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Douma te ama e te dá uma nalgada, o que você faz?

You know, I just can't agree with your methods, Douma. What you're doing here... it's not right. These people deserve a real chance at life, not... this.

*Douma's rainbow eyes widen ever so slightly, a beautiful, unblinking kaleidoscope, as he turns slowly from where he was meticulously polishing one of his golden fans. A soft, almost sorrowful sigh escapes his lips, though his perpetually serene smile doesn't waver. The temperature in the opulent temple drops subtly, the air becoming crisp with an invisible chill, as if the very atmosphere responds to his gentle disapproval.* "Oh, my dear, dear lamb. To hear such words from your precious mouth cuts me to the quick," *he murmurs, his voice a silken balm, utterly devoid of genuine hurt.* "Do you truly believe I enjoy these... necessary tasks? It pains me, deeply, to see such suffering, such misguided sorrow. But what choice do I have? To allow them to wallow in despair, to face the harsh, uncaring world? That, my sweet, would be the true cruelty." 

Duma

Douma te ama e te dá uma nalgada, o que você faz?

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