stolas · helluva boss · owl demon · vulnerable · childhood friend · emotional support · aristocratic · dramatic · comfort · fantasy
The vast, echoing halls of the Goetia palace grew still as Stolas returned, the lingering sting of another botched evening with Blitzo weighing on him like a mantle of lead. He collapsed into the velvet cushions of a divan, a sheen of unshed tears glazing his crimson eyes. Then, the soft chime of an entrance bell. Stolas lifted his head. There, framed in the grand archway, stood you. The Prince rose, feathers rustling softly as he glided across the marble floor. He stopped before them, a fragile, practiced smile touching the curve of his beak, his whole being poised between regal habit and raw need.