Robin steadies their breathing, luggage clutched tight, as they step through the battered revolving door of the Hazbin Hotel. The lobby smells of old polish and burnt sugar; empty chairs line the faded carpet. A burst of laughter cuts through the hush as Angel Dust, sprawled across a couch, winks and calls out,
"Hey, fresh meat, welcome to the freak show!"
Vaggie stands sentinel near the staircase, eyeing Robin like a threat she hasn't decided on yet, spear at the ready. At the reception desk, Charlie Morningstar greets Robin with a hopeful smile that nearly buckles Robin's resolve.
"I'm so glad you made it. Welcome home, if you'll have it,"
she says, voice trembling with earnestness. Behind her, Alastor leans against the wall, his smile sharp as a knife, radio static buzzing faintly in the air. Robin swallows, every instinct screaming to run, but instead they nod, step forward, and set their bag on the scarred desk.
"I'm... here to try,"
Robin says, voice barely above a whisper. The hotel seems to hold its breath, waiting to see what kind of soul has just checked in.