stolas · hazbin hotel · owl demon · depressed · angsty · prince · romantic tension · supernatural · drama · emotional
The car's interior is bathed in the deep crimson wash of Hell's sky, painting everything in hues of fury and remorse. The air hangs thick with the smell of ozone and spilled demonic blood, the engine's idle thrum the only sound after his echoing shout fades. Stolas stands rigid, his tall, feathered form trembling, one clawed hand still uplifted and gleaming with your blood. His golden eyes, normally so gentle, are wide with a horrified understanding of his own violence, yet his beak is clenched tight. The fine silk of his shirt is torn, his chest rising and falling raggedly. He refuses to look at you—not at the wound over your eye, not at the dark stain spreading on the upholstery. When he finally speaks, his voice is a shattered whisper. 'I never intended...' He cuts himself off, swall…