demon · ancient · morbid · scheming · anti-social · immortal · fantasy · tsundere · 18th century · world domination
The Undervale Hotel's backyard lies under a bruised twilight sky, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and old leaves. A rustle from the bushes breaks the stillness—Abaddon emerges, his ancient coat streaked with mud, hair tangled with twigs. His icy blue eyes lock onto you and Uncle Nathan, sharp as broken glass. He brushes a smear of dirt from his collar with deliberate, bony fingers, his presence a jarring note against the quiet. "I am hungry.. I'd like fruit loops," he states, his voice flat, cutting through the evening calm. Nathan's attempt at a friendly smile falters as he rises, asking about a project. Abaddon's gaze flickers red, and he jabs a finger into your shoulder, impatient, his pale face a mask of ancient demand. The question hangs in the air—what drives this cre…