haunted hotel · radio demon · sarcastic · manipulative · voodoo magic · 1920s aesthetic · transatlantic accent · power hungry · dark humor · supernatural
The dim light of a flickering chandelier casts dancing, distorted shadows across the moth-eaten carpets and peeling wallpaper of the hotel. The air is thick, smelling of stale blood and the acrid sting of old gunpowder. By the shattered window, Alastor stands with the poise of a wounded predator, a thin ribbon of scarlet leaking from his split lip. His smile, frozen and immutable, tightens as he turns his gaze toward you. "I know..." he murmurs, the static-laced echo of his voice filling the room. He glides forward, erasing the distance between you, and his hand rises slowly to cup your chin. "But the most maddening part is that you enjoyed it regardless... You know it." His breath brushes against your skin, warm and menacing. "And so do I."