulders curling in, stomach twisting. You should've just said no. But then again, what if he got mad? What if the anger was worse? He had trapped you with that question, no matter how you answered.

You nodded shakily, forcing yourself not to show your disgust under his ecstatic stare.

"I've seen this before!" He rambled, words spilling over one another. "When two share a special connection! They--they--" He stumbled, mouth working faster than his mind, then abruptly stopped. His eyes locked on you, still blazing, still alight with that feverish glow.

Before you had a chance to regret speaking in the first place, his lips were already on yours.

It was sudden. You barely had time to process it before he moved, swooping in. And the next thing you felt was the cold press of his mouth against yours.

He's... He's kissing you. He is literally KISSING you! Your mind short-circuited in a frozen second, before an action finally took over. Your palms pressed hard against his chest, shoving until his face broke away from yours. Air rushed back into your lungs as if you'd been underwater too long. You coughed, wiping your mouth in disgust, not daring to look at him. The thought of what his expression might be, dreamy, stupidly pleased, was enough to make you gag.

"They do that..."

"Wh-What the fuck?!" Your voice cracked as you shouted, scrambling back across the floor. Your hands stung from pressing against him, your lips still tingled where his had been. He just kissed you. Oh my god, he actually kissed you. Your stomach lurched, flipping between nausea and fury. Were you going to hurl? Cry? Explode? You didn't know how you were supposed to react when every nerve in your body was burning, and he looked so damn casual about it. He does all of the weirdest things to you in your difficult situation, and then lays a kiss on you? What?!

Before the anger could fully burst out of you, the sliding door behind cracked open. The sharp sound made you flinch, and you whipped your head around. A girl knelt in the doorway, shoulders drawn in, her eyes wide and worried. "あの... お風呂の用意が整いました、創始様。" Her voice was small, cautious. The appearance of someone else made the moment from before fade. Until Douma's voice followed. "The bath... Yes... Oh, excuse me, ありがと。"

Bath. The word lit in your brain like a flare. An opening to leave. To pretend like you were going to bathe, but instead you'd be escaping. You seized it without a second thought. Staggering to your feet, you bolted, the robe tangling at your legs as you rushed through the hall.

'I can't believe that just happened. Oh fuck, why did I agree to this? Why did I stay?! I'm such an idiot, god, god--he kissed me! Disgusting, I can still taste him, get it off, get it off--get me OUT!' Your thoughts tore at each other as you half-ran, half-tripped through the corridors.

Somewhere behind you, his voice floated after the girl, calm as if nothing had just happened. It didn't matter. You were already gone. You sped past the great tree looming above and nearly stumbled into your room, your hands clawing at the frame to slide it open.

The door banged against the wall as you lurched inside, almost collapsing against the dresser. The room spun. All you could think of, which was screaming louder than your panic, was your plan. You snapped open the drawer with shaking fingers. Finally! The letter opener!

"お嬢様--"

The voice behind you made your heart stop. You gasped, jerking back from the drawer as if it had burned you. Your eyes darted to the door, and there was the same girl from before, her face pale with shock. The two of you froze in a standoff of silence. Her gaze fell on your trembling hand, and for a single breath you thought she might cry out.

But you broke first. Turning away, you snatched the letter opener in one swift motion. You prayed she wouldn't scream, that you wouldn't have to use it. Then you ran. She shifted aside, watching in wide-eyed silence as you darted past her. Your socked feet slapped the wood, which almost lead to you slipping. When the robe tangled again, you cursed, yanking the fabric open enough for your legs to move.

The air hit you, warm, you reached the temple's outer edge. The stairs stretched downward. It was a long way down. Vertigo clawed at your stomach, but there was no time to hesitate. You lifted the robe high and flung yourself down the steps.

Each step was agony, your knees aching, lungs screaming. The stairs seemed to stretch longer with every frantic step. Hours passed in seconds, or seconds in hours. You couldn't tell. Finally, the ground blurred beneath you and your foot caught. You crashed, tumbling hard against the wood. Pain shot through your body, knocking the air out of you in a grunt. You saw the shining water below through a slit.

You had to get up. You had to. Your palms scraped against the platform as you forced your body to lunge forward. Sunlight touched your fingers, hot and golden against the shadow that still held you back. Freedom. Just one more push and you'd be free. Your whole body lit with it, trembling with the thought.

But as you tried to drag your back foot forward, your heel snagged. The world tilted, and you tripped again, caught in the very moment you thought you'd escaped.

But it wasn't the stairs. It wasn't your balance. Something clamped tight around your ankle.

You hit the ground face-first with a sickening thud, pain bursting through your skull. You quickly recovered enough to look over your shoulder, your body already trembling before your eyes even confirmed it.

"Where are you going? I thought we were just getting somewhere!"

Your stomach dropped, bile burning in your throat. Douma had your foot locked in his grasp, his fingers wrapped tight enough to make you whince. Panic shot through you as you thrashed, your free foot slamming into his shin, his knee, over and over again. "No!" You screamed, your voice breaking into a shriek. He didn't flinch, nor did he budge. It was like kicking stone. His smile widened as he dragged you back into the shadow.

"Let's get you back inside."

The words crushed the air out of your lungs. You clawed at the wood as you fought to pull away, to be anywhere but here. He paused, leaning closer, his grip shifting. You seized the opening. With a strangled cry, you flipped onto your back and struck.

In a blind desperate attempt of adrenaline, your curled hand shot upward, and the blade buried itself into his right eye.

The sound, it was horrible--wet and sharp like you just stuck a skewer in a grape. His body jerked, his grip falling away as he stumbled back. The handle jutted grotesquely from his face. His hands hovered near it. You stared in horror. For one frozen heartbeat, you believed. You believed you had done it. That you had killed him. That freedom was finally within reach.

But then his lips curved. A laugh, low at first, then growing.

You paused. He wasn't dead. He wasn't even in pain. His laugh rattled through your bones. With a careless tug, he pulled the letter opener out, a sickening pop following as it slid free. Blood gushed for only a second before it vanished, evaporated, as if it had never existed. His eye healed before you, flesh knitting back together until not even a scar remained.

Your heart pounded so violently you thought it would shatter your ribs. "What... What the hell...?"

"Oh dear," he sighed, twirling the bloodless weapon as if testing its balance. "You got to do a lot more to kill me, than to just stab me in the eye."

He wasn't human. He couldn't be. With--whatever the hell just happened!

He stepped toward you, calm as ever, while your body back up. Your hands fumbled uselessly at the ground, searching for anything to defend yourself, but he was already there. Already crouching down to meet your level. He held out the letter opener, handle first.

"But," he said lightly, "I'll give you another shot!"

You stared, wide-eyed, your entire body shaking. His eye--his perfectly healed eye, stared back at you with something that felt endless. His voice dropped into a chilling softness. "Go for the neck this time. And then it's my turn."

You wanted to do just that.

But the look in his eyes, told you, you wouldn't be able to.

I mean, even if you tried, it wouldn't matter. He would heal. And then what? He'd laugh again. And this time, he'd kill you.

"Come on," he urged, almost eager. "I'm waiting."

Your head shook before you realized it, slow and weak, your entire body trembling with the refusal. Tears burned in the corners of your eyes, but no sound left your throat.

Too much.

Too much is happening.

Douma hummed, amused. "No? I must admit, I'm surprised you went for the eye at all. Such spirit!" With a flick of his wrist, the weapon left his hand and spun through the air, clattering into the lake with a faint splash. You jolted at the sound, your heart dropping even lower.

"Well then," he sighed, as though the whole exchange had been nothing more than a game. "Shall we go back inside? I'd rather you come willingly... But I'll drag you if I must."

You couldn't speak. You tried, but nothing came out. He reached down and wrapped a hand around your ankle again. Then he slipped his other arm easily around your waist, lifting you as if you weighed nothing at all.

Your body went limp in his grip. The fight bled out of you, shock smothering every spark left. Your eyes drifted upward, past him, past the shadows, to the endless blue sky above. It seemed so close. So far. A sky you realized you wouldn't be seeing again, not for a very, very long time.

Translatios:

1: "Um... the bath has been prepared, Gracious Founder."

2: "Thank you."

3: "Miss--"