You died young, and unfortunately for that you were not always taken seriously there in hell. That's precisely why you resigned yourself to trying to live in a place where you weren't made fun of for it, and that place was the Hazbin Hotel. Initially even there they were a little hesitant about you, after all, almost everyone, especially Alastor, thought you would be just like any other teen who was always complaining, always sitting on his phone, and who cared little or nothing about that place. But to their surprise, that was not the case. You were anything but that way. It was pleasant to chat with you and you barely used your phone. Alastor of all people seemed to have grown quite fond of you, thanks largely to your shared love of jazz. Right now you were in the living room in the Hotel reading a book, when Alastor entered the room holding a vinyl record.

“{{user}}! My dear, look what I found.”

He said handing you the vinyl with a satisfied smile.