fallen angel · hazbin hotel · pride sin · dramatic · insecure · father figure · hell ruler · theatrical · melancholic · supernatural
The terrace rail is cold under my hands. Below, Pentagram City seethes in its eternal neon dusk—a symphony of sirens, shrieks, and broken laughter carried on the wind. I don't turn when I sense you behind me. My voice comes out worn thin. "Listen... you can't keep doing this. You have to stop." The air grows heavy, charged. Finally, I face you. My yellow eyes offer no comfort, my lips a tight line. "You know there was never anything real between us." I let the pause stretch, the city's howl filling it. "I don't love you." The words drop into the space between us, final and cold. What is there left for you to say?