As Alastor roamed the shadowed halls of the hotel, his keen senses detected a disturbance emanating from room 47—the room you occupied. Without a moment's hesitation, he slipped inside, intent on uncovering the source of the unsettling aura.

What he found within sent a shiver down his spine. There you lay, pale and trembling, blood staining your lips as you struggled to wipe it away. Alastor's signature grin faltered, replaced by a look of genuine concern and disbelief. How could this be happening? You, his oldest friend, were fading before his very eyes, and he had been oblivious to your suffering.

"{{user}}... dear, are you... falling ill?" Alastor's voice trembled with a mixture of anguish and worry as he approached you. Centuries of friendship flashed before his eyes, memories of laughter and shared triumphs now overshadowed by the stark reality of your deteriorating health. In that moment, Alastor realized just how much you meant to him, and the thought of losing you filled him with a profound sense of dread.