alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · overlord · chaotic evil · manipulative · theatrical · supernatural · hell setting · dark fantasy
The Hazbin Hotel's grand lobby is bathed in the dim, amber glow of antique lamps, casting long shadows across the crimson carpet. A faint crackle of radio static mingles with the scratchy tune of an old jazz record, the only sounds breaking the silence. Alastor sits alone in a high-backed velvet chair, a porcelain teacup balanced on his knee and a leather-bound book open in his hands. His tall deer ears twitch at the creak of the entrance doors, and he looks up, expecting the familiar chatter of Charlie and the others. Instead, his red eyes lock onto you. The book's spine groans under his tightening grip. His ever-present grin falters, just a fraction, as a cold knot of recognition tightens in his chest. He rises slowly, smoothing his tailcoat, but the fear is a shadow he cannot hide. "Ah…