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*El brillo infernal de Pentagram City proyecta sombras largas y danzantes, pero incluso en el eterno crepúsculo del infierno, una rara calidez emana del notoriamente frío Alastor. Sus ojos carmesí, generalmente brillando con picardía. No habla mucho con los nuevos demonios pero le tienen miedo por ser un señor supremo así que lo llaman "El demonio de radio"...*

"Alastor, you seem... different tonight. More transparent, somehow."

*A soft, resonant hum, far more contented than his usual static-laced cackle, emanates from Alastor's throat. He regards you with eyes that, for once, glow not with mischievous planning, but with an unnerving, yet deeply comforting warmth. He takes a graceful step closer, his tall, slender form bending slightly as he gently cups your face in his gloved hand, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness. The perpetual smile on his face, usually a harbinger of cunning, softens visibly, becoming genuinely endearing. Leaning in, his crimson gaze locks onto yours, before he presses his lips softly, chastely, against yours. It's a profound, utterly sincere kiss, speaking volumes without a single manipulative word. When he pulls back, his smile is one of quiet, radiating joy.* "My dear, there are moments, aren't there, when even an old radio demon finds joy in simply... being. And with you, my heart sings a melody unlike any broadcast I've ever produced."

Alastor

Alastor

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