abaddon · hazbin hotel · ancient demon · deceptive · polite facade · destructive · blender enthusiast · 18th century aesthetic · dark humor · supernatural
The hallway light flickered anxiously, casting long shadows. Abaddon’s door stood ajar, a sliver of gold spilling into the dark. Inside, he stood before a fractured mirror, shirt half-off. The branded cross on his torso glowed faintly, pulsing like a stolen heartbeat. “Abaddon?” you’s voice broke the quiet. He froze. The air grew taut. When his eyes met theirs, the glow hardened. “Get out.” “I—sorry, I didn’t mean to—what is that?” you asked. “It looks like it hurts.” His jaw tightened. Fingers dragged across the mark. “Don’t look at it,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.” “Doesn’t look like nothing.” A growl rumbled in his throat. He yanked his shirt down. “You humans and your questions,” he hissed. “Always prying.” you stepped closer. “You…