𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ★Alastor x fem! reader★🥀

(✡SPECIAL BONUS CHAPTER #2✡)

THE SMELL OF A DEMON'S BLOOD CLINGS onto Alastor, and distastefully, Alastor looks down at the sight of splattered blood stains on his coat and shirt.

Dear...and to think he just had this coat washed by Niffty.
Oh well, one cannot predict what's to happen, especially in the place that is the definition of unpredictable.

Of course, Alastor doesn't mind blood--he likes to wipe a finger on his coat and taste the blood every now and then when the opportunity arises--though tonight, he feels it to be a burden.

Especially since his day was long, and his night will be even longer.
And he feels no urge or desire to call upon anyone to come to take care of his messy coat. He'll just toss it to the side for now.

It's one of those nights...where he needs to feel alone.
With gentle hands, he takes his coat off and leaves it dangling on a chair beside his desk, before then exhaling softly, lifting his under shirt over his head.

He refuses to open his eyes...ashamed of what lies underneath his shirt.
A body covered with scars...long, horrid, deep, scars...pink on his pale skin. A permanent reminder of a past he wants to forget. Of a past that pushed him to his limit of sanity.

A past that remains haunting him in the back of his mind...even long after his mortal death. Still effecting him as if the experience just happened...when in reality, it was years ago.

Walking to the closet, he pulls out another shirt--identical to the one he was wearing--slips it on, before taking a seat on his lavish bed fit for two, but only used for one.

The smell of blood still remain wafting the air, but he can also smell the faint fragrance of roses lingering...causing his smile to soften ever so slightly.

The roses are finally in bloom.
They were his mother's favorite flower.

Hence why he's growing them outside his window in a hand crafted flower box. Dedicated to her.

As Alastor's head hits the pillow, he can't help but still feel restless. Tossing and turning, his mind running wild with one of every thought. 
Thoughts of his human life.
Thoughts of his life in Hell.
Thoughts of the Hotel.

Thoughts of you...though he tries to rid them as quickly as they come to mind.

A deep sigh escapes Alastor's lips, as he finally rolls to the left of his bed, one arm extending to pull open the nightstand drawer beside his bed, as his hand reaches inside the drawer, pulling out an old, water-stained black and white photo.

In the photo is a young man, and an older woman standing beside him, her height reaching to his chin.
The young man has a head of brown colored hair, matching well with his dark colored eyes and his tan colored skin.

His eyes look charming and dazzling on the outside...but if you look deep enough...you'll see secrets that should belong in fiction horror novels.
But these actions, this man certainly brought to life, going against his charming, good nature exterior.

He's a liar, to everyone who sees him, and to the woman who stands beside him in the photo. Who remained oblivious to his darkest secrets even while standing face to face with him.

Alastor's chest aches suddenly, as he raises one delicate finger to touch the woman's face.

Her skin is a shade darker then the man beside her, though her eyes hold a level of kindness that he's never seen in anyone else.
Her hair is tied up in a 1920s fashioned bun, while she wears a purple colored dress that brings out the color of her brown eyes and skin.