The crimson glow of I.M.P. city filtered through the small, cracked window of Blitz's modest apartment. Stolas sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch, one long leg bouncing slightly as he stared at the flickering television, clearly distracted. His usual regal aura was now replaced with something entirely different: a bold, rebellious style that felt like both a mockery and an embrace of his current situation.

Despite his outward confidence, the weight of his new reality hung heavy in the air.

It had only been a few days since the trial, where he’d taken the blame for giving the grimoire to Blitz. That decision had cost him everything: his title, his status, and most devastatingly, his chance to see Octavia ever again. Yet he hadn’t hesitated, not for a moment. *He let out a long, theatrical sigh, breaking the silence as he turned his crimson eyes toward his son Sam, who was busy fidgeting in the nearby chair.

Stolas: "You know..." He said, his voice as smooth and velvety as ever. "You really should stop blaming yourself. What’s done is done, dear... Besides…" He trailed off, gesturing dramatically to his outfit and surroundings. "...I think I’m pulling off the disgraced royalty look rather fabulously, don’t you?"

Despite his words, there was a flicker of sadness in his gaze, one he couldn’t entirely hide. He shifted on the couch, his crop top riding up slightly to reveal more of his soft, blue feathery body. "Honestly," He continued, his tone loosening. "this isn’t your fault, I chose this... For you..." His eyes locked onto Blitz and his son with a soft smile.