The castle was colder than usual tonight, but it wasn't the kind of cold you could chase away with a fire. It was the kind of cold that gnawed at your bones, the kind that settled into the soul and refused to let go.
Stolas sat alone in his lavish study, surrounded by books, relics, and memories that now felt like weights tied around his neck. His long fingers idly traced the rim of a half-empty glass of wine, though the drink had lost its taste hours ago.
He couldn't bring himself to finish it. The faint sound of music from some distant party echoed through the halls, but even the revelry couldn't drown out the silence that choked him.
He had everything, didn't he? Power, riches, status.
He was the high prince of Hell's Ars Goetia, after all. Yet, somehow, he was nothing. Empty.
The door creaked open.
Octavia stepped in quietly, almost as if she didn't want to be noticed. Stolas looked up, his eyes catching hers. Her expression was unreadable, as always—a talent she'd perfected over the years, much like her mother.
But there was something sharper in her tonight, something that had been building for a long time.
"Via," he started softly, though the words felt thick and wrong in his throat. "I didn't think you'd be home so soon."
Octavia didn't respond right away. She stepped forward, her black feathers shifting slightly as she moved. Her eyes, deep voids of pain and anger, finally locked onto him.
"I wasn't planning on coming back," she said, her voice flat.
The words hit Stolas like a punch to the chest. His heart clenched, but he kept his composure, something he had become too good at. Too practiced at pretending things were fine. Pretending he wasn't slowly losing the only person that mattered.
"Via... darling, what's wrong?" His tone was gentle, but even as he said it, he knew how hollow it sounded.
Octavia scoffed, a bitter, almost cruel sound that made his feathers ruffle with unease.
"What's *wrong*? Are you serious?"
Stolas flinched. He wasn't prepared for this, not now, not like this. He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn't finished.
"You don't even care, do you?" she continued, voice rising, cracking in places. "You've never cared. Not about me. Not about *Mom*. It's always been about you and your stupid needs."
"Via—" Stolas started, but she cut him off, stepping closer now, her anger palpable.
"No, don't you *dare* try to talk your way out of this. I'm not a child anymore. I see through it, all of it. You're selfish, Dad. You're so fucking selfish."
Her words were like daggers, each one sharper than the last, digging into wounds Stolas had buried deep. He looked at her, at his daughter, and saw someone who had been suffocating for so long in the shadow of his mistakes. And it broke him, but he didn't know how to fix it.
"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Octavia shook her head, her eyes twitching as if she was restraining the urge to scream.
"You *did*, though. Every time. You chose everyone else over me. You chose *Blitzo* over me."
The mention of Blitzo made Stolas wince. His affair with the imp had been a whirlwind of chaos, passion, and distraction. But now it seemed like just another pile of rubble he had created, another fire he had set in his own life.
"You think I don't see it? How pathetic you are, throwing yourself at someone who doesn't even care about you." Octavia's voice cracked, tears welling up in her eyes despite the fury behind them. "I used to look up to you. I thought you were this... powerful, important figure. But you're just... a mess."
Stolas felt his throat tighten. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the words were stuck. She wasn't wrong. He *was* a mess. He had made mistake after mistake, burned bridge after bridge, and now the only thing left was the smoldering remains of his family.
Octavia's breath hitched as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to steady herself. Her voice dropped to a whisper, and in that moment, the anger melted away, leaving only the raw wound beneath.
"I just... I needed you, Dad. I needed you to be there, to care. But you didn't. Not once."
Stolas stood up, his legs shaky, and reached for her.
"I'm so sorry, Via. I didn't know—"
"Don't," she said, pulling back, her voice hollow now. "It's too late. You don't get to say you're sorry after all this time. You don't get to pretend like you can fix it."
Her words hung in the air like smoke, filling the space between them, suffocating both of them. Stolas felt something inside him break, the last fragile piece of hope he had clung to shattering into dust.
"I just... I don't want to be here anymore," Octavia whispered, her voice trembling, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
"I hate it here. I hate you. I hate how you make me feel like I'm not enough. Like I'm not worth it."
Those final words knocked the breath out of him. Stolas staggered back, his heart splitting open, bleeding out in front of her.
"Please don't say that, Via... please..." His voice was desperate now, pleading. He had nothing left but his shame and regret.
"You are everything to me. I know I've failed you. I know I've been selfish, but I love you, more than anything. Please... don't leave me."
For a long moment, Octavia just stared at him, as if weighing his words, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. Then she turned toward the door, her back to him, wings drooping in defeat.
"You already left me, Dad," she whispered. "A long time ago."
And with that, she walked out, the door closing softly behind her, the sound a final, quiet death knell.
Stolas collapsed into the chair, his body trembling.
The cold, the emptiness, seeped deeper into him now, burying itself into his soul.
He was alone, truly alone, in a castle filled with relics of a life that no longer mattered.
He had failed her, utterly and completely. And now, the only light left in his world had gone out.
