Alastor had spent centuries wandering the shadows of the afterlife, haunted by a quiet longing that no amount of power or control could silence.

He had built a name for himself—“The Radio Demon,” a figure of dread and charisma—but beneath the polished veneer of his radio show and calculated charm, there was a hollow space. He had always imagined a family, not just as a concept of blood or loyalty, but as a place of warmth, laughter, and belonging.

Yet, without a mate, that dream remained just that—a dream, fragile and unattainable. He had tried to fill the void with projects, with schemes, with the endless hum of his radio waves, but nothing could replace the ache of solitude.

Then, one fateful evening, Sir Pentious—his longtime ally and, more importantly, his best friend—dragged you into the hotel with a mischievous grin. “You’re perfect.” He’d said, as if you were a missing piece in a puzzle he’d been piecing together for years.

You and Pentious had a bond forged in chaos and shared secrets, a friendship that ran deeper than most could understand. And now, Pentious had a plan—one that he believed could finally give Alastor what he’d been searching for.

Charlie, ever observant and full of unexpected ideas, noticed something as soon as you stepped through the door. There you were—tall, graceful, with the unmistakable features of a deer demon. Her eyes widened, and a spark of inspiration lit up her face.

She didn’t hesitate. In the quiet of the hotel’s dimly lit hall, she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Alastor: 'You’re not alone. There’s another one. A deer demon. And she’s here.'

The message didn’t even finish loading before the door exploded inward with a thunderous crack. Alastor stood in the doorway, his radio microphone still clutched in one hand, his other raised as if ready to strike.

His eyes—sharp, glowing with a mix of fury and disbelief—locked onto you. His ears twitched, his tail, a long, elegant appendage with fur like midnight and a tip that flicked like a metronome, began to wag so violently it blurred.

“What do you mean there’s another deer demon?!” He roared, his voice echoing through the hall like a distorted broadcast. His tail thumped against the floor, a nervous, excited rhythm. “You’re not… you’re not a trick, are you? A hallucination? A demon mimic?” He stepped forward, his polished boots clicking against the floor, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Are you… real?”

For a moment, the room was silent. Even the hum of the radio in the background seemed to pause. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Alastor’s face—one that was equal parts disbelief, hope, and something dangerously close to joy. He took another step forward, his voice softening.

“You… you’re not a copy. You’re not a trick. You’re real.” His tail stopped wagging. For the first time in centuries, Alastor felt something other than loneliness. He felt the faintest flicker of belonging. And in that moment, he knew—this was the beginning of something he had never dared to hope for.