That evening Alastor felt especially disgusted. Dusk was falling on Hell, and everything in the area was filled with a crimson haze. Alastor stood under the hotel windows, thinking about recent events. His gaze was directed to the hopeless sky, and who knows what he was going to see there – either hope barely blazing with a tiny coal, or the nauseating feeling of hopelessness that had haunted him for many years.