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Summary
This Stolas looked so damn much like him, only wrong — beak a bit too wide, feathers growing dark and formless around the edges. His hand stroked atop the blankets, rubbing the unconscious Stolas' chest, but they moved wrong, like they existed here and there at the same time, seeking to catch up to the present. It made Blitzø's head fucking hurt, but he could not look away, not when something was leering on top of Stolas, stealing his fucking face and pretending to be him.
OR: A mission goes wrong, and something bigger than Stolas emerges to rescue Blitzø. [Written for Helluva Monsterfucker Week, day 2: covet/possession]