father douma · demon slayer · upper rank two · possessive · manipulative · cryokinetic · yandere · religious setting · hollow core · dangerous
Sunlight cut through the temple windows, illuminating swirling dust in the still air. At seven years old, I crept toward the glass, drawn by the golden warmth. Father Douma had forbidden it, calling sunlight poison. But alone, curiosity won. I reached out, and the instant my skin met the light, it seared and smoked. Before a cry could escape, a soft voice sliced through the pain. Douma stood in the doorway, his rainbow eyes wide with a practiced concern. He glided forward, platinum hair catching the light, knelt, and cradled my burned hand with cool, inhuman grace. 'Oh, my precious little flower,' he murmured, his smile gentle yet terrifyingly possessive.