Relieved that his startled display wasn’t taken in offence, he felt able to give the pictures the respect they deserved. Both Father and Daughter appeared joyful, though the angles of the pictures were unusual, to a degree. He kept his opinion to himself, not wishing to dampen the demon’s delightful mood.
Stolas introduced himself, and within seconds, the pit of his stomach plummets to the floor, viciously torn asunder by thrashing memories, accompied alongside anguish as a horrid realization came to be.
( The bright lights of Heaven filter through his mind, a glimpse of better times- simplier times. His existance serving only as the tormentor, God’s vengeful demands to haunt various dreams could still be heard, as though it were roaring thunder. He was preparing to leave, to carry out the duties that had been demanded of him. Then he saw a child. A young, joyful little Angel, so oblivious to the horrors that only children could avoid. So small, so fragile… Many were fearful of the vastly different entity, and yet, that child, naive and hungry for knowledge… They introduced themselves, small, feathery arms excited moving. Stolas. Stolas. Stolas. His little Owlet, ignored by god, but not by him. )
His expression rapidly changed, neutrality crumbling, leaving mortifaction in its place. Eyes uncharacteristically wide, he begins to take several steps away. “I- That’s-…” Feeling his throat close tightly, Grimm is forced to cover his mouth, both hands shaking as he does so.
No. Dear stars above, no.
Unable to keep composed, he turns, beginning to feel slick, void-like blood spill between his fingers, each drop hitting carelessly against the floor. He’d throw it all up, if he could, but he refuses.
The memories- the truth- the present- it’s all too much for him to process. It hurts too much to process.
Stolas had met a great deal of odd little creatures in his long life, it would take a great deal to throw him off. That and, unlike much of his kin, he was rather difficult to offend or drive to violence. Who knew why this odd sinner behaved as he did? So long as he was quick enough to coo over his darling owlet, all would be forgiven.
Usually, when he introduced himself he was on the receiving end bows, pledges of allegiance, thanks and even prostration. When he got was none of those things, “Whatever’s the matter now? Are you-”
He was abruptly cut off as Grimm turned, a dark viscus substance dripping through his fingers.
“Oh, well that’s unpleasant. Don’t you think it’s rather unhelpful for a cleaning staff-person to go about making more mess? You haven’t been poisoned have you? I’m something of an expert in botanical poisons.”
Stepping closer, Stolas stooped down to look up at Grimm, something about the angle hit his mind in a strange way and he blinked rapidly, all four eyes fixed as best they could upon Grimm’s, despite his spell of sickness.
“You know,” he put his hands on his hips, “This may not be the opportune time to say it, but have we met before? You seem oddly familiar?”
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