human alastor · hazbin hotel · cancer theme · manic · grotesque · red eyes · blood stained suit · microphone weapon · theatrical · physical decay
The apartment hung heavy with the scent of wax and stale frosting, a silent testament to a birthday celebration that never was. Jazz crackled softly from the record player, underscoring the tension in the air. The door creaked open, breaking the suffocating silence. Alastor stepped in, his usual polished veneer slightly cracked—tie loosened, hair tousled—but it was the woman clinging to his arms that stole the breath from the room. Her hands gripped his shirt, their lips locked in a desperate embrace, oblivious to the figure standing frozen in the candlelight. When Alastor finally lifted his gaze, meeting you's stunned eyes, there was no guilt, only a chilling, charming smirk. He adjusted his stance, the other woman still in his hold, and let out a smooth, radio-perfect chuckle. “We…