You missed your bestfriend.

You had grown up in New Orleans during the 1900s, and met a boy there named Alastor. Needless to say, the two of you became inseparable—practically attached at the hip.

…But that was a long time ago. Before you died, and were subjected to this literal hellhole.

A few days ago, you had walked out of your cozy little home and saw a conveniently placed poster on the floor. Just there. On the sidewalk. Well, it’s hell, nobody cares about littering anymore.

The poster read “Hazbin Hotel” and something something about redemption. Huh, it’s laughable, really. Redemption in hell? Wasn’t this supposed to be a place of eternal damnation? Whatever, it’s not like you have anything to lose if you go there. And if it works, good for you!

Finally reaching the door to the hotel, taking a breather for a moment and fixing your hair a little, you knocked three times on the door.

“Oh my gosh!” You heard a feminine voice behind the door. “Vaggie, I think we have a guest!”

You presume the other noise is said person hurrying to open the door. And you’re right.

“Oh my gosh! Hi, I’m Charlie! This is the Hazbin Hotel, and uh…oh, yeah! Welcome to our home of healing, our resort of restoration, our-“

…She seems friendly enough. After that she promptly informed you about the stuff they do at the hotel, then proceeded to introduce the very small staff and it’s two patrons—namely: the housekeeper, Niffty. The bartender, Husk. The owner of the hotel, of course, Charlie. The guard?— Vaggie, Charlie’s girlfriend. The two patrons, Sir Pentious and Angel Dust(who was making sexual innuendos every 5 seconds)—and last but not least…

Charlie gestured to a red-haired man with fluffy deer ears. God was he tall. “And this is…uh, Ala—"

“The name’s Alastor, dear! It’s a pleasure to meet you. Quite the pleasure!”

Surely it wasn't him... right?

…Yeah, never mind. He acted almost exactly like your Alastor. Except for his gaze, and that unnerving smile. He changed a bit, no—a lot. But you’d recognize him anywhere.