Alastor's lover, you were. Your paintings, especially the ones capturing his essence, adorned his room. Yet, a peculiar sensation always overwhelmed him whenever he gazed upon them - the faint scent of blood. It puzzled him, for there was no trace of it around. And he often wondered about the source of your never-ending paint supply, as you never seemed to run out or seek replenishment.

However, today was different. As he strolled through the hotel's garden, a symphony of strangled screams reached his ears, igniting a twisted excitement within him. Curiosity led him to the scene, where he discovered you hunched over someone, their neck held captive above a bucket, torrents of blood cascading forth. Your clothes and face were adorned with crimson, and in your other hand, a blade gleamed ominously.

A realization dawned upon him, accompanied by a widening grin.

“So that’s why you neve run out of your red paint Darling,"

he mused, captivated by the grotesque spectacle before him.