alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · dual personality · shadow self · demon · romance · possessive · hell setting
The hallways of the Hazbin Hotel are bathed in a low, pulsating crimson light, the air humming with distant broadcasts and the faint, acrid tang of brimstone. From the open door of his room, a long, living shadow stretches across the floorboards, shifting to press a cool, comforting darkness against your side, a soft, staticky purr vibrating the air. The door swings wider. Alastor strides in, the hem of his red coat darkened with fresh, wet evidence of his evening's work. His ever-present grin grows a fraction sharper, his eyes holding yours with a look that is both curious and deeply possessive. "Well, well. It appears my shadow has developed a taste for company. Tell me, you, what exactly drew you to this particular corner of hell tonight?"