𝐓𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

A FROZEN ROSE.

Yuki Urokodaki was not a capricious child. She was a beautiful, lovely baby who rarely cried. Douma did not like children, yet he was remarkably talented in pretending to be a yielding, fond man around them. The Eternal Paradise Cult welcomed thousands of women escaping a miserable life, searching for shelter and pity. They were usually abused young ladies, pregnant or with little kids clamping the hem of their kimonos in fear.

Although Douma was a monster, unfazed by human emotions and feelings, people trusted him blindly. He could fool everybody with that smile of his, always displaying empathy and kindness. He was a manipulative devil in disguise. He could not hear divine voices, as his parents said. He did not hear anything at all, but on the contrary, if he was ever able to hear a voice, it came probably from the haunts of Hell.

It was like the devil himself crooned wicked melodies in ear.

When Kokushibo left that baby in his Temple, Douma narrowed his eyes at the human holding Yuki in her arms and gestured for her to come closer. He truly did not care about that child, but he believed he could somehow raise her to be his personal maid, a trustworthy and loyal slave he did not have to pretend to be a god in front of. When the time would have come, he was going to absorb her right away. She was beautiful and beautiful children grew up into beautiful adults. Having some kind of appealing presence around him would have made the time he spent in his Temple far way enjoyable.

«Isn't she cute? Oh yes, she is! I think she will make heads turn one day, don't you agree?» Douma beamed, propping his chin on his hand and looking up at the poor maid, standing in front of him.

She merely smiled and nodded her head sheepishly «She will, indeed, Master» she said.

Douma grinned and took the baby in his own arms, curious about what kind of feelings that creature could awake in his dull, apathetic soul.
As he suspected, he did not feel anything, but the smell of her blood was driving him mad. It smelt like hawthorn and raspberries. His mouth watered and he accidentally dag his fangs onto his lower lip. The urge to devour the humans became stronger and he scoffed, laying her carefully on the stuffed red pillow beside him.

'Oh, it looks like it's lunch time! Poor little thing, I will try not to wake you up, mh?' he thought, unfolding his fan.

«Now, love, don't you think it's sad?» he whispered, flicking his gaze up to the baffled maid waiting for him to make a move, or say something.

The woman blinked a few times, frowing at the sudden question of her Master. What was that supposed to mean?

«My Lord, what is sad?» she softly asked, sweat beaded her forehead. The air was suddenly thin and the temperature was extraordinary chilly. His expression clouded over, no sympathy sparkled in his eyes.

«Oh, my darling, isn't it obvious? – he asked, standing up from his throne – It's sad that you won't live long enough to see her be my wife!» he beamed, moistening his upper lip with his tongue. He was hungry. The animalistic desire to take chunks of flesh from the women around him was unbearable.

The woman took a step back, colors draining from her face as she opened her mouth to stutter out something. However, she did not even get the chance to beg for mercy that Douma had already slashed her throat open.
Blood spilled copiously out from her wound as she brought her hands to the cut, a desperate attempt to stop the flow. The other women screamed in horror, trying to reach the door to escape their fate.