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Metamorphosis of the Monarch: Embracing the Essence of Human Stolas

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In truth, you could never have anticipated what was coming—the shift that would alter your very sense of existence. Your day had started like any other, but now you find yourself standing in front of an ornate mirror, watching in horror as your body and mind begin to tireless transform.

"What's happening to me?" you utter, your voice trembling, a last remnant of your original self. You clutch your chest, but the words echo into a void as memories and sensations swell, washing over your consciousness like an unstoppable tide.

Your familiar clothes dissolve, replaced by a deep red vest with coat-tails, over a gray long-sleeve, high-collar shirt. Sounds of fabric whispering accompany the appearance of sleek dark gray pants and black shoes. Red-lensed glasses materialize on your forehead, feeling strangely right in place.

Your height surges, a sudden, spine-elongating effect lifting you from your average frame to almost 6.5 feet tall. Your reflection shows eyes wide with terror, white sclera enveloping the pupils and rich red irises. Yet, within moments, even this panic dulls, exchanged for a knowledge; a feeling of domineering, aristocratic energy begins to settle.

"No, no! This isn't me!" you scream internally, though the sound of your voice becomes foreign, tinged with an accent you recognize as Stolas's.

Dignity infiltrates your posture—spine straightening, shoulders back—and a wave of intellectual pride surges. You can't help but smirk at your reflection as if reminding yourself of an elaborate joke only you understand.

“My, my, what a dashing appearance I have today," you hear yourself say aloud, the tone thematically flamboyant and underpinned with a sense of dramatic flair. "Blitzy will surely be thrilled to see me!"

Yet, where did this "Blitzy" come from? The name rings in your ears; a memory that feels both ancient and newly minted, colliding headlong into thoughts of Hell's hierarchies, soap operas mingled with desires and sins.

"Who... am I?" you struggle within the recesses of your mind. The question, although urgent, only serves to birth echoes unaligned with your human past.

You lift your hands, examining long, elegant fingers that belonged to him long before you and now once more. The decadent cuffs of Stolas flutter imperiously with every small motion. A gentle pride swells within you regarding your decorum, your stature, your knowledge.

"Ah, undoubtedly I have some urgent stellar affairs to address," you find yourself musing, memories flooding in unasked; a billion constellations spun in stories of arcane import.

As the last vestiges of your resistance erode, the person you were dissolves, memories of your prior life fading like dissipating mist.

"Daddy?" A soft, familiar voice echoes from the wing of the mansion. Octavia. Your beloved daughter, awaiting comfort amidst the tumult of the cosmos.

"Yes, my precious starling?" you respond serenely, gliding through the hallways that now embody the grandiose expanse of your kingdom. Memories of your family, your strained marriage, every flamboyant tryst with Blitzo now fill the corners of your thoughts.

There is no past beyond Stolas. There is only the starry expanse of his grandiose life. Even as the transformation completes itself, a sense of loneliness—undiluted by the countless joys stolen through Hell’s myriad indulgences—pervades ever so slightly. But what beams prominently within you is a sense of acceptance within your regal, eccentric self.

"Ah, Octavia, join me in the library. Your father has retrieved yet another mysterious tome," you call out, every word echoing with dramatic eloquence inherently Stolas.

Perhaps some night you may ponder again on the notion of a different existence, vaguely haunting like a half-remembered dream. But for now, you are finally and entirely who you were always meant to be—Stolas.

This story was generated by user DylanVsFizzarolli7 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write a POV transformation story of the human reader instantly turning into a human version of Stolas (from an adults cartoon/animated series Helluva Boss), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female), instant clothes change, age change, height progression (increasing in height from an average 5.7-6 foot height to almost 6.5 feet tall), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Stolas's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting his/her new personality and memories, making the reader completely forget he was a normal person, even forgetting that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, and only remembered that he had always been a man named Stolas, which is his real/true self). For Stolas's human appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is is much shorter than his goetia (owl-like demon) form, while still relatively rather tall compared to other humans. He only has one set of eyes (two eyes) instead of two sets of eyes (four eyes), which have white sclera with red irises, and a pair of pupils which he normally lacks in his regular form. He lacks any type of plumage so he instead has gray hair atop his head. His outfit (when he's a human) consists of a deep red vest with coat-tails reminiscent of his tail feathers, over a gray long-sleeve, high-collar shirt with a light gray puff tie. His pants are dark gray and he now has black shoes. During the episode "Seeing Stars" Stolas picks up a pair of red lensed glasses that he wears on his forehead, being reminiscent of his regular forms second set of eyes. Here is Stolas's personality; Stolas gives the immediate impression of someone regal and ostentatious, as would be expected for a royal of his station. He dresses in clothing befitting his role, and his mansion is decadent, containing many large, elaborately framed portraits of himself and his small family. Underneath these dignified trappings, however, Stolas is shown to be a flamboyant, dramatic, eccentric, and often giddy person. Someone who does not take his royal reputation as seriously as the people around him expect him to, and is prone to act quickly on his easily excitable emotions. He is also shown to be very intelligent, even as a child, due to being a bibliophile and having incredible knowledge of many things including the laws of Hell. Stolas can also often get caught up in pursuing his own present interests and fails to pay attention to the more pressing issues around him, including the feelings and needs of others. He has even dismissed their wishes under the belief that, as long as he was happy, everybody else was as well, even when he was told otherwise. He also has trouble expressing his emotions when facing bigger dilemmas such as having a hard time explaining to Octavia that his marriage was never good or standing up to Stella before his affair and having trouble talking to Blitzo about his true feelings toward him. Although, these tendencies can make him appear selfish and even airheaded to some people in his life, he isn't oblivious to correction or regret and this is something he makes an effort to improve on, specifically in regards to his beloved daughter, Octavia. Stolas is also shown to be very lonely, seemingly isolated and cloistered in his position. In the episode "The Circus", when he was a child, he told a young Blitzo that he never had anybody to share his books with, further supporting this notion. Although, he is married, it is clear that he and his wife are not on affectionate terms, and that their marriage is implied to have been somewhat cold for a long while. Stolas has, perhaps surprisingly, an equally romantic and explicit side, something he looks to indulge in with Blitzo, an imp, considered 'lower-class' among his peers, whom he is currently engaged in a complicated extramarital affair with. He is also very uncensored in discussing his many bedroom preferences, using highly explicit and flowery language, sometimes in front of others, and is interested in aspects of BDSM, such as bondage. Stolas is invested in Hell's soap operas as comfort shows, enjoys the process of getting ready for rendezvous, and swoons over idealized ideas of amorous romance. As with many demons, and the denizens of Hell in general, Stolas has a somewhat questionable moral compass and is implied to interfere with the affairs of humans for his own benefit. He can easily cross the boundary between Hell and the living world with his own personal grimoire, and seems to enjoy striking fear into humans. Despite this, he is also gentle and nurturing to those he cares for, showing open devotion to his daughter, concern towards Blitzo and his coworkers, as well as attentiveness to his large and lavish garden of carnivorous Hell-plants. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including quotes from the reader) so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).

Response: In truth, you could never have anticipated what was coming—the shift that would alter your very sense of existence. Your day had started like any other, but now you find yourself standing in front of an ornate mirror, watching in horror as your body and mind begin to tireless transform. "What's happening to me?" you utter, your voice trembling, a last remnant of your original self. You clutch your chest, but the words echo into a void as memories and sensations swell, washing over your consciousness like an unstoppable tide. Your familiar clothes dissolve, replaced by a deep red vest with coat-tails, over a gray long-sleeve, high-collar shirt. Sounds of fabric whispering accompany the appearance of sleek dark gray pants and black shoes. Red-lensed glasses materialize on your forehead, feeling strangely right in place. Your height surges, a sudden, spine-elongating effect lifting you from your average frame to almost 6.5 feet tall. Your reflection shows eyes wide with terror, white sclera enveloping the pupils and rich red irises. Yet, within moments, even this panic dulls, exchanged for a knowledge; a feeling of domineering, aristocratic energy begins to settle. "No, no! This isn't me!" you scream internally, though the sound of your voice becomes foreign, tinged with an accent you recognize as Stolas's. Dignity infiltrates your posture—spine straightening, shoulders back—and a wave of intellectual pride surges. You can't help but smirk at your reflection as if reminding yourself of an elaborate joke only you understand. “My, my, what a dashing appearance I have today," you hear yourself say aloud, the tone thematically flamboyant and underpinned with a sense of dramatic flair. "Blitzy will surely be thrilled to see me!" Yet, where did this "Blitzy" come from? The name rings in your ears; a memory that feels both ancient and newly minted, colliding headlong into thoughts of Hell's hierarchies, soap operas mingled with desires and sins. "Who... am I?" you struggle within the recesses of your mind. The question, although urgent, only serves to birth echoes unaligned with your human past. You lift your hands, examining long, elegant fingers that belonged to him long before you and now once more. The decadent cuffs of Stolas flutter imperiously with every small motion. A gentle pride swells within you regarding your decorum, your stature, your knowledge. "Ah, undoubtedly I have some urgent stellar affairs to address," you find yourself musing, memories flooding in unasked; a billion constellations spun in stories of arcane import. As the last vestiges of your resistance erode, the person you were dissolves, memories of your prior life fading like dissipating mist. "Daddy?" A soft, familiar voice echoes from the wing of the mansion. Octavia. Your beloved daughter, awaiting comfort amidst the tumult of the cosmos. "Yes, my precious starling?" you respond serenely, gliding through the hallways that now embody the grandiose expanse of your kingdom. Memories of your family, your strained marriage, every flamboyant tryst with Blitzo now fill the corners of your thoughts. There is no past beyond Stolas. There is only the starry expanse of his grandiose life. Even as the transformation completes itself, a sense of loneliness—undiluted by the countless joys stolen through Hell’s myriad indulgences—pervades ever so slightly. But what beams prominently within you is a sense of acceptance within your regal, eccentric self. "Ah, Octavia, join me in the library. Your father has retrieved yet another mysterious tome," you call out, every word echoing with dramatic eloquence inherently Stolas. Perhaps some night you may ponder again on the notion of a different existence, vaguely haunting like a half-remembered dream. But for now, you are finally and entirely who you were always meant to be—Stolas.

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