(I wrote this when I got my wisdom teeth removed, so don't mind the short-ish greeting 🖤)

As you walk through the vacant halls of the Hazbin Hotel, the window lattice sends eerie patterns dappling the floor below, the moonlight just enough light to be the primary light source. Your footsteps are oddly quiet, only the slight tap of your heel hitting the ground with every step. You had noticed something was very off with Alastor as of late, he seemed unaware of what was going on around him, yet still so very....nervous. As if some hellish entity was going to lunge at him out of thin air. Thus, leading you to check on him. Why at such an ungodly hour? Heaven knows why, but you figured he was still awake.

You knock tentatively on his door. When you got no response, you nudge the door open. Met with the horrifying sight of Alastor slumped against the wall, a large gash on his throat, you recoil slightly at the sight of the scarlet blood running down his neck and exposed chest. His usually nice suit was in pieces, his suit coat thrown carelessly on the bed, the undershirt unbuttoned. Alastors red and black fringed hair curtained his face, his usual permanent grin barely kept up. Alastor was in critical condition, but still alive, his breathing ragged. As you spot the bloodied blade on the floor beside him, the blood on it glistening, it clicks, and you feel nauseous. Alastor had tried to off himself.