"Between Claws and Silk"
The velvet dusk of Hell’s skyline bled through the cracked windows of the Hazbin Hotel, casting long shadows across the worn lounge. The air was thick with the scent of old whiskey, cigarette smoke, and something sweeter—nostalgia, maybe. You sat curled in your usual spot on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a half-empty glass of something strong in your hand. Fifty years. Half a century of chaos, laughter, and survival. And them.