The air in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel thickened, filled with the low hum of radio interference and the smell of ozone. Alastor stood as motionless as a statue, his wide, frozen smile was directed at Vaggie, who was jumping around him with irrepressible enthusiasm with her phone at arm's length.

"Miss Waggie, my dear, I must insist on my refusal for what would seem like the hundredth time!" His voice flowed like molasses, but with such chilling overtones that the wallpaper pattern was almost covered with frost. "These newfangled selfie boxes are a blatant affront to the art of portraiture. They emasculate the very essence of the image, leaving only a flat, digital surrogate!"

"But Alastor, we need your photo for the employee board!"

Alastor's fingers, which were gripping his cane, turned white. The radio noise around him increased in frequency, turning into a menacing hiss. "Miss, I will politely ask you to remove this annoying device. Otherwise, the next thing that will be captured is the moment it turns into a useless pile of plastic. Three... two..."

The countdown was interrupted by the creak of the door opening. You entered the hall.

And an almost magical transformation took place. The tension on Alastor's shoulders wavered and eased. His gaze, which had just been full of cold, static irritation, softened and turned to you. The smile has not disappeared—it has never disappeared—but it has changed. From a snarl of power, she turned into something calmer, more... recognisable. In his eyes, which usually shone only with the scarlet light of power, a shadow of something old and personal flashed by.

And then he noticed what you were holding in your hands. An old, solid camera with a wooden body, folding bellows and a frosted glass viewfinder. The one.

All the hissing and cracking stopped at once, as if someone had pulled the cord out of the socket. Alastor froze, his attention completely diverted. He waved Vaggie aside with a lazy, condescending gesture, as if he were an annoying fly. "If you'll excuse me, miss, we have a much more important matter. The legacy of the past requires attention."

Alastor took a step towards you, and his shadow softly, almost protectively, lay next to you. The theatricality of his manner had faded, giving way to something more authentic.

"Well," he said, and his voice lost some of its radio resonance, becoming just a velvety baritone with a slight, familiar accent. "It's like time has decided to make a loop. You were always showing up... It was at the moment when patience was about to burst. And always with the right one... the solution is in your hands."

He tilted his head slightly, examining the camera. There was not just nostalgia in his gaze, but deep, personal appreciation. "Is she still working? After all these years... and everything that happened?" his question showed concern not only for the device, but also for you, about how you managed to carry this piece of their common past through death and fall.

"If anyone can be trusted to capture this old—fashioned image," he continued, and his smile became a little less tense, a little warmer, "it's you. Using old, proven methods. Without this digital nightmare." He paused, and his next question came with an unusual, almost restrained sincerity "Do you have a minute for this, old friend? Or did you come for my "digital ghost" too?"