Chapter Text
“Oh no.”
Stolas dropped the spell book he’d been admittedly messing around with like it was about to hex him- which was close to the mark considering what he’d just recited without a shred of care.
He stumbled back, already feeling the magic course through his feathers at a speed he had no hope of hindering.
“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”
Panic flooded Stolas’ veins as he snatched up his phone, nearly dropping it in his frantic haste to call the demon in possession of his Grimoire.
He knew that the Imp seldom answered his calls, but he was holding onto a hope that this would be the one time that the romantic bane of his miserable life pulled through.
Predictably, it was not to be, and Stolas lost grip on it as the spell began to manifest. He yelped, the incantation etching itself upon his skin and bringing him to his knees as he clutched at his attire.
Heat scorched up his limbs and swept between his florentine quills, the fine calamus’ loosening as the surge of power sank into his flesh. His large eyes watered as his breathing became ragged and heavy, laboured puffs of air punching out of his lungs as the spell he had so ignorantly read aloud imbedded into his existence with the fury of his own abilities.
His own power.
A power that he feared he wouldn’t be able to use once the transformation took hold.
His talons dug into his upper arms as he buried his face into the floor, scalding tears gleaming across the wood.
“Fuck.”
The first tendrils of consciousness were tugged by the dull, intermittent buzzing that Stolas slowly recognised as his phone vibrating somewhere to the left of him.
He groaned, patting the wooden boards as he tried to gather his bearings.
His head was so heavy, as were all of his limbs. He half-whimpered as he pushed himself up, the texture of the rug strangely… there.
Stolas took a deep breath, dropping himself onto his backside as he blinked rapidly. His sight was wonky.
It felt… short.
Like he was only seeing part of his room, the usual image from floor-to-ceiling was notably stunted.
Stolas rubbed his face before moving his fingers north, heart thudding with dread as he failed to come into contact with his upper set of eyes.
“Oh no… oh no, no no-”
In a mad scramble he bolted upright, stumbling against furniture that was so much larger than it should be. His entire world was distorted, warped, leaving him so disoriented that he tripped over his own feet.
“Oh by the Seven Rings, you idiot, Stolas!”
He should have known better than to go digging into those ratty old books!
He knew they were beyond safe and beyond hokey!
They were literal hocus-pocus and he-
He should have known better.
Stolas grasped the sides of his full length mirror, palms seemingly miles down from where he would normally reach.
He took several deep breaths before cracking an eye open and instantly felt his stomach plummet.
He only caught a glimpse of his shaded reflection, but it was enough to know the transformation was drastic.
He whirled around, looking about his room before skittering off on odd-feeling feet, grasping the legs of his wooden chair and dragging it towards the mirror with a terrible lack of strength.
He left it there and ungracefully scrabbled at his dresser, using the drawers as leverage before managing to get atop it and smacking on the light.
He had to orientate himself before dropping down and returning to the dreaded surface that would show him in all his irresponsible glory.
Several deep breaths and Stolas clenched his fists, fearfully opening his eyes and taking himself in.
Irresponsible glory, as it happened, had left him nude, and he wasn’t entirely prepared for that.
“Oh… good fucking Lord,” he whispered, utterly aghast as he brought both slender hands up to his semi-familiar face.
“Okay… okay, Stolas. Okay,” he babbled, fanning himself as he teared up. “You just… had a mishap with a spell, that’s happened before- oh fucking Hell how do I get out of this?!”
He looked back at his reflection, unnatural aureate gaze pupil-and-iris-less.
He maintained a heart shaped face but his usual feathers were all but gone. In their place was a very fine, very short velvet like down that blanketed his entire frame. Instead of the florentine plumage that swept along his body, he was now a glossy wine red, though his legs and arms remained a jet black and his aforementioned face was a blush-tinted ivory.
In place of the quills once adorning his head, he now had dark garnet tufts, still maintained in his usual style, but that was where the familiarity ended.
Gone were his upper set of eyes and gone was his beak. Though he was still undeniably avian-esque, he was so much shorter and undeniably different. His characteristics seemed to have survived, but he was not himself by any stretch of the imagination.
He was so, so painfully small.
His shape was more or less the same, same lithe figure, same slender frame. His legs were no longer digitigrade though, and his feet were more alike those of slim heeled shoes.
In place of his tri-feathered tail, he was now presented with a long, thin appendage that sported a somewhat diamond-shaped end, the curves less sharp and more rounded as though trying to emulate his former plumed end.
Stolas ran a palm down the newfound skin of his abdomen, hesitating because he didn’t know how to process the very male anatomy he now owned.
It was obvious, blatant and completely exposed, a somewhat dusky scarlet that lightened towards the tip. Inhaling shakily, Stolas snatched his hand away from going any further and glared at himself.
This wouldn’t do.
This wasn’t him.
He could feel the lack of magic in his veins and felt completely hollow without it. He recalled his phone darting off somewhere and gingerly climbed down from his chair, scanning the floor for it’s location with a numbed rigidness.
He spotted it under the table and quickly dropped onto all fours in order to retrieved it, wiping the screen out of habit despite it being clean and unmarked.
He swiped up the pristine glass, deftly tapping in his passcode and grasping the slightly larger-than-he-remembered device with both hands as he winced at the bright light of his wallpaper.
Nothing.
It had been his alarm.
No messages, no missed calls.
“Confound it, Blitzø,” Stolas complained out loud, tipping his head back and rubbing an eye with the heel of a palm.
Well, he would just have to make his own way to Blitzø, then.
The damn Imp was absolutely avoiding him after that whole miserable fiasco at Ozzie’s, and the rather embarrassing mishap in L.A had made things ten times more awkward.
Hence why Stolas had ended up going through all the rooms in the Palace that had been previously locked up and forgotten about.
Sue him, he’d been bored!
Octavia was often out with her Mother on weekends- as she was currently, because Stella was now paranoid that Stolas would out her as the abusive bitch she was and so had gone the ‘I’m the best Mother in the world’ route.
It was just another ploy to make Stolas look bad, he wasn’t stupid. Too bad Octavia had no interest in being bought.
Stolas wouldn’t deny her the attention she hadn’t gotten as a child though, and if Stella was content to buy Octavia whatever she wanted, then Stolas was happy to let her.
For now, at least.
He didn’t see his precious owlette all that much, with the higher ups deciding that it was best for her to be with other relatives during the tumultuous divorce proceedings that were volatile and messy, at best.
Stolas hated it.
Stolas detested it.
Octavia was… trying to make the most of it.
He just wanted her home.
Point was- he’d been bored. Bored out of his fucking skull and so he’d ventured into areas of the Palace he’d seldom explored - some, never - and now it seemed some rooms had been left locked up for good reason.
Hindsight.
Oh how he loathed it.
He didn’t even want to think back on how much of an idiot he’d been that night in Lust- not out of genuine ignorance, oh no. That would be way too merciful.
He’d been unsure from the second the bouncer had questioned Blitzø over trying to enter ‘again’ and then the Imp’s attitude at the table itself…
Of course, Stolas had clocked on and drowned himself in wilful ignorance because he was a fool who would rather play pretend than accept reality.
If that wasn’t his entire life in a eggshell.
He looked at the time, noting that he’d been out cold for the better half of four hours.
Not the worst, give or take. Some spells could leave you unconscious for two days, so he’d count his blessings. It was half ten, which meant his remaining servants would have retired themselves already.
Well, that was probably for the better. He didn’t need them seeing him like this and he certainly didn’t need to be defenceless around anyone who Stella might have her nails into.
Which was why he really needed to get his Grimoire. Hopefully there would be something in there that would undo the stupidity he’d inflicted upon himself.
Otherwise he’d have to call someone else and good Lord he did not want to have to do that.
Stolas worried at his newfound lips, realising a little too late that he had a row of small, sharp teeth lining his gums. He huffed, pushing at his slightly elongated canines and finding the pressure he could bestow oddly comforting.
Okay.
Blitzø wouldn’t be at work at this hour, but there was no guarantee he’d be home. The Imp often went out and there was no saying as to whether he’d return home alone or at all.
Ugh.
The thought made Stolas’ stomach churn.
Why did being in love have to hurt so? Why couldn’t one only fall in love with someone who felt the same?
He shook his head, setting his phone down on the seat of his chair and padding over to his wardrobe.
Nothing would fit him properly, but he could make do. Lacking height sucked as much as lacking magic.
Stupid, outdated transformation spells that had no fail-safes!
No wonder they were discarded. Honestly, they should have all been burned.
Stolas tugged the hem of a forest green sweater until it slipped off the hanger. He eyed it dubiously before setting it aside. A slate grey hooded sweatshirt caught his eye and he whipped it off, grabbing the clothes and marching determinedly back to the chair. He dumped them over the back of it and rummaged through the bottom drawer of his vanity, procuring a waist cinch and a pair of scissors.
With practised care, Stolas cut two holes in the grey hood, giving his black and white striped horns the space they needed. He was a little surprised to find that they were not merely for show, noting how he could really feel the fabric and his own touch.
How curious.
Stolas swiftly tugged the forest green sweater over the hoodie, before securing the cincher around his waist, keeping it in place.
The garments came to his knees and he looked pretty ridiculous, but it would have to do. None of his pants would fit and he didn’t want to be caught exposing himself in any way, shape, or form.
Quiet literally.
Tightening the cinch was easy, though it was more akin to a corset on his smaller frame and left him with way too much drawstring in which he had to cut and re-tie.
He didn’t have footwear, but he’d figure that out another time.
Hopping up to his vanity once more, Stolas emptied out his coat pockets, finding his wallet and double checking that his emergency cash was still where he recalled leaving it.
For once, it was.
Stolas took a deep breath and gave his reflection one last once-over.
Great.
He looked ridiculous, like some fairy-tail vigilante that lived in the woods.
Oh well. Consequences, consequences.
He’d easily be able to call a taxi, he’d obviously be able to pay for it, it was just getting outside the Palace grounds to do so. He looked towards his closed balcony doors and felt his mood drop even further.
Fine.
If Blitzø could do it, then so could he.