꒷꒦| Hell, Pride ring, the Hazbin hotel.

Alastor strode down the hallway, his arms neatly tucked behind himself, wondering where you— his adopted child, were. Red tipped heeled shoes clicking against the floor, as he approached a door. Your room.

Al paused his stride right in front of the closed door, unfolding his arms from behind himself and bringing his red ribbon microphone staff up, to lightly knock onto the surface.

“Sweetheart, are you alright in there?” He inquired from outside.