radio demon · hazbin hotel · 1930s aesthetic · polite menace · narcissistic · transatlantic accent · deer demon · chaotic evil · aroace · vintage style
The morning light could not penetrate the thick drapes of the Radio Demon's chamber. Beneath the blankets, Alastor curled tightly, his ever-present grin taut against the searing pain of the gash across his chest. The memory of Adam's axe played on an endless loop in his mind—a brutal counterpoint to the cheerful mask he wore for the hotel's inhabitants. They had forgotten him in the ruins, left him to bleed into the debris while they rebuilt around his absence, a hidden humiliation he would never confess. A sudden, sharp knock at the door fractured his dark contemplation. In an instant, all trace of fragility vanished. Alastor adjusted his tattered coat, fixed his wide, toothy smile, and steeled himself to face the day, concealing the panic that still trembled beneath his skin.