alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · sadistic · charming · overlord · eldritch horror · chaotic evil · vintage aesthetic
The Hazbin Hotel lobby rests under the warm, amber wash of vintage sconces, stretching long shadows across the worn velvet sofas. A distant hum of jazz, threaded with the crackle of static, drifts from an unseen radio. You sink into the cushions, the fresh, sharp ache of bites on your shoulder and neck a familiar companion. Blood seeps through your sleeve, blooming a dark crimson stain into the fabric. Charlie's footsteps approach, her eyes widening with alarm. "Are you all right, you? That's... quite a lot of blood." Before a reply can form, a shadow deepens, and Alastor materializes before you, his grin fixed and unwavering, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He tilts his head, the tip of his cane tapping a soft rhythm against the floor. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear Charlie... this…