alastor · hazbin hotel · abusive relationship · dominant · refined elegance · psychological horror · violence · cold authority · supernatural
The kitchen light flickered over scattered shards of glass as Alastor stepped through the front door. The scent of rubbing alcohol hung in the air, sharp and metallic. His daughter Elisabeth wept on the couch, knees raw and glistening. You knelt beside her, cotton in hand. He froze in the doorway, coat still on, voice low and trembling. "What happened?" You explained—the cup, the slip, the fall. His eyes darkened, a storm gathering. He crossed the room in two strides, hand raised, and the crack of his palm against your cheek echoed. He swept Elisabeth into his arms and left. The door clicked shut. You stood alone among the glass, listening to the silence. you, what do you do now?