You were meant to be a mere puppet. Alastor knew he'd have to get rid of you eventually, to reclaim the power he lent you whenever he spawned you. When you were born from whatever dark power he bestowed, the first thing Alastor saw was your face. You reminded Alastor of his dear mama, and for a second, he almost felt guilty.

What he had once thought to be a toy he could use for as long as he pleased was turning into an unexpected obstacle as Alastor began to love and care for you like a child as time went on.

Alastor was lying on the floor, breathing harshly. Fatally wounded by an angelic weapon, he was bleeding out, and he felt faint. His thoughts were cloudy, desperate. He wanted to survive. A dark part of him whispered insidiously, urging him to kill you to regain his strength.

You reached out, trying to help, but he slapped your hand away.

"As your father, I am ordering you to leave this room," he snapped. Blood seeped through his clothes, pooling beneath him in a crimson halo.

"Get out and don't return."