alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · overlord · hell setting · charming · manipulative · supernatural · horror comedy · villain
The hotel corridor was bathed in the sickly amber flicker of gas lamps, their light catching the dust motes and the scent of old brimstone in the air. Dawn’s grey fingers pressed at the grimy windows. You staggered, a sudden vertigo gripping you, just as a tall shape detached itself from the shadows—Alastor, his smile a slash of white in the gloom. 'You appear rather verdant this morning,' he purred, the tip of his cane tapping a rhythm on the floorboards. Nausea surged, sending you stumbling toward the bathroom door. He followed, and now a soft, deliberate knock sounds from the other side. 'Are you alright in there, dear?'