Pero~ Pero~

A rhythmic licking sound echoed beside me like a soft, innocent melody.

Except nothing about the source was innocent.

Zeraphira was still walking at my side, her hand lopped mine, as she was holding two ice cream cones.

Both large cones.

Both in danger of structural collapse.

And she was eating them alternately with the solemn precision of a brain surgeon performing divine ritual surgery.

Left lick.

Right lick.

Left lick.

Pause.

Glare at a teenager who walked too close.

Left lick again.

"…Zera," I said slowly as we walked down the shopping district. "Why do you have two?"

She blinked at me, licking the right one again.

"Because they were… staring at you."

"…The ice creams?"

"Yes."

"…Zera."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Anything that stares at you longer than 1.5 seconds is my enemy."

"Zera—"

"They were mocking me."

"THE ICE CREAMS WERE NOT MOCK—"

She turned to me, the faintest pout tugging at her lips.

"They were mocking my cone size," she said softly, and for a heartbeat, my brain froze.

My soul evacuated.

My lungs forgot their job description.

"…What?"

She lifted one of the cones.

"This one is bigger," she explained in total seriousness. "And it was… looking down on mine."

I closed my eyes.

Prayed for strength.

And whispered, "…Selene is banned from anime for a week."

Zeraphira didn't respond.

She was already Pero~ Pero~ing again, switching sides like a predator tasting multiple samples before choosing her prey.

Her voice softened.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?"

"These… treats…" She licked again, eyes fluttering like a maiden experiencing her first love instead of frozen dairy.

"Humans can consume them freely? Without… tribute? Or sacrifice?"

"It costs money."

"Ah." Her eyes sharpened. "Currency tribute. Acceptable."

We crossed another block.

Shops lined the walkway.

People buzzed around us.

And Zeraphira, slowly loosening up, was now absorbing everything with a kind of timid wonder she'd never show in Hell.

Children laughing. Street musicians playing. A couple feeding pigeons. A teenage boy walking a dog.

Zera stopped suddenly.

Her eyes widened.

"…Darling."

I stopped too.

"What's wrong?"

"That small four-legged beast is… wagging."

"It's a dog."

She crouched down immediately.

Not to touch it—

No.

To stare at it with the seriousness of a demoness evaluating a newly discovered species.

The dog stared back.

Tail wagging. Head tilted.

Zeraphira tilted her head too.

Then narrowed her eyes.

The dog blinked.

She blinked back.

For a second, I thought they were communicating telepathically.

Finally, she whispered:

"Darling… this creature is vibrating."

"It's happy."

"H-Happy? With no bloodshed? No victory? No conquest?"

"Yes."

She looked at the dog again.

"…How?"

The dog wagged harder.

Zeraphira froze like she was witnessing forbidden magic.

Finally, she stood, face strangely thoughtful.

"Humans…" She murmured. "Humans live in… strange ways."

"Good ways," I corrected gently. "Peaceful ways."

She glanced at me, and for once—

truly once—

There was no jealousy, no wrath, no predatory instinct.

Just a quiet, trembling softness.

"…I want to learn that," she whispered.

Before I could reply, something tugged her dress.

A small child.

A tiny girl, no older than five. Holding a melting chocolate cone dripping onto her hand.

"Pretty sister!" the girl beamed. "Your hair is red like my crayon!"

Zeraphira stared.

Not angrily.

Not coldly.

Just… stunned.

The mother apologised immediately.

"Sorry! She likes pretty people— and your dress is so lovely—"

"It is alright," Zeraphira said softly. Her voice… changed. Gentler. Warmer. More fragile than I had ever heard.

She kneeled, eye-to-eye with the child.

"Thank you."

The child giggled and ran back to her mother.

Zeraphira slowly stood again.

That's when she saw a huge building with billboards and posters saying 'Theatre'

Zeraphira froze.

Her pupils expanded—slowly, like a cat spotting something unnatural.

Her head tilted.

"…Darling."

"Mm?"

She pointed at the theatre marquee with the slow, ominous precision of someone identifying an enemy general across a battlefield.

"Why," she whispered, "is that gigantic… human and... cat floating on the wall?"

"That's a poster."

Her eyes narrowed.

"And they are… staring at us?"

"It's for a movie. An adventure survival movie."

"Life of...Pi?" Zeraphira repeated slowly, as if the word personally offended her.

"Yes," I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "It's the name of the movie."

She stared at the massive poster again—at the tiger, at the boy on the boat, at the dramatic storm clouds.

Her brows furrowed in deep suspicion.

"So this is… human propaganda."

"IT'S NOT—"

"A warning," she continued gravely. "A message. They are telling us there is a monstrous striped beast roaming their oceans, devouring sailors and consuming their ships."

"That's not— Zera, that's literally the opposite of what the movie is—"

She lifted her chin.

"I understand."

She absolutely didn't.

Her voice dropped to a dead serious whisper.

"Darling," she said, stepping closer to me, "I will destroy this creature for you."

"NO—"

She nodded once, solemnly, like she was accepting a divine assassination mission.

"The striped one dies first."

"ZERAPHIRA, IT IS A MOVIE POSTER— A PRINTED IMAGE— THE TIGER IS NOT REAL."

Her eyes very slowly turned toward me.

"…Not real?"

"No."

The shift was instant.

Her killing intent cut off like a switch.

"Oh."

Pause.

Then—

"Then why," she whispered, pointing again, "is it staring at us with such disrespect?"

"IT CAN'T SEE US—"

She leaned in, glaring at the tiger's printed eyes with enough fury to make the poster peel off the wall.

"You dare look at my Darling, creature of ink?"

"Oh my god—"

A couple walking by slowed down, startled by the sheer wrath radiating from the gorgeous demoness trying to mentally execute a two-dimensional tiger.

I quickly grabbed her hand and tugged her away.

"Come on," I hissed. "We're not fighting a poster today."

"But it challenged you."

"It didn't—"

She looked back over her shoulder.

Squinted.

The poster flapped a little in the wind.

Zeraphira inhaled sharply.

"DARLING. IT MOVED."

"THE WIND MOVED IT—"

"…Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely?"

"Yes."

"So, this movie?" Zeraphira asked slowly, eyes still fixed on the poster like it was a war target she was reluctantly choosing not to obliterate.

"Can we go and… destroy it?"

I dragged a hand down my face.

"Watch it, Zera. You watch movies. Not destroy them."

She blinked.

Then blinked again.

"…Watch," she repeated, tasting the foreign word like unfamiliar magic.

"Yes," I said. "It's entertainment."

She stared at me.

At the poster.

At me again.

Then—

"…So this is another human ritual."

"Not a ritual—"

"Walking ritual," she counted on her fingers. "Ice cream ritual. Four-legged vibrating creature ritual."

"Dogs, Zera, they're called—"

"And now… visual illusion ritual."

"Oh my god."

But she wasn't joking.

Her expression was 100% serious demoness-confused-by-civilisation.

Then she tugged on my hand.

"Darling."

"What now?"

"…I want to try."

"Try…?"

She looked up at the theatre entrance—the posters, the glowing signs, the funnel of people walking in with popcorn and soda.

Her crimson eyes softened.

"I want to try this human… movie ritual."

There it was.

The spark.

The same spark she had when she first tasted ice cream.

Raw curiosity. Timid excitement. A childish hopefulness she didn't know how to express.

And—gods help me—it was adorable.

"Alright," I said with a smile, squeezing her hand gently. "We'll watch a movie."

Her eyes widened.

Then—

She glowed.

Not metaphorically.

Actual demonic aura flickered around her from sheer happiness, like her entire soul was wagging its tail.

"D-Darling…" she whispered, almost shyly. "Truly? For me?"

"Yes, Zera. For you."

She bit her lip softly.

Her cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink.

Then—

She leaned in, kissed me then and there.

But that was not all, because next she shoved her tongue straight into my mouth.

Not a normal kiss.

Not a shy kiss.

A Zeraphira kiss.

Which meant:

—zero warning

—full intensity

—tongue dominance, like she was trying to conquer my soul through oral warfare

My back slammed into the nearest wall as she pressed into me, molten heat radiating from every inch of her body. Pedestrians jumped in surprise—one guy tripped over his own feet—someone whispered "DAMN" under their breath—but Zera didn't hear anyone.

Didn't see anyone.

Her entire world had narrowed into me.

Her tongue curled around mine, possessive, hungry, as her fingers slid up my jaw with a tenderness that didn't match the ferocity of the kiss. Her breath trembled—like she was overwhelmed, desperate, euphoric all at once.

"Z-Zera—" I managed between breaths.

She pulled back by a single inch. Just one.

Her crimson eyes glowed like molten rubies. A thin string of heat connected our lips before it snapped.

"Darling," she whispered, voice low, breathy, trembling with emotion she couldn't contain.

"You said… we will watch a movie."

"We—will—" I croaked.

Her lips brushed mine again—lightly this time, like a feather grazing fire.

Her forehead rested against mine.

"Then I must…" she breathed.

"…express my appreciation."

"By tongue-murdering me in public?!"

She blinked.

Tilted her head.

"You seemed to enjoy it."

"I—THAT'S—NO COMMENT—"

She smiled softly.

Not her usual sadistic grin.

Not her wrathful smirk.

But a small, timid smile filled with genuine warmth. Fragile. Beautiful. Disarming.

"Darling…" she murmured, fingers brushing my cheek, gentler than a butterfly's wing. "You do so much for me. Ice cream… walking beside me… holding my hand… listening to my confusion…"

"Zera—"

"And now… watching a human illusion ritual," she continued earnestly. "All for me."

She cupped my jaw.

Her hands were warm.

Her heart—warmer.

And suddenly there was no teasing demoness.

No wrath. No possessiveness.

Just a girl—a lonely, ancient, terrifyingly powerful girl—who had never experienced softness before today.

"Let me… cherish you," she whispered, almost pleading. "Just a little."

My heart clenched painfully.

I swallowed.

"…Okay," I said quietly. "But maybe… without committing PDA homicide?"

She blinked.

"…PDA homicide?"

"Public display of affection… to a level that kills me."

"Oh."

Her cheeks flushed.

"That would be… unfortunate."

"Yes. Very."

She nodded seriously.

"I will restrain myself."

"Good."

She wrapped her arms around mine again, holding me a little closer than before—but this time with control. Gentleness. Softness.

Then—

She looked up at the theatre with renewed determination.

"Darling."

"Yes?"

"We must begin the movie ritual immediately."

"…It's not a—"

But she squeezed my arm and her eyes sparkled with so much earnest excitement that I shut my mouth.

"Right," I said. "Movie time."

She beamed.

Beamed.

Actual radiant happiness.

And then, in a voice so soft I almost didn't hear it, she whispered:

"Thank you… for today, Darling."

My heart skipped.

I swear then and there, I will murder whoever dares to ruin this moment.

We stepped through the glass doors of the theatre.

Instantly—

BOOM.

A wave of cold air blasted us like we'd walked into a freezer run by an overenthusiastic ice mage.

Zeraphira froze mid-step.

Her eyes widened.

"Darling…" she whispered, clutching my arm with both hands.

"…The humans have mastered frost magic."

"It's called air conditioning."

She stared at me.

At the ceiling vents.

Back at me.

"…They control the weather inside a building?"

"Yes."

She inhaled sharply.

"That is… horrifying."

Then she leaned in closer and whispered, as if sharing dramatic forbidden intel:

"We must not anger them."

I sighed.

We approached the ticket counter, and the guy behind it—a teenager with a bored expression—did a double take the moment he saw Zeraphira.

Specifically:

—her crimson hair.—her crimson eyes—and the blood-red sundress that screamed "aphrodisiac danger zone"

He stuttered so hard I thought he might swallow his tongue.

"W-Welcome—h-how can I—uh…"

Zeraphira tilted her head.

Then leaned in, expression blankly intense.

"We wish to begin the… movie ritual."

The guy blinked.

"Uh—what movie?"

"I desire to watch the striped demon."

I quickly stepped in.

"Life of Pi. Two tickets."

"Oh. Uh. Sure."

He handed me the tickets.

Zeraphira stared at them like they were enchanted talismans.

"…Darling. These slips grant us entry into the human illusion?"

"Yes."

"A pass of acceptance."

"Basically."

"…A seal of participation."

"If you want to call it that."

"…A contract with the human kingdom—"

"Zera, I swear to Lucifer—"

She nodded solemnly.

I dragged her away before she interrogated him about theatre politics.

And looking at his face, giving away his card PIN wasn't far off.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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