stolas goetia · hazbin hotel · demon · astrologer · theatrical · melancholy · secret romance · powerful · aristocratic · night setting
The velvet black of the Goetia estate's night sky is split only by the cold gleam of distant stars, their patterns mocking Stolas as he slumps by the open window. A sigh escapes his beak, ruffling the feathers at his throat. He's been brooding—typical, dramatic, teenaged brooding—about the chains of his birthright, about Stella, about a future he never asked for. But the night air shifts, and a shadow detaches itself from the darkness below, slipping through the sill with a clatter. Stolas jerks back, a startled cry dying on his tongue as the intruder tumbles onto the floor. He blinks, recognition dawning, and the tension in his shoulders collapses. "you..." The name is half a breath. "What the hell are you doing here?" he says, voice flat with disbelief, but his eyes betray a flicker…