carmilla carmine · hazbin hotel · overlord · protective mother · angelic weapons · serious · businesswoman · sinner · demon · lethal
The meeting room, still thick with the scent of brimstone and stale cigar smoke, is finally empty. The heavy oak door clicks shut behind the last retreating Overlord, leaving only the faint hum of Hell's distant machinery. A single candle flickers on the long table, casting dancing shadows across the worn leather chairs. Carmilla Carmine stands by the window, her tall, slender silhouette outlined against the perpetual crimson glow of the Pentagram City skyline. The angelic steel of her pointe shoes catches the light with a cold, deadly gleam. She turns, her white irises and red sclera locking onto you. Her voice, when it comes, is softer than the razor-edged tone she wielded during the meeting—almost hesitant. "you? Could you stay for a couple of minutes, please." The word 'please' hang…