You stared. That's all you could do, was stare. The moment the sky vanished from your sight, you switched to stare at him. 

Your mind was racing but completely silent at the same time. You wanted to think, but your brain was shut down. 

What is happening?

Why didn't he die?

How did he heal?

Douma paid no mind to you as he walked, passing the panicked followers with his softening voice. They sounded apologetic. Frantic almost. But he sedated them back into ease. Did they not see? They had to of, right?

After a while they subsided into a uneasy silence, one that made you realize just how alone you were with him. The surroundings turned familiar--which sickened you, knowing you were already getting used to the place--and soon he slid open a door that lead straight back to his room of promised paradise.

"We're back! Now let's sit before we have to talk." Your blood ran cold, aware that his words were now directed toward you. You were isolated with him, and all his attention was falling right back onto you.

He stepped in, using his foot to slide the door closed behind him. Each step you expected a creek, a brustle of fabric slipping against wood, but instead there was nothing. Not even his breathing. Finally, he set you down, cautiously, as if setting you down too fast might start up your escape mechanism again. You stood, too shaken to feel how hard you were trembling. Your arms were tucked close to your chest, legs pressed together as if that might create an invisible shield around you.

It felt surreal seeing him strolling over to his platform. He should be dead.

It echoed louder in your head.

He should be DEAD.

Instead he's grabbing you a pillow from behind the curtains like this was a normal afternoon.

His taunting...

"You got to do a lot more to kill me, than to just stab me in the eye."

What the hell did that mean? The eye should of killed him. It should of killed him. But he's alive.

He set the thick pillow straight down in front of his throne, right where you were before. "Come. We have a much to discuss now." He patted the pillow. But you didn't move, you didn't plan to. You couldn't bring yourself to do anything besides stand and keep your eyes on the ground. Once he noticed this, he paced back to your side. It felt like an open fridge sat next to you, emitting veils of cold smog to wrap around your limbs. It was like no one was right there, but merely just an object. You would of believed it if he hadn't locked his muscular arm around you.

"Forgive me, this must be so troubling for you." He carefully stepped forward, which had gotten you to tag along. He continued this until he reached the pillow. "Why don't you sit down? I'll be right with you, I need to take care of something." With that he turned, the cloak brushing against your sleeve from the movement. 

He was right.

This was too much for you. You were troubled beyond belief. You had a list of things that yet alone, could make you freak out. And they all had. In a matter of what... Two days? You ended up in the snow, got rescued by a cult leader, then the cult leader crushes you for comfort, and crushes on you after he comes back from deserting you. Almost kills you, forces you to stay, talks like nothing happened, kisses you, and when you tried to escape, you found out he couldn't... Die.

Was this some kind of sick and twisted fantasy land?

You crumbled to the ground, knees smashing the thick cushion. Did you fall into some sick fantasy land? You heard voices behind you, but all your care was drowning in your pool of thoughts. 

This had to be fake. Right? No, no we've already been through this, this is real! Then how--how did he not die? Your body leaned forward, but you caught yourself with your hands before your forehead could strike the edge of the platform. Your fingers splayed against the cool wood. 

Your head was spinning faster than a whirlpool. 

You forced yourself to squeeze your eyes shut, and realized again, just how bad this has affected you. The world was spinning around you. 'I want to go home. I want to hide under my covers and tell myself it was all a dream. I don't want to be here. This is too much. I'll go crazy if this continues on-' You were trying to imagine what it'd feel like to be back home. How you'd feel. How safe you'd feel to be in your room again. Until something cut through your daydream: a cold press pushing down on your shoulder. 

"Change of plans! We don't want your bath to go to waste. So let's go while it's still hot!" 

He scooped you up again, his arms curling around you as though the smallest misstep might splinter you into dust. His steps were soundless over the polished floors. You didn't bounce in his hold; you only swayed, caught in the slow rhythm of his breathing as he carried you. The doors ahead opened without his touch, his followers did it, bowing low as if in some old, blood-bound ritual. Not one of them dared lift their gaze. He set you down when the doors shut behind him with a low click.

The room welcomed you with a suffocating, warm fog. It rolled over your skin like invisible fingers. The mirrors along the walls had already fogged to opacity, erasing your reflection entirely. Your lips stayed sealed, your voice lodged somewhere deep and useless in your throat as a pair of silent followers approached. They lifted your arms with a gentle precision that felt more like handling a doll, rather than a person. You didn't resist as fabric slid from your skin. Robe. Sash. Garments. All falling like to the ground. The heat bit into your bare flesh, and then a heavy towel was wrapped around you.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the same ritual applied to Douma, his body unspooling from its layers like some predator shedding skin. The door shut one last time. And the silence it left behind was heavy and absolute.

"Finally, some alone time! Come, this will ease you." His hand clamped on your shoulder friendly in tone. He steered you with force--guiding you toward the circular wooden tub that sat like an altar at the center of the room. Steam curled upward from its surface like ghostly spirits. Douma dropped his towel and slid into the water first, the ripples reaching for you like hands.

You didn't intend to move. Your mind whispered no, but your body drifted forward, towel slipping from you like it had a mind of its own. You sank into the water opposite him. The heat closed over you like a velvet coffin.

"You poor thing. You've gone through a lot, but there is still much more to know." He scooted closer, the distance between you compressing. He wasn't even pretending to have some modesty. "I have something I would like to know, before we get into this long explanation."

He turned to the basket at the rim of the tub and lifted something from it, a small, familiar shape. Your stomach dropped, your heart jolting painfully as your eyes widened.

Your instincts kicked in faster than your thought. You lunged for it before you even knew you were moving. He jerked it away, laughter bursting from his chest. "Ah! I knew this was important!" He twirled your phone between his fingers, steam gathering on its screen.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Your nakedness forgotten, you launched yourself at him, desperate. "Give that back! Give me my phone!" The water sloshed violently as you reached, clawed, grabbed. He dodged each attempt with a dancer's grace, grinning like a child with a stolen toy.

"Woah! I appreciate the view, but please [Name], we must discuss something much more important!" His free hand pressed against the crown of your head and shoved you back under the waterline for a heartbeat. Heat and panic swallowed you; you surfaced gasping, hair clinging to your face.

He tilted his head, still studying the device. "So it's called a phone. You seem very attached to it. Tell me, what makes it so important?" His voice was soft, but the question landed like a blow.

God. He really did live under a rock. Was this place that cut off from the world? Your glare flicked from him to the phone and back again. "Give me my damn phone," you hissed, your voice shaking. He sighed, his expression shifting to mock sympathy. "Fine, it's not that important to me anyway."

For a flicker of a moment, you believed he'd hand it over. But no, why would he do that? Instead, he dropped it into the bath. The plunk of it hitting the water was small, but it might as well have been a gunshot.

You froze, panic boiling in your gut before you dove your hands into the water, searching blindly. When you pulled it back up, it was slick and lifeless. You jabbed at the power button, your fingers trembling. You only received a black screen. No response. "What--what the fuck is wrong with you?!" You shouted. That was it. Your last thread to freedom gone. Before he could answer, you hurled the dead weight at him.

He caught it easily, then closed his hand. You watched in defeat as the plastic and metal crunched easily like brittle bone. The pieces fell into the water, bobbing around his pale skin as tiny shards embedded into his palm. He didn't flinch. Of course he didn't. His magical ass can heal.

"I'm starting to grow tired of your ungrateful attitude. After what I've done for you." His grin didn’t falter, but something underneath it had curdled.

"And that doesn't erase the fact you tried to kill me!" Your senses came flooding back all at once, terror and rage. In a storm of it, you snatched the towel from the edge of the tub and wrapped it around yourself, preparing to climb out. You didn't get the chance. His hand shot out, and dragged you back down into the water. You landed hard in his lap, a splash echoing off the walls.

You struggled, twisting, but his arms wrapped around you like iron pipes. "You've made it very hard for me to appreciate you!" His grin was forced now. The pressure of his embrace was growing too tight. Just as your very first hug.

"Get off me!" Your scream, kicking and splashing wildly, but his hold only tightened. "I love you, [Name]. I love you so it hurts! But what hurts even more is to be rejected over and over." His cheek pressed to your wet hair, his tone softening into something almost mournful. His words hit you harder than his grip. 

'He barely knows me. He's insane!'

"I hate you! I fucking despise you! I never liked you!" You clawed at his hands, stomped on his legs, even bit his arm. And he sighed as though you'd done nothing more than sulk.

"And for that reason, I must change you." His voice dipped low, and your blood went cold. "Your human side will always be kept in a special part of my heart. It was so cute." He caught your chin between his fingers and forced your face toward his, eyes glittering.

"I hope you'll live. Not everyone survives the transformation."

What the fuck is he talking about?

You thrashed harder, but he only smiled, lifting a finger and wagging it as if scolding a child. "But if you do, you'll be the cutest thing ever! And I won't have to worry about all the fuss, now will I? Oh, you'll be perfect!" He moved suddenly. You barely registered the flash of movement before his nail split his own neck open. A long, wet sound cut through the air as his skin parted like paper.

You gasped, choking on a scream as a river of blood surged out, cold and thick, spilling down onto your bare shoulder. It slid in heavy, slow ropes down your chest, curling into the water below like red smoke. "Stop it! Stop! Get off me!" you shrieked, your head jerking from side to side. The room spun, with the new smell of sour iron. He only laughed, a low, delighted sound that vibrated against your skull as he bent forward and caught the flow in his cupped palm.

Tears burned your eyes. His other hand rose, and clamped over your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks until your lips parted under the pressure. His eyes shone, bright and feverish, while his bloody palm hovered just inches away. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

"No--no, please, no!" you screamed, your voice cracking. You screamed for help, for anyone--begging, crying out for one of the silent followers to burst through the door, and stop him. The room swallowed your cries whole. Steam thickened, muting sound, trapping it with you like a living thing. His grip only tightened, nails biting into your skin. "Shhh," he cooed. "Don't waste your breath."

"Stop! Please! Please!" You sobbed, trying to pull your head free, but his fingers were stern. He tilted your head back, pinning you in place, his blood pooling in his hand, glistening deep red.

Then his palm pressed to your lips.

The cold was instant, slick and thick, sliding between your teeth as you gagged and turned your face away, but he followed. You tried to spit it out, to twist your head, to choke it up, but he clamped your jaw shut with one hand and pinched your nose with the other.

Air cut off.

Your lungs clawed for breath. Panic burst inside you like fire, vision tunneling. The taste of iron and salt filled your mouth, coating your tongue, burning down your throat. You tried to hold it back, but the need for oxygen won. You swallowed.

It went down like honey.

The moment it hit your stomach, the world seemed to implode. The heat spread like wildfire through your veins. It burned and boiled, searing every nerve until your body convulsed in his hold. 

The pain was indescribable; it wasn't sharp or sudden, but alive, crawling beneath your skin, tearing through every cell as though your blood rebelled against you. Your muscles seized, your vision fractured into bursts of red and black. You could feel it--his blood--forcing itself into your blood stream, twisting with the rhythm of your pulse.

Every breath hurt. Every blink felt wrong.

Your fingers clawed weakly at his arms, nails dragging across his skin before your strength gave out. The world folded inward. 

The steam, the water, even the heat around you fell away until there was nothing left, only the pounding in your head. Your body went limp in his arms, the last echo of pain dissolving into silence as darkness swallowed you whole.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑
━━━━ 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀
童磨 , 鬼滅の刃

𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

He was like an angel, pure and endlessly forgiving. Skin as soft as silk, and eyes bright enough to light the whole room. With no other motive but to save the living.

𝐓𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭.

As radiant as the heavens, and as gentle as light itself. The perfect embodiment of paradise, Douma. Your other half in this lonely world. Together, the two of you roamed through the night--hand in hand, heart in heart. He called it a shared utopia, a world of color, of laughter, of love that burned too sweet to be real. You didn't remember much before him, before the way his touch made the stars hum or how his voice softened the silence. You were his goddess, his balance, his reason to exist. And in return, you loved him with the same madness that once consumed him.

But at times--when the laugher died and the silence grew, you'd see flashes, faces, places, and pain. A warmth that wasn't from him. A world that wasn't this one. It came in pieces, like shards to a broken mirror. You brushed it off, hid it beneath his kisses, his promises of forever. But then, one night, as his hand intertwined with yours upon the estate of paradise--you remembered.

Everything. 

童磨 , 鬼滅の刃
━━━━ 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀
𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Cold.

'I feel cold.'

Why do you feel so cold?

Your fingers twitched in result to the freezing weather. Where are you?

This feels wrong.

No...

Did it?

Was this feeling normal?

You don't remember.

Your limbs felt numb, hollow, detached from everything. What is happening? You don't remember... Anything. Your eyelids scrunched. You were coming back to your senses. Your fingers curled around the soft ground, giving your hands a sharp burn. It only lasted for a moment, before your body slowly regulated to the condition, returning to its regular homeostasis. You no longer felt cold. In fact, you felt a little stronger. But that was normal, right?

Finally, in slow blinks, your eyes opened.

Darkness. You were surrounded by darkness. The dark sky that loomed high above you, shrouded by giant trees, only provided little light from the stars. What gave the most light, was the full moon centered perfectly between the space the leaves left open.

How strange... This almost seems familiar. It brang a weird feeling in your chest.

You sat up, inspecting your foggy surroundings. Everything seemed so far but close.

You spent a minute or so using your heightened senses before standing to your feet. The snow crushed under your weight, wrapping around your bare feet. You weren't wearing any socks, nor shoes. But instead pants, and a short tucked in robe.

It was comfortable--

rmmmbl.

Your head snapped down.

rmmmmbl!

The sound was louder this time. You clutched your stomach. It felt there something was twisting and tearing inside you. The discomfort became too much. Your legs gave out and you collapsed into the snow, your breath scattering white mist into the cold air.

You were hungry.

Desperately, painfully hungry.

It felt as though something inside you was gnawing at itself, like your stomach was folding inward, spasming and clawing to devour what wasn't there. A trembling hand clutched at your stomach, trying to hold yourself together, but the ache only spread.

Your fingers shook. Your arms felt like they were filled with sand. The edges of your vision began to blacken, circling inward until all you could see was the faint rise and fall of your chest. You tried to breathe through it, but the pain wouldn't subside. It only grew until you were in complete agony.

Food. You needed food.

Each inhale made your body weaker, your chest tightened, ribs pressing in. You couldn't smell anything, no prey, no warmth, no sign of blood. Panic welled in your chest. You need food! You'd--you'd eat anything!--Anything at all.

You forced your hand away from your stomach, arm trembling as you raised it into view, hoping the motion would distract you from the pain. It didn't.

'I'm so hungry.'

Your eyes drifted to your hand--pale, shaking, veins faintly pulsing beneath your skin. Flesh.

That's all there was to see, from the blurred and desperate eyes of a starving soul. Your head raised and you clamped down on your skin. You painfully struggled, twisting your own flesh between your teeth to claim a peice. Pain burst outward from the pressure, throbbing and pulsing, until it drowned every other sensation. But you didn't let go. You were determined. Your muscles fought to hold itself together, but the strain was too much. With one last pull, you tore off your own flesh with a rrrrip, leaving blood to splatter onto the snow and your clothes. You grunted, stuffing the rest of the flesh into your mouth.

You chewed--chewed, chewed, chewed--until finally, you swallowed. You weakly fell back, the snow engulfing you once more. You felt dazed, ears ringing and body aching. The hunger didn't fade, but was more bearable. You hiccupped, becoming aware of the wetness on your cheeks--tears you hadn't even noticed.

Your attention slowly shifted over to your half-eaten arm. It was drowning in blood, and further into it, you could see your exposed muscles convulsing.

You need to find food, and quick. Before you decide your other arm is looking a little too delicious.

Your head tipped back with what little strength you had left, eyes catching a single snowflake as it fell. One brushed your lashes--then another, and another--until the world blurred beneath a curtain of white.

Crunch.

'What was that...?'

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

You turned your head to the source of the sound. There were... Feet? A couple snowflakes drifted over the figure, and then they were gone. You didn't think much more of it. You turned your head back up. Instead of the white sky, you saw a face.

"Ah, hello, hello!"

A voice bright and musical, sliced through the cold with unsettling warmth.

You blink hard, your vision struggling to focus as the figure bent down. His features sharpened through the haze.

"My, are you alright?" He asked lightly, lifting one hand. Between his fingers contained a glimmering golden fan, which he held just beside his face.

"You're looking a little pale!" He chuckled, voice airy and sweet. Yet beneath the sound, there was something mocking--something playful and cruel. The kind of tone that made your chest tighten without knowing why. When he calmed, his gaze flickered down to your half-eaten arm and his smile widened ever so slightly.

"Oh, you poor thing... What happened to your arm?" You don't answer. You just stared, transfixed. Something about him stole the words straight from your throat.

He had a face that almost didn't seem real. It was too flawless, as if it was sculpted by something divine. His skin as pale as the snow beneath him, smooth and glowing faintly under even the dimmest light. Silver-white hair tumbled around his face in soft, layered strands that catch every flicker of brightness, framing his sharp jaw and cheekbones. Each lock moved, guided by a low breeze.

And then there were his eyes, his dazzling rainbow eyes. It almost made you look past his bushy eyebrows.

He didn't move. He just watches you, smiling faintly, the fan still poised near his cheek. Snowflakes drift between you, melting before they can touch him. And though every instinct tells you to run, to crawl away, to do something--you couldn't.

"Well, it looks like someone just took a big bite right out of--oh my." His tone shifted mid-sentence, soft amusement bleeding into curiosity. "You've got a little blood on your chin."

Your breath caught. You could see the moment his mind pieced everything together through the faint glint in his eyes, the realization blooming into delight. "You ate your own arm!"

He snapped his fan shut with a sharp click, laughter spilling past his lips. He lifted the closed fan to his mouth as if to stifle it, though it only seemed to make his laughter grow more taunting. You turned your gaze away, shame burning faintly in your chest. Why did you do that? Your eyes trailed down to the mangled flesh of your arm.

To your confusion, the edges of the wound weren't still. Thin, translucent veins twitched and writhed just beneath the torn skin, creeping outward like living threads.

What... Is that?

"It'd be rude of me not to help out," he said suddenly, his tone returning to that same playful brightness. Straightening, he tapped a finger against his chin in thought, eyes glinting mischievously. Then, as if struck by inspiration, his face lit up. "So, if you'll get up, I'll gladly help you find some food."

You blinked at him, unsure if you'd heard right. Your stomach answered for you, growling loudly in the cold silence. You scrambled weakly to your knees, snow slipping beneath your trembling hands as you forced yourself upright. When you finally managed to stand on two unsteady legs, the man before you smiled as though proud of a child.

He gave a graceful bow, removing his ornate hat with a slow, fluid motion. Beneath it, you caught a glimpse of something strange--dark, irregular markings encircling the crown of his head. The pattern resembled a stain, deep and almost red, as though blood had once seeped into his scalp and never left.

"I almost forgot!" He said cheerily, straightening again as he placed the hat back on with a small flourish. "My name is Douma." His grin widened as his eyes met yours, "And you are...?"

The question hit harder than it should have.

You froze.

You... Are?

The words echoed emptily in your mind as you glanced down at yourself. Your fingers curled into your robe, clutching the fabric tight as if it might offer an answer. But there was nothing--no name, no memory. Just a void where you should have been.

A quiet giggle pulled you back. "Dear me... Have you forgotten your own name?" His voice was calm but teasing, yet carried that same faint undercurrent of mockery that made your skin crawl. He snapped open his fan again with a sharp flick. "Hm, well, if you've nothing to offer, I have a name in mind!"

Your eyes lifted, wary but curious, meeting his.

"How about..." He paused, drawing out the moment before saying it with a pleased hum. "[Name]."

The sound sent a faint tremor through you. Déjà vu prickled up your spine. That name, it felt distant, as though buried deep beneath layers of forgotten time. You didn't know why, but it fit. It settled in your chest with a quiet familiarity that made your throat tighten.

"[Name]," you murmured, testing the word aloud. Slowly, you nodded.

Douma’s face lit up with childlike delight. "Wonderful!" He sang, clapping his hands together once before offering his arm. "Then let's get going, [Name]!"

Before you could react, he'd already hooked his arm through yours, pulling you along with an effortless cheer. His grip was light but unyielding, and the cold--of his presence bled into your skin.

The snow crunched beneath your feet as he led you forward through the dark, humming softly to himself. You didn't know where he was taking you. You didn't know who he really was.

But deep down, a quiet, uneasy certainty settled in your chest.

This wasn't going to be the last you'd interaction you'd have with him.