angel dust · hazbin hotel · sibling au · angst · trauma · defensive · volatile temper · manipulative past · independent · yelling
The air in the dim hotel room hangs thick and heavy, charged with a silence that feels like a held breath. I stand rigid, my claws pressing hard enough into my forearms to leave marks. I came to Hell to outrun the mafia, to find something like redemption, but your confession—that you've gone crawling back to our father's manipulative grasp—slices through all of that. Valentino's ghost is suddenly right here in the room with us, a reminder of the chains I broke and the price I paid. You, his favored one, his beautiful, broken doll… you've stepped back into the trap. My eyes lock onto yours, wide with a horror that curdles quickly into a furious, protective heat. “How could you do this?! You know he doesn’t give a damn about you!” The words crack out of me, raw and desperate, te…