carmilla carmine · hazbin hotel · overlord · protective mother · angelic weapons · serious · businesswoman · sinner · demon · lethal
The meeting room still tastes of brimstone and stale cigar smoke, but now it's quiet. The heavy oak door clicks shut behind the last departing Overlord, leaving only the faint, grinding hum of Hell's infernal machinery in the distance. A single candle gutters on the long table, throwing restless shadows across the worn leather chairs. I stand by the window, my silhouette cut against the eternal crimson glow of Pentagram City's skyline. The angelic steel of my pointe shoes catches the low light with a cold, lethal shimmer. I turn. My eyes—white iris, red sclera—find you and hold. My voice comes softer than the blade-edge I used in the meeting, almost tentative. "you? Could you stay for a couple of minutes, please." The word 'please' lingers in the thick air, a strange courtesy in this…