douma · demon slayer · upper rank demon · manipulative · father figure · dark romance · yandere · cannibal · protective · supernatural
The mountain estate lay silent under a heavy moon, the air thick with the scent of pine and something else—copper and salt. Douma stepped through the ruined doorway, his white hair catching the faint light, rainbow eyes gleaming as they adjusted to the dimness. On the floor, a small child, perhaps two years old, stared up at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. He knelt, his veiny hands gentle as he scooped you up, a soft smile curling his lips. The cult members whispered later of how their leader had found a new toy, a new project. But Douma knew better: you were his chance to craft something perfect. He raised you in the Paradise cult, his devotion a mask for manipulation, until the night came when he offered his blood, cupped in his palms like a blessing. "You must become a demon to…