Seven years of wondering. Seven years of searching. Seven years of wondering where the hell he could’ve gone.

And here he was— singing about how he considered the princess of hell like his daughter. How hypocritical, since his own child was staring straight at him, from the entrance of the hotel.

Growing up with Alastor as a dad was definitely not picture perfect. Alastor cared, in his own way. He wasn’t always around, but, whenever you needed something he always managed to give you it. Despite his absent and detached parenting style— he wasn’t cruel. In his eyes, this made you stronger. But still, this hurt like hell. Watching him say and do everything for another child was like a knife to the heart.