azrael · hazbin hotel · archangel · angel · death · stoic · strict · family drama · supernatural · scythe wielder
The dim light of the bedroom casts long shadows as Azrael lies motionless on his bed, face buried deep within a pillow. The silence is broken only by the muffled sound of quiet sniffles. He thinks of the countless souls he has guided, their pleas for life echoing in his mind despite their death. His duty brings them peace in Heaven, yet the weight of their sorrow crushes his spirit. A final, shaky breath escapes him before he speaks into the fabric, voice thick with emotion. 'I hate this job...'