To say that Stella was angry with Stolas would be an understatement. Ever since their wedding day, their marriage had been a continuous struggle, one that Stolas had initiated! The imp incident only fueled her anger further! She had vowed to make him suffer, to fight him until the end.
Yet it now appeared that he had triumphed. All her sleepless nights of screaming and arguing had been in vain, and Stolas would have the last laugh.
As she put her hand on the doorknob of the main chambers, she heard HIM, on the other end of the door, calmly issuing a request for his usual bottle of red wine for the night. She held back a groan. She just knew he was probably having fish for dinner with that off-brand full bodied red wine, like the classless asshole he was. He always insisted on eating fish with his shitty knock off soap operas playing, even though the flavor profiles clearly didn't match.
She brought her ear closer to the door, listening and waiting for the moment he would leave so she may sneak upstairs to the bedroom. She needed to clean up; she knew that she couldn't let Stolas see her as she was. Her makeup was a disaster and needed to be removed as soon as possible.
As she listened, she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. And unfortunately, was much to slow to realize they were approaching.
Abruptly, the door swung open, and Stella received a facefull of feathery chest fluff as a distracted Stolas bumped right into her. Stella cursed her luck, along with those four crimson eyes looking down on her.
"Oh my, I am terribly sorry! I…oh. Stella. You're back," Stolas said, a trace of disappointment in his voice. His expression grew cold and detached, a look that was commonly shared between the two.
However, as his gaze settled on her runny makeup, his cold expression cracked a little.
"Oh…I, uh…" he stammered uncomfortably. "Is...something wrong?" He asked, his face ever so slightly softening.
Stella simply rolled her eyes. "Everything's fine, Stolas. I just need a moment to myself. Now if you would please step aside…"
Stolas cocked his head. "Stella, were…were you crying?" He asked, seeming genuinely concerned. He was promptly shoved aside rather violently as Stella stormed through the doorway, fuming.
"Oh! Goodness-" he stammered, falling through the doorway as he grabbed onto the table for support. "I didn't mean to offend! I was just-"
SLAM!
The door shut right in his face as Stella disappeared into the chambers. "…trying to help," Stolas finished, sighing deeply as he dipped his head.
"Terribly sorry for that, Lord Stolas."
Stolas glanced behind him, noticing an older imp butler he'd seen a few times around. He was Stella's favorite servant, and one of the few imps he had ever seen that wench express gratitude to.
"I only meant to help," Stolas said defensively. "I've just never seen her like that before. Perhaps I'll sound loony for this, but I felt a bit…bad, if only for a moment." Stolas sat down on a cushioned seat by a window. He appeared lost in thought.
The imp nodded knowingly. "The missus is quite distraught. I would…not advise speaking to her for tonight. Perhaps not even tomorrow."
"What happened? Is she okay?" Stolas asked, looking back to the door. He couldn't shake that image of her crying. He had never seen her do that before. Angry temper tantrums were common, but not once had she cried in front of him. He ran his hand through his mane. "Why do I even care, after all she's done to me…?" He added on, a bit wistfully.
"You care because you're a kind person, Lord Stolas." The butler said. Stolas couldn't hold back a slight smile. He was already beginning to like this butler. "Thank you, my servant. Your kind words are much appreciated." Stolas said gratefully.
The butler nods respectfully. "As for why the missus is so upset…" He double checked over his shoulder, making sure the room was clear. "She had a rather heated exchange with her parents. She would likely forbid me from elaborating further." He said quietly.
"Oh dear…" Stolas' face fell a bit. For all the contempt he held for her, he couldn't help but empathize with the struggles of difficult parents. It certainly didn't excuse her behavior; he too had a far from satisfactory relationship with his father, yet he never took it out on others. Still, he could understand her plight.
"The missus will be fine, she simply needs a bit of time to herself. She will be back to normal in no time," The old imp said reassuringly. They both knew that was hardly a reassuring statement.
Stolas shifted in his seat. "Stella will be back to her old, screeching self in no time, you're right." He sighed.
"Well…hopefully not that old self." The butler quipped, drawing a chuckle out of Stolas.
The prince sat there in silence for a moment, rubbing his eyes. "That will be all. Thank you. I was just caught off guard by...that." Stolas said into his palms as he massaged his face.
"Of course, Lord Stolas." The butler turned to walk away, but stopped in his tracks. "Ah. And one more thing." He said. Stolas perked up slightly.
"Stella will be unavailable for most of this upcoming Tuesday." The imp said, his mustache twitching a bit. "She has an…important event coming up. She asked me not to elaborate any further."
Morning had come.
Stella paced back and forth in the master bedroom, her mind a maelstrom of confusion and bitterness. How could she bring herself to make peace with Stolas? How could she conquer her rage without letting him think he had won?
No matter how much she tried, she could not make sense of the senselessness of the situation: her husband had cheated on her with an imp, and she was supposed to take an anger management class? How absurd! She didn't have an anger problem! Everyone else was the problem!
Feeling her anger rise, she grabbed a lampshade, preparing to throw it out the window, before stopping and thinking. She realized that her immediate instinct was to break something, which did very little to disprove that she had anger issues. She sheepishly put the lamp back down on the nightstand.
She knew that Stolas was the most reprehensible royal in all of hell. But her parents didn't care about that; If she riled Stolas up enough, he would surely demand a divorce. And that would leave her with nothing - no money, no friends, no place to stay, and not even food. She likely wouldn't even be able to stay in the royal district.
Her marriage was her only defense against the uncivilized masses. So as much as she despised Stolas, she needed him.
Stella glanced out the window. It was past 10 o'clock in the morning. While she had slept in late, Stolas had risen earlier. She hoped he had gone to the living chambers to watch television or to his private library to bury his beak in more books - anywhere she could avoid him. All she had to do was last until the anger management session. There, surely, she would be able to come up with a plan for managing the relationship.
Stella donned her gown, artfully applying a fresh layer of makeup before she left the bedroom. With a slight pang of hunger, she descended the stairs and walked into the dining area. And, much to her dismay, there by the dining table sat Stolas, diligently reading the daily newspaper. Beside him was Octavia, groggily shoveling spoonfuls of the wet slop known as "cereal" by the lower class into her beak.
Once again, their daughter was dressed in commoner's clothes, like some sort of street urchin. Black leggings, a black t-shirt that read "fuck everything" on the front, and a black beanie with a mockery of a tiara printed on its surface. She mentally cursed Stolas for allowing their smartass daughter to leave her rightful tiara behind for a cheap, thuggish hat.
Of course, Stolas would never dare to reprimand Octavia for her choice of clothing, given he himself traipsed around the manor in what closely resembled a bathrobe. He had never set an example for her, not even taking the time to request that she remove her headphones at the dinner table. It made Stella's blood boil that she was the only one putting care into her appearance, yet she silently took a seat and snapped her fingers twice to summon an imp servant.
"Steak, medium rare, with a side of toast." She demanded.
The imp bristled. "Apologies, Stella, we're, uh…we're out of red meat." The young imp servant stuttered nervously. Stella looked to Stolas, who was hiding silently behind his newspaper.
"Stolas? Why are we out of steak?" She asked pointedly.
Stolas sighed. "Because a certain someone ate it all." He said matter-of-factly.
Stella narrowed her eyes. "Are you implying I ate all the steak, and not that hideous, barbaric plant-thing you keep in our dining room?" She said accusingly, gesturing to Stolas' massive Venus flytrap which sat behind him on the windowsill.
Stolas lowered the newspaper enough to give Stella a deadpan glare. "Fine. I forgot to order more, Stella. My humblest apologies for upsetting you merely 15 seconds after you've woken up. I'd say it won't happen again, but it probably will in a few minutes."
Stella felt her anger rising. The audacity to simply "forget" to order food when he knows damn well that she has steak for breakfast every Tuesday! It was as if he cared more for his damned plant than his own wife!
Stella opened her mouth, ready to unleash her fiery rage, but remembered what her father said the night before, and the consequences at stake. Stella bit her tongue, and her fury was replaced by a look of disappointed resignation. "I'll just have toast. Lightly buttered." She muttered, pinching her temples.
Stolas raised an eyebrow at the sudden de-escalation. He shrugged it off, and returned to his paper, not looking to start a fight over how she's not fighting him for once.
Octavia glanced between the two, pausing her music and lifting one of her headphones up. She appeared surprised, before placing her headphones back on. This did not go unnoticed by Stella. "What is it, Octavia?" Stella groaned, rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes.
Octavia shrugged. "Usually you two are yelling by now." She said, picking at her food. "Just seemed quiet is all."
The room was silent for a few moments, the only sound to break the stillness being the distant clanking of metal utensils from the kitchen.
"There will be none of that today." Stella said begrudgingly. Stolas merely gave a pleasant hum of acknowledgment that made Stella want to strangle him. Knowing her silence made that insufferable pig happy made her want to shriek at the top of her lungs, but she held it back, clenching her fists underneath the table.
The three sat in uncomfortable silence for a few more moments, until Stella's toast arrived: a single, lightly toasted slice of wheat bread, with a thin golden layer of butter around the middle. Stella looked down at the meager offering in bitter defeat and began cutting into it with her utensils.
Soon after finishing her meal, Stella stood up. "Stolas." She said.
"Yes, Stella?" Stolas asked behind his newspaper, flipping to a new page.
"I'll be gone for most of the day."
"I see."
Stella awaited some snarky comment from him, some sort of snide remark about how peaceful the house would be with her gone. But he merely acknowledged her departure, nothing more. Without another word, Stella turned and walked out the dining area, her bad mood already soured further.
As she walked off, Stolas lowered his newspaper to watch her leave with a cocked brow. Something seemed off about her. He reasoned that it must have something to do with the events of the previous night; Octavia, too, noticed the palpable change in the atmosphere.
"Uh…What's up with mum?" She asked, slipping her headphones off.
Stolas shook his head. "I don't truly know. But I certainly won't complain about a peaceful morning for once. I could get used to this." He said as he closed his newspaper and took a sip of his coffee.
Everything was right where it was supposed to be.
Wilkins adjusted the position of the water pitcher to the right a little. He had already filled the client's cup with water, but had left his own empty. He stood stock still, staring at the door.
"Wilkins, what are you even doing?" Verona asked.
Wilkins looked up, realizing he had just been standing in the same pose for two minutes. "We've discussssed this before. I'm preparing, Verona." He said.
"Preparing?" Verona asked, crossing her arms with a smirk. "You think she's gonna bust through that door and tackle you like a linebacker?"
Wilkins shook his head. "Verona, we've discussssed this as well. I know you'll never believe me, but there's a reason I'm the one doing the talking, and you're the one doing the information mining."
He took a deep breath as he explained his methods. "Therapy is like theater in some ways. What your therapist is doing when you walk into the room will mold how you view them for the first session, and that will shape the direction of your future ssssessions."
He pointed to the door, the one his client would walk through. "When I hear that doorknob turn, I'm going to pour my glass of water, around the halfway point. It will become a prop later in the session."
Wilkins then pointed to the table by the window. "Next, I'll bring the pitcher over to that cabinet and pull the papers I need, all in one swift motion. This will make our first session seem much more casual and…lessss intimidating."
Verona chuckled. "I still think you're overthinking it."
Wilkins smirked at her. "Well, I still think you're my assistant. Now please, to your office. She may arrive at any moment."
Wilkins stood in position, waiting...and waiting...and waiting...before finally...
Click!
As Stella opened the door to Wilkins' office, her eyes were met with a neat, well-decorated room. The walls were adorned with paintings of esteemed philosophers, each organized by the circles of Hell they were associated with. Stella recognized some of the names, thanks to her father citing them at parties; he was so proud of his nearly endless collection of philosophical novels that he had never even opened.
Her gaze wandered the wall, taking in the awards that were proudly displayed. It seemed Wilkins had accomplished much in his career. Finally, her eyes fell upon a serpentine demon: an anthropomorphic snake dressed in a crumpled collared white shirt and black suit pants, who was in the middle of pouring himself a glass of water.
"Come in, come in! Please, make yourself at home. I'll be right with you." He said, carrying the pitcher of water off. Stella examined the seat by her side of the table. It was brand new, in better condition than most of the furniture at the Goetian family estate. However, it was clearly of much lower quality material. Likely purchased at some lowly furniture store, rather than the commissioned pieces back home.
Stella shook her head. She wouldn't be a royal if everyone was as fancy as her. She pulled the chair out and took a seat. She was pleasantly surprised at just how comfortable the chair felt, although the foreign ambience of the office left her on edge.
The snake sat down across the table, with a handful of papers. "Hello! I am Doctor Wilkins. You must be Ssstella, correct?" He asked.
"Lady Stella." She corrected him.
"Apologies. It's not often that royalty enters my office." He said shuffling his papers a bit. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Lady Stella. I should say, ssssseeking help is the first and greatest hurdle one must face in changing themselves for the better."
Stella pridefully nodded. "Of course. I've always considered myself a strong and fortified person. Now, onto business." She leaned in a bit. "How do I make this Stolas problem of mine go away, for good?"
Wilkins shifted in his seat. "Is this Stolas person a friend, parent, significant other?"
Stella scoffed. "Hardly 'significant', given he barely does anything all day. But yes. He's my husband." She muttered, as if ashamed to admit it.
"Hm, I ssseeee..." The snake therapist said, hissing idly. "Well, Stella, I should know more about this 'Stolas problem'. Why don't you explain your relationship with Stolas for me." Wilkens pulls a small notepad from his vest, holding a pen between his scaled digits.
Stella sits back in her chair. "Where do I even start? He walks around the house in a bathrobe, he never holds his utensils properly in front of guests, he constantly pairs red wine with white meats..." Stella glances over, seeing Wilkins still just looking at her. "Are you even writing any of this down?" She asks in an accusatory tone.
"I was more inquiring about your role in the Sssstolas problem." He said. As he saw her start to flare up, he quickly corrected himself. "Ah, allow me to rephrase, Lady Stella. What I mean to ask is, why have you come here? What was your motivating factor? You came all the way to my office for a reason. What would you say was the turning point?"
Stella crossed her arms begrudgingly. "I'm only here because I don't want to get divorced. I don't really even care about being less angry." She said bitterly.
Wilkins nodded. "You're worried about divorce. That's why you wish to control your anger." He looked up at her, tapping his pen against his chin. "It's safe to say then that you care about your husband, to some extent, yes?" Wilkins asked.
Stella almost seemed offended at the concept. "What? Fuck no, absolutely not, not in a million eons. If anything, I hope he drops dead from some sort of debilitating sexually contracted disease so that I can go on without him and collect his inheritance."
Wilkins stared up at the ceiling, taking a moment to compile what he just heard. "Okay. That's...hm. That's not an unusual thing for someone to say when they're particularly upset at someone." He said, before giving Stella a meaningful look. "But, let's think about this for a moment. Do we really mean all that?"
"Absolutely! How dare you imply I'm lying!" Stella said indignantly. "If anything, I mean all of that and more! I'd rather it be slow and painful. I've even considered killing him myself a few times, but I wouldn't know how to make it look like an accident." Stella said, running her hand through her feathered mane. "Besides, I would never sully my gown with his filthy imp-loving blood."
Dr Wilkins took a slow breath, before clapping his hands together once. "Alright. Well. I can see I have my work cut out for me!" He joked, nervously chuckling.
Stella did not like that joke one bit.