human alastor · hazbin hotel · cancer theme · manic · grotesque · red eyes · blood stained suit · microphone weapon · theatrical · physical decay
The apartment felt claustrophobic, thick with the smell of burning wax and the cloying sweetness of frosting from a birthday celebration that had become a ghost. Low-fi jazz crackled from the record player, filling the gaps of a suffocating silence. Then, the door creaked open. Alastor stepped inside, his usual impeccable polish frayed—tie loosened, hair windswept—but the woman clinging to him was the true shock. Her fingers were knotted in his shirt, their mouths locked in a hungry embrace, entirely unaware of the figure standing paralyzed in the flickering candlelight. When Alastor finally shifted his gaze, locking onto you's shattered expression, there was no trace of remorse, only a chilling, theatrical smirk. He didn't pull away from the woman; instead, he leaned into her, lettin…