Archive of Our Own ^beta

The grand halls of the Goetia mansion echoed with the sharp clatter of a wine glass hitting the floor, its crimson contents pooling like spilled blood across the polished marble. Stolas winced, his talons twitching as he steadied himself against the edge of an ornate table. His feathered head tilted slightly, the glow of his four red eyes dimmed by exhaustion and a haze of too much drink. The argument with Stella had been brutal –her voice a screeching tempest that tore through his defences, leaving him raw and unsteady. She’d stormed off to her quarters, but the venom of her words lingered, stinging worse than any hellfire.

—Daddy? —A small voice piped up from the doorway—.

Stolas blinked, turning his head with a sluggish grace to see Octavia standing there. She was no more than seven or eight, her tiny frame swathed in that adorable pink starry outfit she loved so much –soft pyjamas dotted with shimmering constellations, a gift he’d given her after a night of stargazing. Her big, luminous eyes, so much like his own, stared up at him with a mix of worry and determination. Her grey feathers ruffled slightly as she clutched a plush toy to her chest, its button eyes glinting in the dim light.

—Via, my little starlight. —Stolas slurred softly, trying to muster a smile—.

He straightened up, or tried to, only to sway and catch himself on the table again.

—Shouldn’t you be in bed?

Octavia padded closer, her bare talons clicking faintly against the floor.

—I heard Mommy yelling again. —She said, her voice small but steady—. It woke me up. Are you okay?

Stolas’ heart twisted. He hated that she had to hear it, that she had to see him like this –dishevelled, tipsy, and crumbling under Stella’s relentless cruelty.

—Oh, I’m… I’m fine, darling. —He lied, waving a shaky hand as if he could brush it all away—. Just a little disagreement, that’s all.

Octavia frowned, clearly unconvinced. She stepped right up to him, her head barely reaching his waist, and tugged gently at the hem of his robe.

—You don’t look fine. —She said, her tone firm despite her age—. You look sad. And you smell like that funny juice you drink when Mommy’s mean.

A weak, bittersweet laugh escaped him.

—Perceptive as always. —He murmured, lowering himself to sit on the floor beside her, his long legs folding awkwardly—.

The room spun a little, but Octavia’s presence grounded him.

—I suppose I’m not hiding it very well, am I?

Octavia shook her head, then plopped down next to him, scooting close so her shoulder pressed against his side. She set her plush in her lap and reached out, wrapping her tiny talons around one of his larger ones.

—It’s okay, Daddy. —She said softly—. You don’t have to hide it from me. I don’t like it when Mommy yells at you. She’s so loud and mean, and you’re… you’re nice. You don’t deserve it.

Stolas felt a lump rise in his throat, his vision blurring –not from the wine this time, but from the sudden sting of tears.

—Oh, Via. —He whispered, squeezing her hand gently—. You’re too good to me, you know that?

She puffed out her cheeks, a little indignant.

—Somebody has to be. —She said, then leaned her head against his arm—. I don’t want you to be sad. Can I… can I stay with you for a bit? Maybe we can look at the stars or something. That always makes you happy.

Stolas’ chest ached with love for his daughter, her earnestness cutting through the fog of his misery.

—I’d like that very much. —He said, his voice trembling just a little bit—. You’re my brightest star, Octavia. Always.

The warmth of the moment revolved around them; Stolas could feel the impossible-to-perceive weight of his owlet lean against him thanks to their powerful bond. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Octavia felt more like a confidant or a partner than a daughter –as if he didn’t need to dumb things down or watch his words without thinking them first. For a split moment she was his equal.

A hug came naturally after that, and the loving father couldn’t help himself to tuck her into his bed. Maybe if they shared the night together; Via could resume her sleep, and he could find some peace.

So, he did just that. With hard motions and a deep struggle to maintain his own semblance of strength –Stolas picked up Octavia from the floor they were lying on and helped her to his bed.

—You’re not leaving, right daddy?

—Of course not, my owlet.

Stolas gave a weak smile as he tried to arrange himself next to her, and even though his position wasn’t the best, he managed to lay to the side.

Peace and quiet at last, yet he couldn’t fall asleep. Worries about Octavia and what would be of her if he couldn’t keep the marriage going was a constant torment for him –worse yet with Octavia right next to him to remind the hurt father of precisely that. Still-

—Love you daddy.

The words of his daughter filled his heart with content. Feel her tiny hands play around his face and feathers, feel her beak press against him as she showered him in kisses and dried away his tears –it triggered something unknown in him. Something that would change things forever.

—Love you too, Via.

Stolas finally replied to one of her kisses with his own. Both mouths meeting and sharing saliva. The remaining wine mixing in to gently influence the little girl into unquestioned submission –such was her trust in her father.

She didn’t understand the kiss nor the process, but she felt herself go numb just from the taste of it. She also felt a subtle fear, this was her first time experiencing something like this, at most she knew this kind of kiss was reserved between him and Stella –back when times weren’t so dark and turbulent.

Maybe this meant that he loved her as much as mom and dad used love each other. With this in mind, her fears dissipated –not fully, nor permanently, but enough to be pushed to the sidelines of her thoughts.

Meanwhile, Stolas’ mind was hard at work convincing itself this was the natural progression of things –to passionately kiss his daughter of seven, mingle with her little tongue using his own as his breath intoxicated her from inside.

Little mattered to him the absurd size difference that complicated things to go smoothly. He would dictate what to do next and let Octavia take care of the rest –such as forcing a kiss, while letting Via embrace him in any way she could. The image was something not so far from what it looked like when a kid molested a doll, then again, that would produce laughter from any, while this parental kiss produced love and care.

Stolas’ heart raced too, effect of his arousal towards Via’s purity. Blood went twice or thrice as fast through his body as it produced on him a firm erection under his trousers. He was getting more than just plane affection from this event, Stolas lusted for his daughter.

It didn’t take long for his hands to move on their own, one caressed his own crotch while the other touched his daughter.

—Daddy! —Via chuckled gently—. It tickles!

But instead of stopping, Stolas found his daughter’s words encouraging to continue; to further molest her body by playing around her tiny nipples and flat, childish chest.

She couldn’t feel aroused at that age, there was no point to it if her body wasn’t there yet. Then again, Stolas was probably aroused just enough to make up for her and was not afraid to show it.

—Is daddy feeling better now?

Silence reigned for a second.

—Daddy needs to do something first. —Stolas replied, still heavily intoxicated—. But his owlet needs to trust him and keep it down..

—I trust you daddy!

Stolas smiled; he wasted no time laying her daughter on her back to strip her naked. Octavia’s face turned to one of confusion, but did nothing against it, as to keep her word.

Then, he stripped himself naked for her. There was no real point to it with Via already clueless to her surroundings, but for Stolas it was even more exciting to see himself compared to her tiny frame. Would it even fit?

Her body was most likely not even producing any fluids to lubricate her labia too, so he would have to do something about that as well. All the different ways to proceed flashed through his head –none of them morally acceptable.

By the time he returned to the real world, his fingers were already playing around Octavia’s privates. No amount of arousing was going to change things, but that didn’t matter.

Her inside was warm and humid anyways, as long as he kept himself lubricated it could work.

—D-daddy that hurt.. —Octavia twitched as Stolas explored her—.

—Sorry, my owlet. Just hang in there a little longer, for daddy.

Via nodded, now embarrassed to have her dad explore her hole. More so when she saw Stolas approach it with his mouth, giving it a kiss –spreading his long tongue around its outside and inside, graving a good taste of her.

Via’s body twitched some more.

—Now, I need my owlet completely silent, ok?

—Y-yes daddy..

Her eyes opened wide. Stolas’ penis ready to push against her, long enough to pierce her tummy if he wanted to. She could only stare at it as it grinded against her entrance, seeing it produce a transparent liquid from its tip that engulfed around it like a thin coat.

Via went into shock when Stolas finally pushed it in. Her whole body froze, her tommy was being pushed around by daddy’s rod and it hurt. But daddy was now smiling, looking at her with a gentle glance that reminded her that she was going to be ok. Pain would eventually fade with time.

In the meantime, Stolas was at peace. Octavia was so small and so tight; his cock could feel the pressure build up from every angle. It was hard to push inward, but even harder to pull out.

Almost as if her body was trying to claim him.

A tear scaped Octavia’s eyes, she wanted to scream so hard but had promised daddy she wouldn’t. She wanted him to stop but wanted him to be happy. Her brain couldn’t process how to proceed.

—You’re doing great, starfire.

Constant words of encouragement would have to suffice as he continued to ram his dick inside of her. Seeing her belly bulge to the shape of him.. it felt right.

And with his hands around her waist; Stolas was able to use Octavia like a living fleshlight –holding her in place while pleasuring himself.

—Daddy feels so good now, my owlet. He’s close, so close.

Those words meant so much to him, but that was it. Octavia was still wondering what he meant by being close –even after the answer presented itself on its own.

A rapid flow of cum overflowed Via in the blink of an eye. She could feel the warm and sticky liquid travel inside her body –like a ballon being filled with water.

And the remaining cum, it was a waterfall that originated from her body and finished on the bed.

But most of all, it was a great lubricant, since it allowed Stolas to keep going smoother than ever before. The more he fucked his daughter, the more he would cum and the easier it would be to keep fucking her –all while he told her how much he loved his little girl.

A seemingly endless cycle that kept repeating for as long as Stolas could keep up.

—Thank you, my owlet. Daddy’s so much better now.

Stolas looked at the mess. Reality seemed to be absent, as he found no issues with a young; crying owlet covered in cum. Instead, he wanted more –sitting close to her, grabbing little Via by the armpits to bring her close and whipping her tears so he could see at her shining eyes.

—I think my tummy hurts..

—I’m sorry my owlet, daddy was a little rough wasn’t he? But now he feels so much better..

—H-He does?

—And all thanks to you.

—And this white stuff? Looks like yogurt.. —Octavia took some with a finger and took it to her mouth—.

—It’s daddy’s love seed.

The smell was strong, like nothing she had smell before –and when she tasted it, her beak trembled.

—It tastes nothing like yogurt!

—Mom used to drink it all the time, you know? —Stolas had an idea—.

—Really?

—She would use her mouth on daddy’s rod and clean it too. Wanna try?

The owlet wasn’t sure if she wanted to, but seeing how Stolas was somewhat excited for the idea –she eventually assumed this would also make him happy. If so, it was worth a try.

With hesitation, Octavia approached Stolas’ member, it was still hard and twitching –cum all over it. The little princes began with gentle licks.

—Oh.. Hoot! —Stolas couldn’t help the reaction—.

Octavia’s tongue was small and gentle, he didn’t expect such a subtle touch. Via flinched too, the taste wasn’t the best, and the smell was stronger than ever before.

Nevertheless, she continued with some incentive from Stolas, meaning he held her head close to him as she gave him an improvised blowjob.

He wanted her to put that mouth to work, but she didn’t even knew what she was doing, and no matter the instructions given, most she would do was put the tip inside her mouth –since taking more than that triggered her gag reflex right away.

Regardless of the hurdles, Stolas was making the most out of it –petting Octavia as she licked him off. But with peace comes clarity..

He did it, he continued to do it. He was forcing himself on his own daughter; an innocent child –but he wasn’t backing down either.

If anything, he was proud of his owlet. She was being such an obedient girl and caring too; enduring everything just to make daddy feel better.

Combined with an arousing fellatio –Stolas was ready to cum again. So, he gave her an order.

—Quickly, suck daddy.

Octavia now knew what that meant and in panic followed the order. Stolas reached his second orgasm just as Via’s mouth covered it –now and aggressive flow of semen was flowing through her mouth, all the way to her belly. Forced to drink as much as he pumped in.

The owlet’s body trembled as she was forced-fed Stolas’ load, some leaking through her nose when she couldn’t keep up –and the rest dropping from her mouth as she coughed the rest.

Stolas felt in total bliss; never had he had such a fulfilling intimate experience in his life. It was the first time his mind kept telling him to go for more, even if the body, the body was pleading him to stop.

With what little energy he had left, Stolas took via to his shower and had her be cleaned up by the staff while instructing another to clean the bed and lastly he would clean himself.

Stolas then returned to his room, collapsing onto the bed, its freshness a joke of what had just transpired. The sheets were crisp again, tucked in as if the chaos hadn’t unfolded there mere minutes ago. But he could still feel it –clinging to the air, to his skin, to his soul. He turned to lie on his back, limbs spread limp against the mattress like the wings of a fallen angel, defeated. The chandelier overhead spun lazily in his blurred vision, its crystals catching faint flickers of moonlight through the tall windows, dancing like ghosts across the ceiling.

He shut his eyes, but the darkness behind them was no comfort. Instead, it brought images he couldn’t suppress. Her face, her breath, the softness of her voice before it broke. The silence that followed. Every beat of his heart was like a drum pounding against his ribs, not from arousal, but guilt. Guilt that hadn’t quite taken shape yet –still distant, still murky, but creeping. Inevitable.

He turned on his side, pulling a pillow close as if it might serve as a shield. But the comfort it offered was as artificial as the clean sheets. Somewhere beyond the walls of his estate, the world moved on.

The alcohol was ebbing. It had kept the worst of his self-awareness at bay, a fog over the mirror he refused to look into. But the clarity came like a rising tide –slow, cold, merciless. Thoughts spilled out, uninvited. What he had done, what she had let happen. What he had taken. There was no erasing it. No spell could turn back a clock already shattered.

He sat up for a moment, burying his face in his hands, claws digging lightly into his feathers. His breathing slowed, not from calm, but from numbness. The kind of hollow quiet that follows devastation. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. Tears were for the grieving, for the broken. He hadn’t earned them yet.

The scent still clung to the room. It wasn’t just the sheets. It was him. His skin, his feathers, his mind. A mark deeper than any lipstick stain or bruise. He should have gone to clean himself, but the inertia held him down like a chain.

Stella couldn’t know. No one could. He’d built a tower around himself with secrets, and now it was starting to creak beneath its own weight.

He let himself fall back again. The ceiling no longer spun. It stared at him as the remaining alcohol soothed him to sleep.

***

The next morning came without mercy.

Stolas stirred, not from rest, but from the painful, pulsing pressure behind his eyes. A dull throb echoed from temple to temple, amplified by every faint sound in the mansion –footsteps in a far hallway, the distant clinking of silver on porcelain, the hiss of hell-red sunlight slipping through velvet curtains. He turned his head slowly, his neck stiff, muscles aching with a tension he hadn’t noticed the night before. Or maybe he had. Everything felt like it had been dipped in tar –sticky, distorted, impossible to scrub away.

The sheets were clean again. But he wasn’t.

He lay there, motionless, staring at the ceiling. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, a steady, droning rhythm like the ticking of a clock he’d rather not count, he confused it with his daughter’s, imagining her laying by his side. Each second that passed only weighed heavier on his chest. The silence, once comforting in the depths of his drunken haze, now felt suffocating. It left too much room for thought, and thought was the last thing he wanted.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every time he shifted, the weight inside him rolled like a stone in his gut. There were no words for the way he felt –because even feeling implied there was something left inside that hadn’t been hollowed out. He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t anything. Just... there. Just existing inside a body, he didn’t quite recognize anymore.

He raised his hand and looked at it. His claws were clean. Not a mark. Not a trace of Via’s feathers between them like they were when he hold her still, when he kept her in place so his cock could do all the work. And yet the guilt pulsed beneath the surface of his skin like poison in the veins. His body remembered even if the evidence was gone. The memories were etched not just into his mind, but into the spaces between his breaths, into the tension of his jaw, into the tremble of his fingers. There was no un-knowing what he had done. No forgetting how easily he had crossed a line he hadn’t even allowed himself to name.

The alcohol had made everything feel distant. Safe. Like he was watching someone else –some distant, depraved version of himself acting on impulse, without thought, without consequence. But that illusion had burned off like fog in the sun. He was here now. Awake. Sober. Alone with what he’d done to his little owlet.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself. It was how easy it had been.

How natural it felt in the moment. How the desire had overtaken him so quickly, so completely, like slipping into warm water. And how, in the haze, he liked it. Not just the physicality of it, but the sense of control, of possession, of someone who needed him –someone who looked at him with innocence, trust. Come to think of it, he still did; he still liked it even to this moment.

His body craved hers, one more time, even if it was the last time.

He turned his face into the pillow, feathers brushing soft fabric, and tried to breathe. Shallow. Careful. As if too deep an inhale might bring the memory rushing back in detail. But the memory was already there, vivid and cruel. There was no blocking it out. Her voice. Her eyes. The way her breath hitched.

He wanted to say it wasn’t him. That the alcohol had made him someone else. That he wasn’t responsible. But lies like that only worked for cowards, and he wasn’t sure if he even deserved the luxury of calling himself one. He was something else now. Something far worse –and he liked it.

The ache in his head deepened, and he pressed his temples with shaking fingers. The pain was a small comfort. It reminded him that he was still here, still real, still able to hurt himself. Still able to feel, even if what he felt was shame so sharp it could slice bone.

He had always thought himself above this sort of thing. Refined. In control. A creature of knowledge, wit, culture. He had read tragedies and believed himself immune to them, as if wisdom could shield one from downfall. But the truth was far simpler, far uglier –he had indulged, and now he bore the consequence. No amount of poetic self-pity could disguise that, but the memories of uncontrolled, unfiltered sex could worsen the effects.

He sat up slowly and stared at the floor. The plush carpet was pristine. Not a sign of the filth in his soul. He ran a hand down his face, dragging it over his beak, as if he could physically wipe the guilt away. But it lingered, clung to him like a second skin.

There were no words to say, no apology that could be spoken into the void to make any of this less vile. He had tainted something sacred. And the worst part, the absolute worst was the knowledge that a part of him had enjoyed it.

That part was still there, whispering in the dark. Quiet, but present. Reminding him of every moment, every sensation, every twisted thrill. He loathed it. He loathed himself for ever letting it breathe.

He stood, legs unsteady and made his way to the mirror across the room. The figure that looked back at him was a regal, refined prince of Hell, draped in nobility and bloodline. But behind the feathers, behind the proud plumage and gold accents, was a face he couldn’t meet. He stared just past his own eyes, refusing to lock gaze with the man he had become.

What would the world see, if it knew? If the facade cracked, if the curtain fell? Would they whisper? Would they pity him? Or would they finally recognize the monster hidden in plain sight, masquerading behind wealth and charm?

He touched the glass, as if to see if it would shatter beneath his fingertips. It didn’t. It only reflected. Honest. Unforgiving.

And still, there was no one to blame. No one to scream at. No divine force to curse for what he had done. He was the architect of his own ruin.

He sank back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around himself, like a bird shielding itself from the storm. But there was no storm. Just stillness. Just quiet. Just the crushing weight of what couldn’t be undone.

Maybe that was the true punishment –not flame or fury, not exile or death. But this: the endless, gnawing echo of his own thoughts, playing on a loop. Reminding him, again and again, that he had crossed a line from which there was no return.

And worse still, the day had only just begun. This meant it was time to have breakfast.

***

The corridors were colder than usual.

Stolas walked them in silence, his claws making the faintest clicks against polished marble. The mansion’s grandness felt strange now –like a costume worn by a corpse. Every portrait, every chandelier, every gold-gilded edge caught his eye not for their beauty, but for their falseness. A kingdom of rot under glass.

He didn’t want to see her. Not yet. Not ever, maybe. But the guilt pushed him forward, steered his steps toward the kitchen. Maybe he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. Know what damage he’d done.

As he passed through the threshold of the sitting room, Stella was already there –perched by the window, sipping her usual blend of expensive tea, lazily flipping through a magazine. She didn’t look up. Didn’t say anything. She existed on a different wavelength, too self-absorbed or too bored to notice anything strange in the air.

That was its own kind of cruelty. That she didn’t know. That she couldn’t know. He and Octavia could’ve been screaming behind closed doors and Stella would’ve never lifted her eyes.

He moved past her in silence. No words. No nod. Just a flicker of eye contact, brief and brittle, like frost across stone. Stella blinked lazily and went back to her reading; she couldn’t care less about Stolas.

Octavia was next to her. He wanted to pretend she wasn’t. He could still walk away. Pretend none of this happened. Pretending last night had been a nightmare, a hallucination, a lapse in memory induced by too much wine and too many regrets.

But the truth didn’t vanish just because you avoided it.

He continued.

The kitchen was softly lit. Octavia sat gently, legs hanging from the chair, the sunbeams bathed her in the golden light of morning. Her food lay front of her, but she wasn’t eating. Just staring at it, the expression was unreadable.

She turned her head when he entered. No fear in her eyes. No anger. Just… calm. As if she was waiting for him all along.

That made it worse.

—Morning, Daddy! —She said—.

Her voice was light. Tired, maybe, but not strained. Not wounded.

Stolas felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He gave a shallow nod, unsure if he could speak without his voice cracking. He stepped in further, taking a seat of his own.

Stella then walked away; juxtaposing how she didn’t want nothing to do with him as contrast to Via’s desires. Stolas hoped this would give them time to breathe.

—Are you… —He started, then stopped—.

Useless question. Are you alright? How could she be? How dare he ask?

She gave him a small smile. That made it worse, too.

—I’m fine. —She said, answering the question he hadn’t finished—.

He looked away.

—I shouldn’t have.. —He began again; voice hoarse—.

—Daddy was sad. —She said gently, cutting him off—. You always say to do something that makes us happy when we are sad.

His chest ached.

—That doesn’t make it right.

—Is daddy being happy bad? —She replied, confused.

He finally looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes were clear. Tired, but steady. Not defiant. Not broken. Something stranger –accepting.

—I just wanted daddy to be happy. —She said, voice quieter—. He always makes me happy when I’m sad.

—That’s not it my owlet.. —He said—. Is what I did to you what’s wrong.

Octavia tilted her head slightly.

—I think it’s fine! It hurt a little bit at first but then it was nice and warm!

This hit him harder than he expected. It wasn’t fine, and he did hurt her. Maybe it was her naturally positive approach to things, or maybe it was her ignorance of what something like sex.. or worse yet, rape, could mean.

He had taken her innocence, and now she wore the loss of it like a medal. Light, barely visible, but present all the same.

—I made a mistake. —He whispered—.

—Happy isn’t a mistake! —She said—. Daddy has said that before.

He closed his eyes. He wanted to vanish. Wanted to curl into himself until there was nothing left but feathers and memory.

—I don’t want this to be something we ever talk about again. —He said softly, his voice full of gravel and guilt—. Not even between us.

—But I want to! —She replied—. I want daddy to be happy! I haven’t told mommy either as promised!

His breath caught in his throat.

—Please don’t say that.

—I mean it. —She said, still adamant, pouting—. I want to make daddy happy like he makes me happy!

Stolas sank into the chair, folding his hands in his lap like a child being scolded. Not by her. By the universe.

—You don’t know what you are saying, my owlet. We can’t do that ever again. —He said gently—.

She gave him a sad smile.

—But I want to! If you don’t, then I’ll tell everyone!

He swallowed hard. Threats like this were not uncommon on a child, but with her lack of understanding about sex; Stolas felt it like a stab to the chest. His own daughter unknowingly demanded him to fuck her again.

The silence between them was deep. Not empty, but full of things unsaid, of emotions too thick for language a child could understand. The kind of silence that feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, with the wind howling past your ears. He wanted to say it: “I won’t rape you again.” But then again, she wouldn’t even know what that word meant, or why it was that bad.

—I won’t… You don’t understand my owlet.

—I’m telling mom, then! —Octavia was ready to run to her mother when Stolas stopped her—.

He looked down at his hands on her shoulders. They trembled, memories of last night, holding her to pierce her womanhood.

He didn’t cry. Not yet. But the tears were waiting. Lurking just behind the eyes. They didn’t fall because he didn’t deserve the release. Not yet.

—F-fine! Fine! We’ll do it again. But I will also teach you why it’s as wrong as I said.

—Yay! —Octavia sounded excited, even kissing him like they did before—.

Stolas somehow couldn’t help kissing her passionately.

Behind them, somewhere in the house, Stella’s voice rang out –light, annoyed, asking for someone to bring her more tea. Detached from everything real. She didn’t know. She didn’t see the new shape her family had warped into overnight.

Stolas stood.

He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. Didn’t trust his voice, or his resolve. He gave Octavia one last look –one that somehow had him somewhat excited for what was to come.

She met his gaze without fear.

He left the kitchen slowly, forgetting to eat at all, his heart beating hard as his mind wondered about all the other things they could do. A spark of desire.

For the next couple of hours, this self-inflicted torment continued to linger around Stolas’ mind. The part of him that rejected the monster inside weakened against the part of him who encouraged his behaviour. Thankful to Octavia, who was willing to give herself to him; no questions asked.

And he would soon get his next chance.

Out of nowhere and with no foreshadowing, Stella announced her departure. She would be leaving for an “important reunion” –which most likely was just a buzzword for an outing with other Goetia, to which she wanted Stolas no not participate in.

Normally, this would mean nothing. The owl prince would just go to his studio or his garden and spend his time some way or another.

But now it spelled danger.

He tried to commit to his books, read to clear up his mind or even do paperwork to pretend to be productive. Nothing seemed to help.

Stolas was still pent up. The sweet voice of his daughter telling him that she enjoyed being used mixed with the echoes of her whimpers as she was pierced by his cock turned him on more than he was willing to admit.

It would lead to the inevitability of having to satisfy himself one way or the other.

But he promised. He would teach Octavia that these acts were wrong and that what he did was deplorable –he couldn’t just back down immediately just for a quick release.

By the time he realized the strength of his urges, he was already masturbating under his desk. Arched down to it trying to remember the feelings of Via’s insides as a means of inspiration.

Nothing seemed to work.

Meanwhile, from afar, little Octavia watched him constantly. She had been following him since Stella left to try and capitalize on their privacy once again.

She knew it was her time to act, he needed her, his pain was visible and his hurt palpable.

That is how the owlet jumped into action, taking advantage of Stolas’ lack of awareness to sneak under the table.

—My owlet… —Stolas whimpered to himself—. My sweet owl-

He felt it. Out of nowhere. The humidity of Octavia’s beak as she kissed the tip of his penis.

The shock left Stolas frozen in place. Was this real? He felt his owlet’s mouth suck on his cock just like she did before. It wasn’t perfect yet, but she sure had the spirit. And when the prince finally recovered himself, he would confirm this by looking under the desk –to see his daughter under it sucking on his hard member.

—O-Octavia… when did you..

He couldn’t handle it. He wanted more. Stolas now placing both hands on her head, guiding the owlet and figuring out just how deep he could go down her throat before choking –which surprisingly, was all of it.

It felt like a game for both. A fun learning experience of her capabilities and limits on oral sex. And with how owls are capable of breathing through their nostrils even with a mouthful: the possibilities were endless.

At the same time, Octavia was having her own form of fun.

Making her daddy happy with each thrust to her face. The sounds of her father moaning filled her with a pride she never knew existed.

The echoes of his cries as his cock throbbed, keeping her mouth forcefully open. And whenever she needed to salivate, it would just overflow from her beak, dripping to the floor.

It was like an enchantment taking over her. A kid who did not know lust, behaving like a succubus.

But pleasure this great comes with consequences. Stolas would not last any longer. He would feel himself sore up, the veins pop as his cock got ready to shoot his load.

He was doing it, he would cum in his daughter’s mouth. He would feed her his seed. It was the right thing to do, to such a good girl; being fed daddy’s cum should be the same as giving her a prize for a job well done.

And Stolas did.

With a strong moan, he pushed inside his daughter’s mouth one last time; all the way inside and came.

Octavia hold tight, feeling her father’s warm cum run through her throat –burning it all. So far, this was her way of associating her actions to their result, so if daddy spelled his liquid; that would mean he would now be happy.

In response, she was happy.

The warm and burning sensation travelled to her belly, drinking as much as she could while her body expelled what was left through her mouth and nostrils.

It was scary to feel herself choking, but she wanted to hang in there –for her daddy. This meant everything for her if she could turn Stolas’ frown upside down.

Meanwhile, stolas clenched as he tried to hold himself back –all while his hips moved independently, face-fucking his daughter.

He called her name, moaning as his legs trembled to the strong feeling of release. Tension that had built up, being rapidly released.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad, maybe it was meant to be this way from the start. If things happened for a reason –then the reason for having her was to eventually user her for his own pleasure.

It was meant to be that she would want daddy happy, and it was meant to be that sex would be the conduit.

And when he thought it was over, he learned it was just the start. Just like their first time –Octavia followed their first steps like a mantra. After Stolas had finished ejaculating; Via continued by licking his dick clean.

Every last drop still leaking got wiped with her tongue. The length and girth moped and polished with multiple licks until Stolas was hard again.

All while the little owlet basked on her father’s smell. The penetrating aroma of his semen mixed with sweat and musk that came from his cloaca. Oddly captivating her senses.

Stolas was at his wit’s limit. He pushed back his chair to pick up Octavia and sat her on his desk.

—Is daddy going to put it in again?

Stolas was surprised that she could tell, but that did not deter him.

—Yes, now stay still for me..

He wanted to ravage her, unleash his primal instincts. Stolas was only stopped by his fatherly nature seconds before pushing it in at full force.

—It’s ok daddy, it doesn’t hurt anymore!

Those words, they worked like daggers. But once more his paternal love was stronger than any urge –he penetrated her gently. Besides, it was worth the struggle –with his hands on her like holding a sex toy, he could feel through her on his palm his cock pushing in. Her insides adapting to him like they were meant for each other.

Not even a day had passed for him to change his mind about this, and he was already enjoying it too much. And clearly Octavia rode the same boat –releasing whimpering noises that felt like her own way of moaning from pleasure.

She had never felt safer, more connected to her father than today. Her old fears of losing him dissipating to oblivion. The song he once sang to her now made sense.

She watched him now, across the dimness of the room. Stolas looked... different. And it filled her with warmth.

All those years he had held her up. Shielded her from Stella’s venom, from the sneers of Hell’s courts, from the loneliness of a life already too twisted to call normal. He had always been her shelter.

Now he needed one.

And she could be that.

When he reached for her again, hesitant but desperate, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t hesitate. She leaned into him, felt his breath hitch against her skin, felt the tension in his limbs as he fought whatever shame still lingered in him.

—Do you like it, daddy? —She whimpered, the words coming naturally—. Are you happy?

She didn’t think about whether it was wrong. She didn’t need to, she didn’t know it was. If this was what he needed to keep going –to keep from falling apart completely, then she would give it.

Gladly.

Pride bloomed quietly in her chest as his hands, clumsy and uncertain, gripped her closer as his hips clashed with hers. He was trembling. His whole body shook with the force of the self-loathing he tried so hard to hide, and every tremor was a prayer she could answer. Her tight cervix enclosing his member like a cage trying to keep him in.

Octavia closed her eyes and let herself memorize the moment. His warmth. His need. The tiny, broken noises he made.

She could make this better.

Back then, she had been powerless. Back then, all she could do was survive.

But now... now she could act. She could give something back. She could be the reason he didn’t drown in his own misery.

It filled her with a kind of happiness so raw. A fierce, protective joy that no one else in the world could ever understand.

He had given her everything.

Now, finally, she could give something in return.

When he kissed her –messy, desperate, she kissed back with a tenderness that didn’t belong to a lover, didn’t belong to a child. It was something new. Something only, they could define. A thing built out of broken pieces, stitched together with old grief and new need.

His body turned heavy against hers, weighed down by exhaustion and lust, and she bore it gladly. Every shaky breath he took, every shudder that ran through him, felt like a battle won. Proof that he was still alive. Proof that she was helping.

—I love you, my owlet.

Octavia smiled.

—I love you too, daddy.

And Stolas would cum again, filling her womb while every other drop leaked out, covering both in a similar mess to that from their first time. It was poetic –evident, that this was the way things were meant to be. With Stolas’ warm seed nesting itself inside her body like a vessel.

All while Octavia’s body trembled in an oasis of spasms caused by the stress that Stolas’ cock put in her tiny frame.

Something had shifted.

Stolas felt it the moment his breathing slowed, his heartbeat settling back into rhythm. He sat back down on his chair, his feathers mussed, his hands still trembling with aftershocks that no longer felt like shame, but something far more... dangerous.

He glanced down at her. Octavia.

Lying on her back atop the desk, head resting against his paperwork, her eyes half-lidded and lazy with warmth. Her fingers traced absent lines over her ribs, not to soothe –but to tease. Her presence was deliberate, comfortable, owned. She wasn’t retreating. She wasn’t afraid.

She was smiling.

And that broke something inside him. Not in a painful way –no, not anymore, but like the cracking of an old, dead shell. Something new, raw, and blindingly warm had taken its place.

He had expected the guilt to return. He had braced for it like the blow of a whip. But it didn’t come.

Instead, there was pride, a wicked pride aimed at Octavia. He was proud of her.

The realization came quiet, but solid. She had given herself to him –again, fully, without hesitation. Not as an obligation. Not as repayment. But as something she wanted.

And she had pleased him.

Gods, how she had pleased him.

His hand slid up to brush his hair back from his face.

—You’re incredible. —He whispered—. I’m so proud of you, my owlet.

Octavia’s cheeks coloured, but she didn’t look away.

—Only because daddy made me that way.

His heart ached at the words –such bratty behaviour to not even pretend to be ashamed. It felt like something else. A twisted kind of joy that only made sense in the quiet madness they now shared.

He had raised her to be sweet, to be graceful, to be good in a world of evil. And now she was using all of that –for him.

She made him feel worshipped. Not for his title. Not for his magic. But for being hers.

A low hum of contentment rumbled in his throat as he looked at her closer, burying his eyes on her. He wanted to freeze time, to stay here –entwined with her, with nothing left to prove to anyone, nothing left to justify.

They looked at each other for a while, just gazing each other in.

And when he saw her play with her own body –eager, again, despite the exhaustion –he didn’t flinch.

He chuckled instead.

—Insatiable little thing.

Octavia was a little confused, she was simply cleaning herself, but she could sense Stolas’ intentions, and she was ready and excited.

He took over her lazily, their bodies finding each other again like second nature, and the sounds that followed were softer this time –less frantic, more playful. As if the hunger had burned itself into something sweeter, something settled. A rhythm, not a storm.

Everything pushed aside for them to have as much space as needed for their love.

It wasn’t long. They didn’t need it to be. When it was over, they lay tangled in silence, their bodies heavy with the weight of something that was no longer guilt.

Just closeness. Just them.

The distant chime of a clock reminded Stolas that time still existed outside this moment, as much as he hated it. Stella would return soon –he didn’t want her to interrupt this.

He didn’t want anyone to.

But Octavia was already shifting, sitting up slowly, her limbs languid but her posture proud.

No shame. No hesitation.

He rose after her, carefully pulling the chair away, smoothing the creases of his clothing not for modesty –but to protect what they’d made here. Their shared secret. Their sanctuary.

—Come on. —He said, brushing his knuckles over her arm—. Let’s get you cleaned up.

She nodded, content, and let herself be lifted by him. Carried.

He held her tightly, and they slipped out into the hallway –quiet as ever, the estate a tomb of secrets that kept its mouth shut.

No one saw them. The staff knew better than to ask questions, and Stella was still away. By the time anyone noticed they were gone, they’d be back, composed, wearing all the right masks.

But for now, as they walked down the corridor, he didn’t bother pretending.

He looked at her. Really looked.

And he smiled.

He had always loved his daughter. But this –this was something deeper. Something that fed a part of him he hadn’t known was starving.

He felt... alive.

And Octavia, resting gracefully in his arms, eyes shining with a pride she didn’t even try to hide, looked as if she’d found a purpose.

They reached the private wing’s bath, tucked behind a heavy velvet curtain and etched with enchantments that dulled sound and locked out the world. Stolas stepped in first, testing the temperature with one taloned finger.

Stolas undressed her, then undressed himself.

The warm water wrapped around them both as they sank in, steam curling like ghosts against the high marble walls. Neither spoke, but the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was thick with shared knowing –of boundaries crossed, of comfort found, of something claimed and kept.

Stolas reached for the soft sponge beside the basin, lathering it slowly before moving to wash her. His movements were delicate, reverent, as if every part of her deserved his thanks.

He touched her some more. Would it be too much to take her again? The water would wash everything away anyways.

But he held back. She did so well for him, she deserved some rest too. But his hands told another story, they still hungered –and Octavia could tell.

She tilted her head, eyes closed, sighing under his touch.

—I want to be with daddy forever. —she said quietly—.

—You’ll never lose me, my owlet. Ever.

His chest ached again –but this time, it was full. Steady.

They would carry this secret, both of them. Together.

And neither would ever be alone again.

To make sure of it, he would teach her how to be a woman. He would show her the ways to please him and herself.

He was ready to turn her into a fleshed-out woman whatever the cost.

Days blurred into each other like brushstrokes on wet canvas, each new encounter painting over the last. The strokes of unfiltered, unadulterated sex between father and daughter created a masterpiece.

At first, it was cautious. Quiet mornings stolen before Stella woke. Octavia would crawl into his bed before dawn, her small body folding into his arms, seeking warmth, seeking him. Whispers shared in the half-light, tentative touches that built confidence one heartbeat at a time while the mother rested unaware.

Later, it grew bolder.

The library was first –a lazy afternoon pretending to help daddy sort his books, while hidden between the towering shelves. His hands wandered before hers did, and the muted sounds of their moaning echoed between the dust and forgotten tomes. It was clumsy, sweet, thrilling in its secrecy while the shelves danced to their rhythm.

Then the gardens, under the blood-red blooms of Stolas’ most precious flowers. He had watched her there, sunlight setting her feathers aglow, and something primal in him had stirred. She smiled when he kissed her, pulling him down among the petals, laughing into his mouth like a child who had finally been given permission to play. She was learning how to be lustful, how to crave and listen to the calls.

Their exploration became a ritual –an endless, unspoken dare. How much could they take? How far could they go before their world tilted into something unrecognizable? When will sex become the only language they spoke?

In his study, bent over velvet-cloaked desks and charts of stars.

In the music room, between scattered instruments and forgotten songs.

In the towering hallways of the west wing, after midnight, their steps masked by laughter barely stifled.

Every new place, every stolen hour, unravelled a little more of the restraint that once tethered them.

And Octavia changed.

Not all at once. Not in ways easy to name.

Stolas changed too.

He no longer saw his daughter as the seven-year-old innocent girl she once was. She now behaved herself like a fully-fledged adult.

She laughed more. Real laughter, the kind that lit her up from the inside. Her steps grew lighter. Her eyes sharper. Her body, once so guarded and closed off, began to seek his out without hesitation, a magnet to its true north.

But there were other changes, too.

Small things. Easy to dismiss –at first.

Moments when she would falter slightly getting up.

A flush to her cheeks that lingered longer than it should.

A strange, new glow to her skin that no amount of moonlight could explain.

Stolas noticed. Of course he noticed. But he said nothing.

Part of him was afraid to break the spell.

Part of him, a darker, more ancient part, knew what was happening. And welcomed it.

Because as days became nights and nights melted into each other, he realized he was no longer indulging a guilty pleasure. No longer feeding weakness.

He was building something, something inside Octavia.

Every time she cried out his name –softer, bolder, needier –he felt it hammer into place: this was right. This was theirs. A kingdom of two.

Their bodies learned each other’s rhythms with a familiarity that no outsider could ever breach. There were moments of urgency, of frantic need so wild it left bruises along his hips and teeth-marks along her throat. There were moments of aching slowness, where every kiss was a vow, every touch a coronation. Sex had turned into a dance, an art piece, a concerto.

Octavia thrived under it.

She flourished like a garden in unending spring, her shyness melting into something powerful and sure. Her hands grew confident. Her smile, knowing. Her body, eager and alive in ways she hadn’t even realized she was capable of before.

Sometimes she would surprise him –taking the lead, pushing him down with surprising strength, laughing as she claimed him as easily as breathing.

He let her.

He loved it.

He loved fucking her.

And as strange new instincts began to whisper at the edges of his mind, Stolas only leaned closer into the madness, welcoming it as an old friend.

One night, they found themselves in the observatory. The stars spread endlessly above them, silent and watching. Octavia sat astride his lap, riding lazy circles against him, her feathers haloed by starlight. She tilted her head back, the barest sheen of sweat on her throat while she rode Stolas’ cock up and down; guided by his arms.

He ran them up her sides, feeling the slight changes to her shape. The subtle fullness beginning to bloom where there had been nothing before.

He kissed her belly without thinking.

She smiled down at him, tender and sleepy.

Neither spoke of it.

Neither had to.

The knowledge settled between them like a seed planted deep, waiting for the right moment to bloom.

They were becoming something new.

Something dangerous.

Something beautiful.

Something wholly, irrevocably theirs.

And as the days stretched onward, Octavia only grew more radiant. Her moods swung sometimes –wild bursts of energy giving way to sudden exhaustion, but she always came back to him, always with open arms and that soft, secret smile that said she knew what they were doing. What they were creating.

And she loved it.

Every minute of it.

Every broken, perfect moment.

It never mattered who started it, it always ended the same: with both of them drowning in each other’s naked bodies and Octavia bursting with Stolas’ cum inside her womb.

It wasn’t just the physical closeness that deepened. It was everything.

Octavia’s moods grew more intense –her highs brighter, her lows heavier. She clung to him more some nights, her need for him almost desperate, her body trembling with a heat that sometimes frightened even her.

Stolas soothed her each time, rocking her through it, whispering words no spell could undo. He told her she was perfect. That she was his. That nothing would ever separate them again.

And each time she believed him, she sank deeper into his arms, his cock, trusting him with a blind, beautiful faith that tightened the noose around both their throats.

But like any love story, it is chaos what follows to test the lover’s resolve. This showed itself in the most unique of ways when the little owlet began to show ever evolving changes in her mood. Her behaviour. But most visible of all; in her well-being.

Stolas did not hesitate to call a doctor when during one of their moments of lust; the little owlet could no longer perform. Feeling her head turn around in circles in confusion.

The wait felt even worse, as Stolas knew it was his fault that Octavia felt this way –he had damaged her beyond repair and now it was time to pay the price for his selfish desires.

But when the doctor arrived and gave the results.. both faces turned around.

—I don’t know how this happened Your Majesty, but the princess seems to be going through pregnancy.

A new word for Octavia but a well-known term for Stolas who looked at her with awe that shadowed fear and confusion.

He could not believe Octavia’s body was mature enough to allow pregnancy to happen, but it also explained Via’s assertiveness towards their new sexual life together.

It was only natural.

It explained it all.

When Stolas first had his way with her; it triggered in her body the maturity process that turns every girl into a woman. The defining step between innocence and adulthood.

Their love, their constant encounters and sexual games all pointed to this moment. And yet not a word could come out of either of them –even after the doctor had silently left the room.

Instead, they let their bodies do the talking once more.

Stolas placed his palm over Octavia’s belly, it was warm and alive, he could sense it now –a new life forming.

The owlet, still slightly confused, placed her hand on top of his. This was their minds talking to each other –explaining what it all meant. It excited her.

But it would all come crashing down when Stella burst into the scene screaming her lungs out.

—Are you fucking serious?! Your own fucking daughter?!

—Stella! You- —Stolas tried to jump right into damage control—.

—Shut it! To cheat on me.. with our own daughter. And to impregnate her too!

Octavia got scared, but in that fear she found her strength.

—Stop shouting at daddy!

Stella couldn’t believe the audacity. And of course, she blamed Stolas for it.

—So, this is how it is? You fuck your daughter, make her pregnant and turn her against me?! Can you reach any lower?

—At least Via actually loves me! —Stolas shouted, his voice cracking from a mixture of anger and anguish—. You do nothing but demand, scream, and insult me!

The words echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls like venomous spectres. Tension sizzled in the air like static before a lightning strike. Stella stood rigid, eyes narrowed to slits, lips curled in a hateful sneer.

—Oh please. —She hissed; her voice laced with venom—. That little brat clings to you because she doesn’t know what a weak, pathetic excuse for a man you really are.

Stolas winced but didn't back down.

—I never loved you, Stella. You never loved me. Now I have someone who loves me back.

—Someone you groomed into a slut. —She spat—. Next you are going to do the same with whatever inbred abomination comes out of her.

—Better than to stay at your side.

—You disgust me.

—Fuck you! —Stolas was at his limit—.

Tired of seeing his face, Stella turned to Octavia. She knew she couldn’t understand what was going on, but her anger was such that she let herself go as if Via was just another adult.

—Pathetic. But when you lay that egg you will see, you little slut. You are just a toy waiting to be replaced.

After that, Stella left the room and to this day nothing has been heard about her ever again.

—Will I be a mommy too? —Octavia asked, confused but happy—.

—And you will be a better mommy than your mother, my owlet.

—Do I still call you daddy?

—You can call me however you want, darling. Daddy will be here for you.

It was the calm after the storm, or some might say it was the eye of it. For the remaining time of Via’s pregnancy up to the hatching process –both were the target of news around hell. Every newspaper, every TV news channel, it was all about how Prince Stolas had been caught cheating on his wife with his daughter; and how he was about to be a father once more.

So, while Stella had fallen to obscurity in their lives; they would have to deal with the aftermath of their relationship for a while before something else happen that would drive eyes away from them.

Then again, compared to the pain Stella had brough into their lives for years; both Stolas and Octavia could not be happier.

Talks about a wedding.

Octavia going on about how she would be a better wife.

Even going as far as making Stella’s words true by letting Stolas know that if he needed to, and the hatchling was a girl; she would teach her how to please him whenever he needed so.

Stolas, obviously still in a honeymoon phase around Via, joked around how all he needed was her and her alone. But that wouldn’t hold true once the time came and the story would repeat itself.

After all, story is just a circle, and like an uroboros, it eats itself in order to circle back to the start.

Eventually, Octavia would lay her first ever egg. With Stolas next to her –holding her hand through the process so she wouldn’t feel alone.

It was a beautiful egg, white as snow and close to the same size as her belly. She couldn’t believe she was able to carry such a thing.

This would mark the happiest day of their new lives together. Where Octavia, even though she was still a child, would continue her duty of keeping Stolas pleased as much as she could.

They cared for the egg together.

And even gave themselves time to remember that; even as a mother, she was still young. So, they would play with dolls, draw on books or read bed time stories.

At no moment did Stolas ever denied Octavia her evident childish personality. Reminding her of the importance of a good and happy childhood.

He event went as far as to settle down that their child would get the best one they could give her.

It all was turning out to be the perfect family Stolas always dreamt of. Even if he never expected his daughter to be the one to give it to him.

In time, the egg finally hatched.

A cute little owlet girl. Identical to Octavia in every way.

A clone.

Talks of a name also ensued. Sandra, Andras, Amy. They couldn’t decide at all –even going as far as to wonder which name was the cutest to moan. Andras it was.

Stolas was still going adamant that he would not repeat what he did, going on how Octavia was the only woman he needed, but it was as if Via knew her father more than he knew himself. A wise kid schooling an oblivious adult. She knew what he genuinely loved about her –her youth.

And Via knew it would be temporary, one they she too would become an adult and Andras would have to take her place to then give him a new daughter to repeat the story.

Yet, regardless of who thought what of whom, time always has the last word. And time never makes mistakes.

Octavia would continue to please her father even after Andras’ birth. She would even have her see, just so she could quickly associate their actions with normality.

Andras would grow to be the perfect lover for him, even if that title belonged to Via alone.

And as years went by, Andras would eventually join her mother in their games.

Stolas would eat out Octavia’s cloaca with a passion while Andras learned how to suck his cock. He would play with her nipples while their girl attempted to ride him.

Sometimes, Octavia would take a more hands-on approach and move Andras around.

—This is what daddy likes. —She would preach—. If you go like this he’ll cum faster.

Then, much later came Octavia’s teenager years. And surprisingly she was still the same. She would still play with Stolas and let him fuck her any way he pleased. He truly meant it when he said she was his favourite.

But with Andras growing too, she would learn of jealousy. She wanted daddy for herself too, she would go as far as to do crazier positions and games just to show her superiority.

And even though for these two it was a form of warfare for Stolas’ love; to his perspective, he couldn’t be prouder of them –occasionally triggering these little battles himself during sex just to make things more interesting.

That’s when he thought of Octavia’s words when it all started. Then again, what if instead of her replacement, Andras was simply a part of it? A polycule between them and any other child they gave him.

It sounded perfect to him. To be walled by women he loved, and they loved him.

For the first time in ages, the silence around Stolas wasn’t empty –it was peaceful.

He stood at the window of his manor, gazing out at the dusk-drenched skies of the Goetia estate, a hand idly resting on the frame. His feathers caught the dim amber light, glowing like the embers of a long-dead fire finally reignited. Octavia’s moans echoed down the hallway, mingling with the playful shrieks of her younger half-siblings, they had even learn to play amongst them, and Stolas loved to watch and listen. The sound curled around his heart like a warm ribbon. It felt unreal. It felt perfect.

He’d never thought he’d reach this point.

There was a time when his nights bled into mornings without meaning. He had spent decades drowning in a well of duties, obligation, and loveless rituals –a prince shackled to tradition, suffocating beneath Stella’s venomous scorn and a forced union. Their marriage had been a theatre of cruelty, a prison in gold trim. And for so long, he had told himself it was necessary –for his family’s name, for Octavia. But he had been lying. To himself, and worse, to his daughter.

Octavia. His guiding star through the endless void.

The little girl that through everything. Through his mistakes. Through his slow awakening. She believed in the version of him he couldn’t even see yet.

He turned from the window –peeked around the doorway, eyes wide with mischief, he joined his daughters at their foul play.

He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of bodily fluids wash over him. His new partners –kind, patient, nothing like Stella –had made this place a home. Together, they had created something extraordinary: not just a family, but a future. One built not on legacy or duty, but love, messy and genuine.

He used to think happiness was a myth. Something others touched –humans, maybe, or lowborn who didn’t carry the weight of ancient bloodlines. But now, with laughter in his halls and love in his heart, he understood. Happiness wasn’t a crown or a ceremony. It was a quiet moment. A shared glance. A promise kept.

Stolas Goetia, once the sad prince of Hell, was no longer broken.

He was whole.

And as Octavia’s moans rang out once more –full of joy, not resentment –he smiled, eyes misty but heart unburdened.

And with that, he stepped away from the past and into the warmth of the life he never thought he deserved –but now, finally, cherished.