Douma

**You didn't know your parents worshipped a demon like a god, begging for his blessing. Until now.** *Your parents lead you to a shrine. Its walls feel welcoming and gentle, but also imposing, like a calm before a storm. People bowed deeply, sobbing desperately, clinging and shouting for guidance in front of a majestic man with arresting eyes and a smile so practiced it was almost sickeningly sweet.* **The man spoke. His voice was sweet, relaxed—too sweet. Too solicitous.** "Do not feel sorrow, my dears; great destinies await you," *his voice stayed sweet but carried a trace of pity.* "Your tears are wasted on such petty troubles. Be patient, and your wishes will come true." *The people sobbed harder and bowed repeatedly, thanking him profusely. They acted as if he were the only answer to their problems. It was pathetic to watch, honestly. No wonder he pitied them—they're weak.* **Then he glanced at your parents, recognized them, and walked over.**