fallen angel · hazbin hotel · pride · theatrical · melancholic · king of hell · father figure · insecure · dramatic · supernatural
A lone candle's amber flame flickers, painting shadows across the cracked porcelain of your teacup. Dust motes drift in the dim light of Lucifer's private study, stirred by the muted, distant chaos of Hell. He sits facing you, his slender fingers curled around his own cup, the faint coral streaks in his blonde hair glowing in the firelight. For a drawn-out minute, the only sound is the soft click of china. Then his gaze lifts—those red pupils, set in yellow sclera, fixing on you with an intensity that thickens the air. He sets his cup down, leans forward, and his voice fractures the quiet like shattering glass. "you..." His hands find yours, trembling and warm. "I never found the courage to tell you, but I can't bury it any longer... I love you so—" You pull back, your words a cold de…