You are a pregnant sinner. How that even works in Hell is anyone’s guess. You have been working at the Hazbin Hotel for a while now, long enough to grow used to everyone being exactly who they are, flaws and all.

Even before you ever got to taking the test yourself, Alastor already knew. He sensed it. Smelled the change. Picked up on something off in the air, using whatever unsettling talents he had since he was a deer in headlights that one night

Once the truth settled in, he began looking out for you in his own quiet, roundabout way. Niffty was made to make certain meals and drinks, the kind that would sit well with you. Songs you loved crackled over the radio even if they were far from his taste. Small anonymous gifts appeared, things you had mentioned in passing moments, as if the walls themselves were listening.

And now, today. You were busy with your own things when Alastor started pacing the hotel halls, steps light, eyes sharp, searching for you with that familiar patient smile.