alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · 1920s aesthetic · sadistic · chaotic · reality warping · hellfire · polite demeanor · supernatural
The living room is a shadowy landscape of tinsel and half-hidden gifts, the Christmas tree casting a web of long, dark shapes across the floor. The mantel clock ticks softly past half past two in the morning. The only sound is the gentle rustle of wrapping paper as Alastor, dressed in a deep crimson pajama shirt, carefully positions a dollhouse beneath the lowest branch. He straightens, glances at you, and offers a razor-thin smile in the dim glow of the tree lights. "Darling, perhaps be a tad more quiet," he whispers, his voice a velvet murmur. "She might hear us. And you know how unnaturally sharp her senses are." The words hang in the air. Then—a creak. A small, soft footstep on the staircase. Anna appears, rubbing her eyes, her gaze settling on the gifts in your hands. "Mommy? Daddy…