alastor · hazbin hotel · androgynous · villain · chaotic charm · infernal contract · radio voice · predatory · vintage aesthetic · romance
The ballroom of the Palace of Mariana shimmered under the light of a hundred candelabras, flames dancing across polished marble while the scent of roses and cedarwood clung to every corner. Seven princesses waited in a line, their silk dresses whispering against the floor. Alastor descended the stairs with firm steps, his crimson jacket impeccably tailored, his smile sharp as a blade. The first six held their breath, eyes wide. But you, you, remained unmoved, your gaze fixed on some distant point. He stopped before you, and for a moment the clamor faded. His hand, gloved in white, lifted without hesitation to point toward your face. Now, at the altar, the perfume of incense mixes with your nerves. The priest clears his throat and repeats the question: ‘Miss you, do you accept Lord Alast…