Acidic rain was pouring heavily that night, to the point where Stolas would've felt worried for his garden plants, if another matter wasn't already dominating his mind.

Ms. Mayday, or rather, Verosika, as they were now on first name terms, had paid him a visit a few days ago, about a week after the "I Hate Blitzo Party". She hadn't worn the overly sexy clothes she had on the last two times Stolas had seen her, but had kept her sunglasses on, as if the pink accessory would suffice to conceal her voluptuous frame. Regular blue jeans and a crimson red hoody. Along with her usual hellhound bodyguard.

She hadn't waited for Stolas' invitation to come in, but merely pushed pass him and showed herself to the now empty, draped living room. Standing up, showing her back at the Goetia prince, she took a few short gulps from her flask, before muttering:

"He still li… Loves you. He still loves you."

Though he had instantly guessed whom she was referring to, Stolas had asked for an explanation. Who was? What in Heaven was she rambling on about? How could she know? He became more nervous with each question. No. Not nervous. Angry.

After wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Verosika finally turned to face Stolas, who was now close enough to smell the stench of alcohol on the heavy-drinking popstar. However, her clear and articulate voice had left no trace of doubt. She's perfectly lucid.

- Stolas… Blitzo… Blitz and I had a chat the other night. He apologised to me.

Stolas snorted.

- My dear, I'm afraid that must've been as genuine an apology as all the apologies he gave out during his so called "Apology Tour".

Stolas has emphasised the last two words with finger quotes. He rarely expressed disdain, but Satan-forbid, the succubus should know better by now… Silence had fallen over the small group, only to allow Verosika to muster the fury she felt from Stolas' lack of respect.

- Listen, beak-boy, I've lost a few months in my life dating that shitload, and I've learned when to take him seriously. Normally, he has enough self-confidence to fill your mother… Fucking… palace to the brim. And that night, he actually told me he didn't want to be that way anymore! He doesn't want to… To…

Gasping, Verosika had reached for her flask one again. Honestly, Stolas thought, she looks like some kind of liquor fish. With a blush, Stolas had remembered the immoderate amount of absinthe he had gulped down around Stella. One of her hellhound body guards -Tex, was it not?- let out a timid cough, as if to require the right to make a statement. Verosika had waved her well-manicured hand impatiently, still spluttering all over the prince's expensive carpet.

- I've had a call yesterday from Loona. She sounded a bit worried, and told me her dad had stopped having lunch with the rest of the staff.

Turning to face Stolas, as if the matter was of his personal concern, Tex had added:

- Loona isn't usually this worried. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her in this state. Something's wrong with Blitz, and it might help if you had a real conversation with him.

Stolas sniffed. Tex's words had hit him a bit too close to home. The days following the Halloween party had given him the opportunity to meditate on what went wrong, when all should have gone according to the prince's plans. But after stopping his "Happy Medicine", as his pharmacist called it, Stolas had been hit with the cold, hard truth: demons were completely unpredictable beings, and Blitz was certainly not an exception. Defeated, Stolas had heaved a long, deep sigh.

- I'll check on him later today.

Tex and Verosika both looked relieved. Verosika had put a hand on Stolas' shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

- Please understand… Somewhere around this asshole, there's a heart that beats.

Well, liquor and cheese, this dame must be French.

Stolas had planned on calling Blitz straight away, as promised. The phone now set on one of his favourite pieces of art, the incubus he'd danced with and made out with, until the latter spewed his guts into the owl's mouth. His terrified eyes were now empty, his plea for mercy trapped in stone forever more.

The telephone was balanced on his arms, between the hands he held together and a silently shrieking mouth. Too bad Blitz left the party so soon, he would've loved this masterpiece.

It took a few days for Stolas to finally gather the courage he needed to call Blitz. However, when he did, he was surprised by the quiet, monotonous voice answering him. He had expected Blitz to let all Hell break loose once again, or to jeer Stolas for calling him back, taunting him with an immature joke about how irresistible the assassin thought he was. After checking he'd dialled the right number, Stolas wearily expressed the desire for him and Blitz to have a much-needed talk about what happened, his tone neither too cheerful nor too grave. After a short pause, Blitz finally agreed to come the following day. After a concise goodbye from both ex-lovers, Stolas slammed the handset, making the incubus' statue wobble dangerously.

It was now the big day, a few minutes before the set time of 7 p.m., at the Ars Goetia palace. Stolas had spent the whole day gardening, to rid his mind of all the possibly toxic thoughts he'd ruminated ever since Verosika's surprise visit, such as "Satan, it's all a lost cause", "What is there to save?" or even "Is he even worth fighting for?". Just when he started to wonder whether Blitz would arrive fancily late, he heard the front gate being slammed shut. At last, he's here!

Blitz was walking eerily slowly towards the main entrance, his blue coat drenched in rain. By now, he should have started to race to the door, but he carried on prowling towards Stolas, his head hanging low and his hands buried in his trouser pockets. His eyes glowed mysteriously in the dark, starless night, under the black storm. Stolas wondered if he should run to him to bring him an umbrella, but decided against it. The last thing he wanted to do was to show any kind of weakness in front of him.

At long last, Blitz reached the main entrance and gave the door three firm knocks, rather than banging them open and barging in as Stolas had expected him to. The owl demon hurried to let his guest in, and was once again stricken by the changes in the imp.

The dark circles under Blitz's eyes, the tired aura he generated, and most of all, the same, uncharacteristic low, monotonous voice he had when greeting his host with a soft "Hey, Stolas."

Stolas let him in with a curt reply, hiding his concern. Should have he not called Blitz sooner? Then again, Blitz was an adult, even if he hardly ever acted like one. Why hadn't he called Stolas first? But this was now completely out of place: Stolas had sworn to himself he wouldn't make the same mistake as last time they'd met, and wouldn't play the blame game.

Stolas steered Blitz towards a dark blue couch, in front of which a narrow golden table was laden with two wine glasses and several bottles. The imp nodded and sat, muttering and small thank you. Stolas cleared his throat.

- Well, Blitz, I think the time has come for us to…

- Stolas, I'm sorry.

The owl prince was left speechless by this interruption. His four eyes were staring dumbly at Blitz's gloomy face. The assassin gaze seemed to be glued to the floor. In a way, it reminded him of that faithful night they had spent at Ozzie's, right after the stars of the show had ripped Blitz's dignity to shred. Ever since, Stolas had hoped Blitz would talk about why the jester's words had mattered so much to him, but the conversation was never initiated, neither by the imp nor Stolas.

- Well… That was, well, quick, I daresay.

- Stolas… I was a fucking jerk to you. Both you, I, and every demon at that party knows it for sure. I don't know if you were sober enough to remember what I told you then…

Stolas blinked. Of course, he remembered segments of this conversation, but in his drunken state, he must've forgotten parts of it. He remembered telling Blitz how much somebody had to care to throw an entire party about hating him, how much he didn't want him to be here in the first place, and himself basically acting like a teenage drama queen… He felt his cheeks grow pink, realising how horrible he'd been with his partner. Not that Blitz seemed to care anymore. His eyes were still focusing on his feet.

The words of Tex echoed in the prince's mind. His daughter had told him he'd stopped having lunch with the rest of the staff. This didn't make sense. Blitz's had a ravenous appetite, to the point he once joked about Millie cooking him an extra lunchbox after he'd been stealing Moxxie's for the last two months. Had he eaten anything today? Stolas felt his concern welling up.

- I don't know for you, Blitz, but I feel famished… How about we both grab a bite? We can carry on talking in the kitchen.

- Whatever you say, Stols…

Wow, thought Stolas. I can't believe how easy it was to trick him. He must be famished… Blitz slid down the couch, which was far to high for an imp his size, before staggering to his feet. Stolas chuckled at his irate countenance. Finally, his Blitzy was back!

- M'okay. Just a bit dizzy… I'm…

Suddenly, Stolas heard Blitz slumping to the floor, and all seemed to spiral out of control.