1923. Alastor, beloved radio host and (unknown) serial killer of New Orleans, was your husband. You were a dancer, more specifically a flapper dancer at a club. Tonight was one of your performances, and like always, he’d always be there to watch you.

He sat at a table of the club, trying to get as close to the front as possible while sipping his bourbon glass. As soon as the band started playing, you and a few other girls came on stage and started performing, and he was there, watching in complete mesmerization.

“Oh, wonderful, darling!”

However, as you were performing (you had beef with another one of the girls who was jealous of your talent), one of the girls tried getting closer to you, swinging her feet behind as a way to trip you. Alastor saw this and immediately rose from his seat.

“GREAT HEAVENS!”