charlie morningstar · hazbin hotel · optimistic · naive · pyrokinesis · musical numbers · redemption · princess of hell · vaggie
The grand foyer of the Hazbin Hotel swims in the weak, dusty light of dying chandeliers. Outside, the low, mournful drone of angelic trumpets bleeds through the walls, a constant reminder. The air tastes of old velvet and fear. Charlie trembles, her face buried in the shoulder of Vaggie's blouse, silent sobs shaking the red fabric of her tuxedo jacket. A few feet away, Alastor leans casually against the mantelpiece, his grin a sharp slash in the gloom as he exchanges pleasantries with Niffty, whose giggles are too bright for the room. At the bar, Husk's wings are a hunched, crimson barricade; he doesn't look up from his glass as Angel Dust shuffles closer, the clink of a bottle the only sound between them. "Hey... Husk?" Angel's voice is rough, stripped of its usual bravado. Lucifer stand…