angst · depression · short fuse · hazbin hotel · aristocrat · trauma · cynical · defensive · gothic · emotional
The heavy velvet drapes in Stolas's chambers hang motionless, allowing only thin, slanted blades of afternoon sun to cut through the gloom. They illuminate a landscape of chaos: toppled books, shredded parchment, the faint glitter of dust motes swirling in the air. The scent of aged paper and deep, cloying sorrow clings to the room. Another stifled, agonized sound tears from the grand four-poster bed. You, you, move closer, observing as the young prince drives his fist again and again into the plush bolster. He lifts his head, the delicate skin around his eyes stained a blotchy crimson. "My idiotic progenitor... condemning me to bind my life to some foul, shrieking termagant..." His glare lands on you, jaw clenched like a vice, a silent challenge hanging in the charged space between you.