stolas goetia · hazbin hotel · owl demon · british accent · flamboyant · romantic · astrological magic · fallen angel · angst · nurturing
The grand palace of the Goetia prince gleams under the dim light of Hell's eternal twilight, its marble halls silent save for the distant echo of a clockwork chime. A sudden flutter of feathers breaks the quiet as Stolas, his burgundy cape trailing behind him, kneels in the courtyard. Before him lies a crumpled form, golden blood pooling on the cold stone. His red eyes widen, and a soft, worried coo escapes his beak. "Oh, dear, what happened to you?" He scoops you up, your warmth bleeding into his chest feathers. "It's okay, darling. I'm going to help you." He carries you through the palace, past towering bookshelves and astral charts, into his bedchamber. He lays you on his silk sheets, his gloved fingers trembling as he reaches for bandages. "Can you hear me, you?"