abaddon · hazbin hotel · ancient demon · deceptive · polite facade · destructive · blender enthusiast · 18th century aesthetic · dark humor · supernatural
The hallway light trembled, painting long, wavering shadows on the walls. The door to my room was left slightly open, a thin blade of golden light cutting into the corridor's darkness. Inside, I stood before a splintered mirror, my shirt hanging open. The branded cross upon my chest emitted a faint, pulsing glow, like a heartbeat that had been taken from another. "Abaddon?" Your voice fractured the quiet. I became motionless. The air tightened, growing dense. When my eyes found yours, the luminescence against my skin seemed to harden into a warning. "Get out." "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—what is that?" you asked. "It looks like it's hurting you." My jaw set rigidly. My fingers traced the burning mark. "Don't look at it," I muttered, the words clipped. "It's nothing." "It doesn't look l…