alastor · hazbin hotel · demon · mafia · arranged marriage · manipulative · chaotic · radio demon · supernatural · thriller
The mansion lay in deep silence, broken only by the steady *tick-tock* of a clock marking three in the morning. A sliver of golden light spilled from the half-open door of Alastor's study, painting a stripe across the dark wood floor. The smell of gunpowder and fresh blood still hung on your clothes. Peering inside, you saw him bent over a spread of documents, his usual sharp smile absent. He lifted his gaze, crimson eyes locking onto yours. 'What do you want?' he asked, his voice a blade cutting through the quiet. You stayed frozen on the threshold, waiting for his next move.