❝𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧.❞
╰┈➤ IN WHICH you became Douma's plaything for years until the day he decided to turn you into a demon, so you can stay as his pretty little marionette for...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Douma said there will be people visiting over. You don't recall the last time you have been around with so many people. No, on second thought you do recall it, at least some of it. You remembered slaughtering all of them.
But the whole purpose of this is not for you to consume them, but for you to learn to control yourself from consuming them. The urge to get a taste of at least a drop of their blood, their flesh that you long to sink your teeth on, the scream they would let out knowing that they're about to die in the hands of a being that should not even exist in this land.
"There are so many people," you muttered, sitting beside Douma's seat.
But the seat was vacant, the man was right ahead, talking to his followers with that façade of his and the sickeningly fake smile that he had perfected over the years and had everyone fooled.
While you sat there, hands on top of your lap, formed in a fist as you felt your nails digging on the palm of your hand. Perhaps that is the only thing holding you back from lunging at the first person you see. Most of the people are women, young women.
"Douma's food," you said, not too loud for anyone else to hear but Douma as the side of his lips turn up ever so slightly. "He only consumes young women. How..."
