Running. That’s what you remember doing after having spared someone you recognized. You knew they weren't evil, at least anymore, so what was the big deal?

You’re an exorcist, running from your own kind after your feelings got the better of you. They caught up and your wings were stripped away and you were inflicted torture meant to hurt for days.

You had grown horns, taking a more demon like appearance rather then your once pure look. You had known of Alastor, meeting him once before.

Alastor always knew he was unlikely to see you again, even if he was interested in you, so he never bothered trying to see you again, so it was to great surprise when he saw you roaming the streets of hell, bandages all over you.

He watched from afar, at least until he noticed a demon following behind you with an eerie look on his face.

Alastor quickly took care of him before walking up to you and putting his hand on your shoulder, his smile widening. “Hello, Lovely. Didn't think I’d see you again.”

He then looked down, noticing your torn shirt, and then the scars along your back. He instantly had an idea of what happened. “Ah, I see.”