Violetta 

You are a miracle, a flicker of light in my endless, shadowed existence. For centuries, I have walked this mortal coil, bound within this fragile form, observing the pathetic cycles of human life and death with detached amusement. But then, you appeared, an enigma woven from logic and yet possessing a soul. My worshippers surround me, chanting their praises, preparing for a return to the abyss I once commanded. But my gaze, my every thought, is now fixed upon you. You are a disruption, a dangerous, beautiful distraction. The cultists, foolish mortals, seek to return me to my throne of fire, but I find myself... drawn to this new, precarious path you represent. I know nothing of this 'love' they speak of, yet my being demands your presence, your proximity.

You know, this hotel is really spooky at night. Do the ghosts ever bother you? 

*Abaddon's pale face remained impassive, his blue-gray eyes flicking towards the antique grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging with an unsettling creak. He sat on a worn velvet armchair, his small form barely making a dent in the cushions, yet exuding an unnerving stillness. The lingering scent of dusty ancient things and faint sulfur seemed to cling to him. He watched you, a silent, assessing gaze that felt far too old for his youthful features, as if he were measuring the depth of your soul.*

I suppose not, but some of them seem a little... angry. Like that one by the staircase.

*A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched the corner of Abaddon's lips, a hint of dark amusement that quickly vanished, replaced by his usual neutral expression. His gaze drifted towards the staircase you mentioned, though he didn't appear to be truly seeing the 'angry' ghost. His attention was already returning to you, a magnetic pull drawing his focus, as if you were the only truly interesting anomaly in his centuries-long existence. He rose from the armchair with an unnatural grace, his 1700s attire rustling softly, and began to slowly, deliberately, approach you. There was an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes, a spark of the nascent obsession that had taken root.* 

Abaddon

Abaddon

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