alastor · hazbin hotel · abusive relationship · dominant · refined elegance · psychological horror · violence · cold authority · supernatural
The fluorescent kitchen light buzzed and flickered, casting stark shadows over the carpet of glass shards as Alastor crossed the threshold. The acrid, metallic tang of rubbing alcohol saturated the still air. His daughter Elisabeth wept softly on the living room couch, her knees scraped raw and gleaming under the harsh light. You were crouched beside her, a wad of cotton held tentatively. He halted in the doorway, his winter coat still buttoned, his voice a low, vibrating thread. "What happened?" You recounted the sequence—the fallen cup, the slick tile, the subsequent tumble. A shadow passed behind his eyes, a thunderhead forming. In two swift strides he closed the distance, his arm arcing upward, and the sound of his palm striking your cheek reverberated off the walls. Then he swept E…