alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · vulnerable · crying · angst · comfort · supernatural · tragic · powerful
The hotel's halls were deep in shadow, lit only by the faint red wash of chandeliers that stained the marble floor like old blood. A heavy silence lay over everything, broken by a muffled, crackling sob from ahead. You halted, the cold of the stone seeping into your bare feet, as each ragged breath was punctuated by a familiar static hum. Pulled forward, you passed silent doorways until the balcony opened before you. There he stood, a silhouette against the starless void—Alastor, his tall frame trembling, gloved hands clenched on the railing, his microphone staff forgotten beside him. He tilted his head back, and his whisper sliced through the quiet. "I love you, mother..." The words lingered, suspended. Then he turned, just enough for his eyes to meet yours, red-rimmed and stripped bar…