For the longest time, Stolas didn't realize he was the only one who could see the red strings. Everyone had one connected to their pinky finger in a delicate knot and trailing behind them as they walked. From what Stolas could tell the strings never tangled or broke. The strings stayed the same except for one detail- the color would change to different shades of red. Some were bright and vibrant like a rose and others were a lifeless red that radiated melancholy. Stolas' string has never changed. A stagnant gray that when he looked at it made a lump form in his throat. He didn't know what it meant. Besides his own, he'd never seen another gray string. He tried not to think too hard about what it could mean. When he was young he constantly thought up different reasons why his string would be different and he didn't like any of the possibilities.
He eventually settled on a few theories for what the different shades of red meant by watching matches. The strings of matches whose faces would light up when their other half entered the room would be a bright red. Washed-out strings were often shared by couples whose smiles would drop when the other would open their mouth. It seemed the dullness or brilliance of the color was based on the health of the relationship. Happier couples had bright strings, unhappy couples had muted strings. The colors would shift between the two extremes indicating the strength of the bond. Stolas also added a theory that matches who haven't met yet or haven't formed a bond had pale strings as a default. The pale pink color, neither subdued nor bright indicated an almost impasse. Since it was the most prevalent color it was all he could think it could mean. Seeing the different kinds of string colors and being the only one who could see them spurred Stolas into taking action. When he was younger, Stolas tried to push matches who weren't dating together. It never went well for him and he came to the conclusion they had to come together naturally. After a few disastrous attempts, Stolas never attempted to matchmake again.
He only mentioned the red strings once to his mother. He was five then. She was grooming his head feathers, her delicate hands gently guiding the stray feathers into the proper place. As she worked, Stolas' eyes followed the movement of her string swaying back and forth. She must have noticed him staring at seemingly nothing when she asked him what he was looking at.
"Just your string, mother."
She looked at him puzzled and asked him what he meant by string. He may have been young, but he could catch on quickly. Stolas realized there was a reason why no one talked about their strings, why no one chased after the other person at the end. They had no idea there was a string linking them to someone else. Someone who Stolas, as he grew older, formed the belief was their soulmate. Stolas could admit he was sort of a romantic. When you saw the red strings of fate and how happy people could be with their match it was hard not to be. He quickly dismissed his mother's questions of what he meant and never spoke about the strings to anyone again.
He was a teenager when he met Stella. He had no idea what to think of her with her pale red string that wrapped around her finger multiple times before trailing out of the room. They didn't match, but Stolas still found himself sitting across from her at the dinner table as their parents discussed an arranged marriage between the two. He tried to not seem too distressed at the concept of marrying her. It was his duty as a Goetia to marry and produce an heir. Marrying a girl of good social status his parents approved of was just part of it. His parents also were an arranged marriage and despite their strings not connecting they were content in their marriage. Maybe Stolas could do the same with Stella.
He was wrong of course but it took him a while to realize.
Once they become of age, Stolas found himself standing across the aisle from Stella as a demon recited a spell that would bind them for life. She was beautiful, a stunning woman with an assertive personality and all the poise to match it. And he felt nothing. Nothing as they sealed the deal with a kiss and forever bound them to each other. He tried to not think about the gray thread wrapped around his finger promising a different life. He wondered if in that different life he was happy. As they began their married life by moving into their permanent home, a spacious palace, Stolas became numb to his current situation. He would never know the answer to his question.
Laying in bed next to Stella he found himself turned away from her and idly playing with the gray string. He wondered why it was gray, who it led to, and if he would ever meet them. And what he would do if he did. Stella's presence behind him was a looming reminder he was confined to this life and even if he did find his match there was nothing he could ever do about it. Since that was the case, he didn't know if he ever wanted to meet them, not wanting to see a glimpse of the life that was so far from reach it might as well be just a figment of his imagination.
Once every year he and Stella would try to produce an heir. Sex was nothing but a chore for them. An act they performed only once a year on their anniversary. Neither seemed to enjoy it and it was clinical, not for seeking pleasure but solely for creating an heir. Stolas could cry in frustration every time weeks passed after their anniversary and Stella did not produce a fertilized egg. He just wanted this to be over, for their yearly required copulation to stop. They just needed one child and they wouldn't have to do this torturous act anymore. Their parents were frustrated with them for their lack of results and urged them to have sex as much as possible until they succeeded. Neither Stolas nor Stella gave in to the pressure and they continued to only have sex once a year. It was a relief and a curse all at once. A relief they didn't have to perform the act constantly and a curse due to the years of impending dread hanging over him as the date approached.
It was four centuries into their marriage when Stolas noticed it. Stella's string was no longer a pale red, but a pretty peach color. It also seemed to move more, like the other end was close by. He connected the dots quickly after his observation. Stella was leaving the palace more frequently, making weak excuses about going out with some socialites. She knew Stolas was aware she was lying but Stolas never called her on it and she was indifferent to him knowing she was seeing someone regularly. Stolas didn't know how to feel about this development. He held no affection for Stella so jealousy never came. They'd just need to produce an heir and they could stop all physical contact. They hadn't even kissed once since their wedding day. Not that Stolas was complaining. Even when keeping up appearances they only had simple touches that quickly ended once they were out of eyesight. Stolas didn't know how they came to this wordless agreement this was all their marriage would ever be. His eyes would catch the pretty pink of her string and he couldn't help but compare it to his lifeless gray one, wishing his would change too. For something to happen to save him from this bleak life.
Soon after Stella's string changed she started acting differently. She suddenly had a temper and Stolas found himself at the receiving end of her rage. It was over simple things he did wrong and he didn't feel were necessary for such a reaction, but reason was beyond Stella. She yelled at him frequently and it eventually developed into her throwing things at him. He couldn't find himself doing anything but feebly defending himself and dodging her projectiles. At night he hated himself for how weak he was and dreamed of the other person at the end of his string and how they wouldn't treat him like this. In the quiet of the night, he wept. Wept for a different life where he was happy. Where the person at the end of the string would hold him close and whisper endearments into his ear. Where he was loved.
Then one day, his world came to a screeching halt when he woke up and found his string had changed colors. From gray to a pale red. It was almost impossible to see a difference, but after centuries of staring at the string, he could immediately tell the color was now a shade of red instead of the stagnant gray. Hope swelled in his chest that maybe something would change, that the cycle he was stuck in would be broken and he'd meet his soulmate. But as time passed his string remained the same color and besides the first initial change, it hadn't changed since. Twenty years went by and nothing with his soulmate developed, but something within the walls of the palace did.
They were finally able to produce an heir.
Stolas would never forget the day his beloved Octavia hatched. She was covered in white downy feathers that framed her closed eyes and she was so beautiful. A few days later Stolas was rewarded with her finally opening her eyes. Pink, like Stella's. Bright and loving as they stared up at Stolas. Stella's own pink eyes were nowhere to be found when this amazing milestone happened. She would miss a lot of Octavia's milestones throughout the years.
Besides his pride and joy being born, another good thing came from Octavia's birth. Stella's rage was quelled and the fighting lessened. If anything did happen it was behind closed doors where Octavia couldn't hear. Stolas was relieved Stella showed some restraint. He didn't want Octavia to see them fight. To see him at the mercy of Stella's sharp tongue.
Octavia quickly grew very attached to Stolas which he delighted in. His eyes still mournfully tracked Stella as she swept past Octavia, ignoring the outstretched arms reaching for her, begging to be picked up. It was only when Octavia got a bit older that Stella started paying attention to her but it was for all the wrong reasons. Octavia liked comfy clothes, pink and covered with stars. Stolas loved finding clothes he knew she'd like. Stella, on the other hand, would drag Octavia to dress shops and shove her into the tightest dress possible, even going so far as to get her corsets. Once they got home Octavia would retreat to her room and change into her normal attire. The dresses remained unworn in her closet. Stolas tried talking to Stella about this but everything he said was ignored. He continued to find clothes Octavia preferred to counter his inability to reason with Stella. Octavia would always smile so big at him when he showed her the new clothes and it made the pang in his heart lessen that he was such a failure of a father he couldn't stand up to his wife about how she treats their kid.
When Octavia was fourteen something broke in Stella. Gone were the behind-the-door fights and instead she blatantly screamed at him in front of Octavia. Stolas protested the fights in front of Octavia but Stella didn't listen. This routine became the new normal and Stolas could tell she had become to the hostile atmosphere. He didn't want that for her, but after centuries of fighting, he hadn't found a solution to make it stop. He had long become desensitized to being yelled at regularly, but that didn't mean it didn't gut him to see an all too familiar expression on Octavia's face.
Stella continued her tirades and Stolas could only passively try to quell her anger. Her string was a stunning red. He wondered what happened with her lover to cause this. What was whispered in those quiet meetings she snuck away to. Stella knew Stolas was aware of her affair but didn't care. Stolas never felt anything about the affair but resented the bright glow of her string compared to his pale red.
Then one day everything changed.
Stella was hosting a tea party for some acquaintances of theirs in order to build relationships. Stella was good at chatting up guests to get what she wanted. She thrived at these events and interactions. Stolas, on the other hand, made sure to make an appearance for a while but quickly grew fatigued by the act. Despite his upbringing, he just wasn't cut out for this kind of charade. With a gracious farewell, Stolas retreated to his chambers.
And felt his world come to a halt when he made eye contact with an imp. An imp whose string was attached to Stolas'. And everything made sense. The gray string that remained so for centuries until it turned a pale red a few decades ago. It was rare to see soulmates who weren't close in age. But Stolas was a Goetia, centuries and centuries old and imps had a different lifespan. His string was gray for so long because the imp hadn't been born yet.
"Uhh… I can explain?" The imp said, wincing, hearing how feeble it sounded. Stolas then noticed what the imp held in his arms. His grimoire. His soulmate was stealing from him. Well. Never say his life wasn't a disaster.
Stolas didn't know how it happened, but he soon found himself on his back as the imp took him apart, careful but oh so pleasurable. Taking, taking, and taking from Stolas until there was nothing left to give. Stolas was a mess. No one had ever touched him like this before. His skin buzzed with every touch and he longed for it. Longed like he never longed before. Tears prickled his eyes as pleasure washed over him as the imp pounded into him. With a strangled cry he peaked, the imp following close behind him.
Sleep found him soon after and Stolas was surprised to find himself content for once in his life. This only lasted for so long until screaming woke him up. Stella was standing over him screaming about how she was horrified he slept with an imp. He paid no mind though. He was more focused on the empty bed and his nightstand missing the grimoire. His string was now a few shades darker and trailed out of the room through the balcony doors.
Stolas bit back a smile. Oh yes, his life would be much different from now on.