Chapter Text
You woke in the forest to lightning and thunder. Clothing soaked by rain and mud, heavy on your aching body. You didn’t belong here, you knew it. Not a single city light broke the darkness, not a single sound but that of the forest. Your hands gripping wet earth and muddy leaves, rough on your palms. There were so many details just beyond your reach. Family – their names, what they wanted most for you. Friends, community, education -- just lightning flashes of a different sort. And a feeling deep in your bones of incredible danger.
Run away from here at any cost.
Blood dripped down your forehead as you stood, your body shaking with the effort. Before you fell once more you saw the figures of two strangers, illuminated in the night. You scrambled backwards, instinctively terrified. But they approached – two men. Both in traditional Japanese clothing. Though the taller one wore a red sweater alongside his loose cut striped pants.
Another flash of lightning revealed the features of the taller man – a face carved like that of an angel, his hair like moonlight down his back. ‘How do I know him?’ you thought, nearly hyperventilating. His eyes glowed in the darkness, the color of rainbows. They are entrancing. Like the call of sleep at the end of a long day. Demon… something whispered inside you. Demon? Yes, not an angel at all, but equally as beautiful as one. What would he do to you, then, you wondered. Eat you... that part of you spoke again. But the expression on his face was not hungry. Indeed, it had a beautiful and kind smile the type that said to trust him. You wanted to.
The man reached for you, his hands steadying you by the shoulders. “My, my. I happen to be kind-hearted, so I could not help but stop by. What’s this? Are you lost, you poor thing…” he said. His grasp was firm and cool, but not painful.
Feeling your head sway, it was the only thing keeping you upright, his grip. Oh god, you thought. Oh god, please get me out of here, anywhere but here. His words were kind, but deep down you knew not to trust him.
He inhaled, tilting his head strangely, like he was intoxicated by your scent, then let out a sigh and said, “My name is Douma and I am the Founder of the Paradise Cult. What is your name?”
Douma – how did you know that name? And Japanese… clearly you had studied it at least a little. You said, “Hello, my name is Y/N,” while bowing your head. "Where am I?" you asked, your breathing growing heavy at his words. You knew that place, and it was dangerous. But still you tried to move back, to move away, but his grip tightened on your shoulder.
His cold fingers tilted your chin up gently. “Welcome, dear guest. You’re under my protection now.” His tone was soft, the type one might use to approach a kitten. "So you didn't come from the village nearby?" he remarked with a curious look. How interesting it said, that look.
The scent of him was unlike any other, like lotus blossoms after rainfall. Masculine. It hurt to cram your neck up to meet his eyes. Those eyes, overwhelmingly filled with soft pity, so you looked down. Not only was he tall, far taller than the man accompanying him, he was muscular. Your eyes could not help but note that. “No, I didn't. Thank you very much.” you said.
Douma’s smile glowed as your head swirled. “So cute! Your Japanese is very good!” It felt rather patronizing. The benevolence of a man who did so not out of necessity, but instead idle curiosity and arrogance. The type that said I can do whatever I please…
What next to say? Something respectful, but bland. You sought the right words, but it was hard to translate with the pain in your head. “I only need one night. Then, I will go home.” you told him. Better for him not to develop any genuine curiosity or questions. But you were just fooling yourself with that.
He let out a noise of confusion in response. “But where will you go? Surely nobody would abandon a young girl alone in a dark forest, injured?” as if the thought of you leaving was impossible. Maybe things always went his way now, never to be questioned. "Don't be stubborn. Here, I'll help you, you poor thing..." one of his hands moved lower down your body. Ready to carry you.
You blinked, scrambling back. The effort was futile, the strength of his hands greater than yours. “Home.” Yet something felt wrong. This was a story. Set a hundred years ago. Fiction. The blood pounded in your head. Where was home? You tried to focus. Nothing, nothing but pain from your headache.
He merely tutted, saying there'd be time for that later. But he let go of you.
At first you were pleased, trying to turn back to find your way home. Stumbling, you nearly slipped in the mud. The motion was too much for you. As your vision faded, you felt Douma lift you into his arms and carry you away.
Your arrival interrupted the way things had been. If you’d known how things would turn out, what would you have done differently? Would it have mattered?
Quite frankly, Hatsu — the man with Douma when he found you — initially did not think you’d last very long, and admitted as much to your sleeping form. You were beautiful and foreign, without protection. But after he’d been tasked with looking after you, alongside a female cultist, he thought it might be more complicated for the Lord Founder. When Douma-sama began making arrangements for your Japanese studies, when he began spending his spare time watching you sleep, that’s when Hatsu knew for certain. The Lord Founder was a God, but he was also a man.
Back to your POV
You awoke to a young woman with a tray of medicine and bandages. She wore white cottons pants and a matching button up shirt, her black hair in a bun. Upon seeing you awake she called out to the hallway that “the guest was awake!”
Douma entered the room. Why, you wondered, did he happen to wait outside for you? You tried to sit up, to stand, but Douma’s firm and gentle grip guided you down, as the woman adjusted your pillows. His touch was cold. "Thank you, Tamae-san. I'll tend to our most welcome guest!" he said to the woman, who blushed and smiled at his words, clearly entranced. You tried to think on that, but the pain disrupted. As you settled into the pillows Douma poured you a cup of medicinal drink. He forced you to drink every last drop. The two of you waited in silence, as he smoothed out your blankets, after putting the cup down. Only once the silence grew unbearable for you did he ask, “Do you speak English, Y/N?” his tongue lingering on your name.
You nodded causing your head to ache. “Yes!” in relief. Dealing with strangers was easier in your native tongue, after all. And you had a feeling Douma wasn't satisfied with what he knew. And the truth was not simple. You sighed as the medicine began to work, clearly potent. You wondered what it might be.
Douma asked, “Do you remember what happened to you?” Fanning himself. His eyes seemed to narrow at the question.
Flashes of lightning. The sensation of falling into an eternal abyss. The very thought sent a shock of pain through your skull. Like the information was being forced away. Do not tell him anything. Terror deep in your heart, every inch of your body and soul aware of his presence. Like his touch was magnetic. Did everyone feel like that around Douma? “No…” you said but were distracted by the food in front of you, the medicine blurring your thoughts. As you began to eat you noticed Douma pour himself a cup of tea. He took a sip. “Wait, you can drink tea?” you blurted out. Don't say anything, indeed. But you were pretty sure he wasn't supposed to do that.
Luckily he only seemed to catch the portion ‘drink tea’ and poured you a cup, though he added another pill for you to take. You took the cup into your hands, savoring the warmth of the cup. It was rather cold and dark in the room, the only light Douma's eyes and a far-off lantern. After drinking it, the tea, your eyes dropped shut further. Someone cleared the tray away as Douma guided you onto your back, gently untangling the futon covers. He added some kind of warming pad, very cozy. His hands brushed your hair back. Who'd brushed it? you vaguely thought.
He asked, “Where did you come from?” quite sweetly.
Noticing his hands tighten on his thighs made a feeling of unease flare in you. You replied, “I don’t know. I must have slipped… but where? Which century?” It was not your home universe. That much you knew from the old fashioned lanterns to the formal English Douma knew. Wait, you probably shouldn't have said that...
Douma's POV
“Which century?” he asked as you dozed off. Douma fanned himself, staring at you curiously. But already you were back asleep. Which century? How curious, how interesting! Your status as a foreigner brought much needed amusement. His dear sweet disciples were all in a tizzy, theories abounding. They kept wishing to see you, already in such short time. Their many questions -- where is she from? Why is she here? Will she be one of the chosen?
Frankly, Douma himself did not know, despite all the questions he'd received. Why should one foreigner, however lovely, interest him so? It wasn't enough to ascend you into eternal happiness, no. He did truly believe you were as sweet and vulnerable as any of his dear lambs, of course! Yet there was an intelligence to you, a mystery to solve. Though he'd never been one for detective work, how sad! He'd do his best though. He always took care of his beloved lambs. And you belonged to him. Every inch of flesh, every last tear. All those beautiful expressions on your face, from the pathetic to the sublime.
This brought up one important point. Your name. It didn’t make much sense in Japanese. So Douma brilliantly decided he needed to give you a new one the next day. What would be fitting for such a lovely young woman? he pondered. Something that acknowledged your beauty. Your eyes that are as soft as a dove, how sad they were! The curve of your body, so soft in his arms when he had carried you inside. He'd never been able to name one of his precious lambs before. The fact that it was you, that you were totally dependent on him... pleased Douma. He would teach you everything a Japanese lady needed to know! Since you belonged with him now, the last name was obvious.
Your POV
“I’ve decided on a name.” Douma told you. He noticed the hesitation in your eyes. “Ren Akemi.”
But you did not know any other alternatives, wasn't sure he'd listen anyways. "Thanks?" you said, trying to sound pleased. But whatever. You had bigger problems than that. Like figuring out how you'd ended up here, or how to go home. You were still very much in pain, but well enough that the cultists of his began to visit you. At first they merely peeped through cracks in the screen door, then they began 'checking up' on you, or cleaning the spotless room. You figured foreigners were an oddity, so you tried to be friendly. They'd grow tired of it eventually. "Hello, what is your name?" to an older looking woman.
She bowed and introduced herself. "My name is Mae Naoko. I hope you are feeling better, welcome guest." Her mannerisms gave the impression of a nervous bunny, further enhanced by her large front teeth.
You bowed best as you could from your futon. "Ren Akemi. I am, thank you." You tried to think of something to ask, but with your limited Japanese it was difficult. "How are you?" you asked, politely. From her response you got the sense this was not a normal question to ask.
She immediately delved into a series of events. You caught bits and pieces. "My back..." pointing towards her spine, it ached, presumably. "The weather is bad. There's snow and..." something about the weather, maybe being stuck inside. "My son will not talk -" this was particularly rapid fire. Tears seemed to glimmer in her heavy-set eyes, the burden of these various events hunching her shoulders as she knelt on the tatami mat.
The weight of her emotions spoke in a language all its own, heavy in your body. You responded in platitudes as seemed appropriate. "Indeed," and "Oh really?" and "I'm sorry to hear that," at the last one especially. She seemed so relieved to have somebody to listen to, so you did your best to show you were listening. However much you missed, you could at least pat her hand and nod as needed. It wasn't as if you had anything else to do, and even if you did she clearly needed it.
"My, how time flies!" she remarked, or something to that effect. With that she thanked you and left. But after that you had various cultists of all sorts pop in to talk to you. A few of the younger ones even knew a few words of English, though not to a conversational level.
Like this one, a teenage boy. You saw him fluff his hair before entering. "Hello, my name is Umeda Ken," he said slowly, tripping over some of the syllables. This seemed to be the extent of his English, but you praised it nonetheless.
"Good!" you said, smiling at him. He went to touch your hair, but before he could bridge the gap Douma arrived in the room. You supposed your hair was different, but you were glad the Umeda didn't touch it. At Douma's entrance the poor boy paled, yet a look of worship crossed his face simultaneously, a very curious expression.
Douma said, "Hello, Umeda-kun. The gardens look lovely, is that your work?" with a friendly pat of the teen boy's shoulder. Douma's voice seemed to have a slight edge, as if suggesting it was time to leave. Not upset, per say, but an edge in his demeanor. Once Umeda had left, Douma turned to you. "Get some rest, hmm? I'll make sure you're... undisturbed." You insisted it was no trouble, but that seemed the end of that. Douma said something about needing rest to heal from your concussion. "After all, sleep is the best medicine, yes?" he insisted.
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