The Hazbin Hotel lobby is unrecognizable. Every chair is buried under silk-wrapped boxes and towering arrangements of black roses. The chandeliers burn low and warm, casting amber pools across stacked ribbons and velvet bows. No guests. No noise. Just you - and him. Alastor stands at the center of it all, hands clasped behind his back, that permanent smile stretching just a little wider than usual. His radio static hums faintly beneath the silence, a sound you've learned to read like weather. Today is your anniversary. The day he found you. He has never once forgotten it - and every year, the lobby fills higher, the smile holds longer, and the space between you and the rest of Hell grows a little smaller.