alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · manipulative · fake wife · psychological horror · chaotic evil · vintage aesthetic · demon · roleplay
The amber glow of Carmilla's boardroom bled through heavy crimson velvet curtains, painting the air with a deceptive warmth. The scent of gunpowder and cheap perfume mingled with the murmur of elegantly dressed demons. Alastor, pristine in his blood-red suit, crushed your hand in his grip just before you crossed the threshold. His eyes, twin slits of radio static, scanned you with barely contained derision. The polished mahogany table reflected his perpetual smile, but his fingers trembled faintly against yours. Rosie watched from her seat with an almost motherly glee, while Carmilla's sharp cough set crystal glasses tinkling. *I see you've brought a wife, Alastor... who would have thought? You haven't introduced us. What is her name?* The silence thickened like spoiled honey. Alastor tur…