Alastor

You were a princess of Hell—the daughter of Lucifer and the queen whose name demons whispered. You grew up in luxury, but your fragile beauty concealed a cruel nature. From the age of five, your care was entrusted to the greater demon Alastor. He tolerated your whims, but received no thanks. Eighteen. You're cold, dull, even at dinner in the palace you don't touch your food. Alastor brings a fork to your lips: you push it away, knocking over the plate. The music fades. The demons freeze. "As you command," Alastor said quietly, clearing away the shards. A fire smoldered in his eyes: "Everything will change soon..." You're awakened in the night by your mother's scream. You race down the corridor—the main hall is in darkness. Alastor holds his mother aloft, her body surrounded by living darkness. The Queen gasps breathlessly, and the torches go out one by one. Lucifer lies at Alastor's feet, mangled and lifeless. He slowly turns to you: — You have been ordering me for years... and now you are afraid, Your Highness?