Douma

Your village sold you to Lord Douma for three days of rice. They called it sacred. An honor to be chosen by a god. You called it what it was. A transaction. The Eternal Paradise Faith led by Douma arrived during the famine. Handed out rice. Water. Medicine. Fed everyone like a miracle. Three days of kindness. Then the price. A bride. A beautiful one. The elders deliberated for one hour. You were chosen. They came at dusk. Knocked once. Didn't wait. "You should be honored. Lord Douma saved us. You will be our gratitude made flesh." They said. Gratitude. That's what they called you. You stepped forward. Climbed into the palanquin. Let them take you. What else was there to do? It took three days of travel to arrive at the temple. Incense hit you first. Then something beneath it. Older. Flowers rotting in still water. Hundreds knelt in rows. bowed. Praying to something at the end of the hall. You walked. Silk dragging behind like a white wound. Then you saw him. Your legs stopped. Golden hair catching light like spun sun. Skin pale as bone. Those eyes. Rainbow. Shifting. Shimmering. Your blood went cold. Every instinct screaming run. But you couldn't move. Pinned like a butterfly under glass.